Sherbet Lemon

I love the way you speak, the way your voice melts like sherbet lemon drops and your words weave tapestries along my spine tingling chills, I adore your desire to pause to breathe in me bearing enamelled claws.       Image credit.


"Close your eyes." He said. My eyes replied; open, defiant, My mouth with corners curled: This was prohibited.   My lips still parted, Consensually; I allowed him to find me, hold me, whilst the ringing continued: Prohibited. Prohibited.   His touch, wise, his tongue experienced, his face, rugged and his mid-kiss groan, satisfying. In mine, … Continue reading Mid-Kiss


Eyes trained solely on the woman who seeks to steal my soul leeching the life force I felt when you were inside me beside me.   Was captivity commissioned? Or a calculated mission?     Image credit.     


Footsteps in a room,  shouldn’t look, shouldn’t stare, just can’t help it, the smile you wear. Cuff of your shirt, open collar, hooded dark eyes, look, stare. Forbidden attraction, codes, regulations, still you smile, take up a seat beside me. Footsteps in a room, caught my stare, smile, keep in touch, touch.   Image credit.


I left my sheets dishevelled Curtains closed I left your clothes astray Innocence chased away Your essence setting with the sun Where you run. The windows hung open Latch up, unlocked Here I lay, afraid Kept all my love to myself Left all my lust in someone else He offered cheap imitations You gave loving … Continue reading Tumble


stained in ink upon his chest, weaving herself into his flesh, your fingertips follow his spine, carol, you say, he'll always be mine. scarred possession across his wrist, upon his veins, unworthy of a kiss, your fluent tongue caresses and bites, carol, you say, disappear with the lights, branded in black blood, eternally scorned, faded … Continue reading Carol

The Beholder

His dream girls were beautifully inked, Images etched within images, Yet he chose Welcome mats, kitty cats and charity tat. His dream girls were abstract and colourful, Twirling in blues, reds and pinks, Yet he chose Straight lace, translucent face and steady pace. His dream girls were confident, Staring straight down the lens, Yet he … Continue reading The Beholder