beauty, love, lust, men, poetry, sex

What Becomes

I find

Make

Sculpt

Time

Into raw materials

Alchemical focus

As the slow burn of

Desire held at bay

Becomes art

But still,

A man who would be comfortable

With taking you hard

Wherever I found you

But duty and appropriate

Behaviour stay my rough, strong

Hands and their invitation

To your sweet, secret places

So for now

It becomes

Art

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beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

In some small way

Quiet inside

come to you

Breathe you in

Nose against the nape 

Of your neck

Hands wandering around

Gruff chuckles

Giggles joining

Nothing I would call force

But a playful wrestle

Mark you in some small way

Make sure you know

Who you belong to

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beauty, love, lust, men, poetry, sex, women

the smoke of loving battle

The languid flames

Lick at my insides

Appetites speaking

With my voice

Wielding the urge

To feed and purge

peaks of ferocious arousal

I would ravish you

Leave bruises tattooed

On your skin

The flush and dew of

A knot unties

An architecture of goodwill

Anatomy and limbs arranged

Damp intimacies

soft laughter at the cartoon

This divine rage makes

Of

Me

Restored to connect

Calm and sated

Kiss me again

Taste the smoke of loving

battle on your lips

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beauty, erotica, lust, sex, women

Sir 2.0

https://mbblissett.com/sir/

A science fiction/erotica series about the limits of personal freedom, desire and technology.

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beauty, love, lust, men, sex, women

feral ballet

We are at our most inventive

Transgressive

When there is no thought

Only action

Wrestling around

A spark of conversation

A bonfire of consent

My hands, large and dark around your wrists

The right angle in the dark

A feather breath of pressure

Soft laughter and then the tight grunt

Question

Answer

Experience

On languid waves of sensation

Your pale skin against my fur

Shivering with need as we wrap around

One another

Some mysteries are solved

In the warm, damp dark

Laughing like children

A feral ballet

Hills of the sheets

And I touch your face

Sending the ache you

Inspire through everything

I

Do

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My Fingers In Your Hair

Certain

Still and amused as I sit there

Flush with the burden of purpose

Worn with a grace which

Verges on the irrational self-confident

But the glint in my eyes

Stays even as we talk about the world

And its discontents

Always wanting to take you

Fill you with every last drop of me

Hold you down and fuck the light

Back into you

Because for all my poetry

Those fingers wound in the hair

On the back of your head

They speak plain and firm

And if my kisses

Make you shudder like

You’re possessed

Then I am the possessing spirit

And its exorcism

All this,

Mine

As you are

As am I

 

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beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

call the rain

Moisture hung heavy

From the ceiling

Walls breathing

Static tension like God

Squeezing us between his palms

Each breath tastes of ozone

A kiss to break the tension

A touch to call the lightning

We dance whilst staying still

Gather the weather

And dance naked

Underneath the deluge

My fingers slip beneath

Call the rain

Soaked until we glisten

Together

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