beauty, desire, dominance, emotion, empowerment, erotic poetry, erotic writing, erotica, hunger, inspiration, love, lust, masculinity, nature, passion, poetry, seduction, sensuality, sex, strength, surrender, taste, touch, Uncategorized, wildness, wisdom, women

The Subtle Pleasures

The 

Subtle pleasures

Made manifest

Now, you come to me

Vibrating with the need to 

Provide your surrender

Raging with the need to feel guided

Your deepest nature, I am gentle in nurturing

Desire is your truest, most beautiful self

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Throb

Throbbing

Pulsing

My fingers guiding

These loving machines
In journeys of
Intimate exploration
We are bold
In our pursuits
Laughing with surprise
Paroxysms of release
Made obstrepreous with
Need
How beautiful you are
When pleasure overtakes
You and I it’s herald
As much instrument
Avatar as I am
Man
I will exhaust you
With bliss
And afterwards, rag-dolled with
Exhaustion
I will hold you close
Whisper my love
Loud as a shout
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The God Of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

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Synopsis:

The year is 1969. In the state of Kerala, on the southernmost tip of India, fraternal twins Esthappen and Rahel fashion a childhood for themselves in the shade of the wreck that is their family. Their lonely, lovely mother, Ammu, (who loves by night the man her children love by day), fled an abusive marriage to live with their blind grandmother, Mammachi (who plays Handel on her violin), their beloved uncle Chacko (Rhodes scholar, pickle baron, radical Marxist, bottom-pincher), and their enemy, Baby Kochamma (ex-nun and incumbent grandaunt). When Chacko’s English ex-wife brings their daughter for a Christmas visit, the twins learn that things can change in a day, that lives can twist into new, ugly shapes, even cease forever, beside their river…

Sometimes a book has exquisite, beautiful language but loses it’s way in terms of story, or a book can have a solid, engaging story with prosaic language or leaden dialogue. This book has both, capturing a time and a place outside of my realm of experience.

Which is always what I love about literature, it’s an opportunity to explore the world and minds of people who’ve never existed but feel as real to you as actual people. Roy delivers a story that is simultaneously epic and intimate, populated with characters who could veer into parody but never manage it, their emotions and motives driving the story to a riveting and heart breaking conclusion. It is a hymn about love, the denial of it and the damage that it can cause, the caste system and how it corrodes progress and interaction. It interests me, the caste system because it’s an observation of Grant Morrison that we have more of one in England than we publicly admit to.

The writing is delightful, poignant and beautiful, it’s funny, knows when to delve into the micro details of the world on the page and when to draw back in it’s pacing. This book really does sing and I am sad that I won’t get to read it for the first time again. Some books make your soul ache in a good way, and this was one of them. You can be drunk on words and here I am, describing to you something that suited my  palate but may not suit yours. Regardless, pour yourself a glass of this and drink deep.

 

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Strong Dark Wine

Dead planets

Orbit you

Star songs screaming how

Lovely you are for so long

And so often that

You’re deaf to it, aren’t you?

Adoration given freely

Is kitten puppy child work

But earn my attention

Fight for it

And it is sweeter

For it’s achievement

The air atop a mountain

The taste of that water which was

Drawn from beneath stone

Let your sweetness

Make it’s own compelling case

But assumptions of tribute

Turn me cold and oh how

You long to feel the tongues of flame

Lick at your skin

Your fingers through the fur

Touched until your thoughts

Are smashed to smithereens

Apprehensions turned to notes

I conduct you, my darling

Like the soft, sweet symphony

You are, and how delightful

It is to break you against

The hard wall of my will

Your beauty brings out

The strong dark wine

And would you drink deeply

If I offered it up?

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Sunday and I have the jukebox, you just dance and I’ll enjoy the view

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A moment

The scent of you

Lingers long after you walk by

A moment’s faith in the

Possibility of beauty

Our eyes meet, a smile

Small enough to fit in

The breast pocket

Folded like a handkerchief

Dressed for a better place than this

Like you’re waiting for the world

To catch up to the speed of your dreams

My ambitions have taken the scenic route

But their certainty carries in my

Posture and although nothing is said

Everything is communicated

We promise one another

A kindly deliverance

My rough hands contrasting with

The kindly intelligence in my eyes

And oh that flush rising in your skin

So much sweeter for being

Unresolved, a ghost of something

That was never borne into being

And never died

Wishing one another well

From the privacy of our own

Thoughts

We walk on

We walk on

 

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to snuff out stars

Here we are

The door closes

And we are upon one another

Handled with the knowledge

Not that you will not break

But you want to be broken

Dashed apart by the unyielding

Strength of my will

Tethered to a snarling passion

That is chained by propriety

Clothes are an insult

To the moment and we tear them away

Addict, drug, supplier

We meld and blend within these roles

But you, as hungry to taste

And touch as I

Your wet knowing mouth

Robs me of words

As my fingers tease

Pinch

Hold you in place

Like ripe fruit

My lips against your flesh

As you are against mine

We feast upon one another

This, your reward for your

Surrender

And my handling of you

An act of trust, belief in your

Capacity for obedience

A vessel made to take

A pleasure powerful enough

To snuff out stars

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