Since: Dec 12

Location hidden

#5250 Dec 27, 2012
Original
Wine
CYP

Come to me my precious lover
Allow my lips to brush away the residue of today
Having longed all day to taste you
Let me now I beg

Let me now

I have no patience for these clothes
Let me throw them to the floor
So that I may release the tension
In your Cock

Your warm sweet Manhood

Allow my wet lips to embrace it
My tongue circling then a flick
Yes my darling love
Tangle your fingers in my hair

Shall we make honey from the sweet nectar
Favored drink of the Gods
Let my palate become familiar
With the wine of your seed

But let us not stop there my lover

For I come not merely to sip the wine

My love

I, myself, want to touch the soil from which it was grown
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5252 Dec 27, 2012
Check_ Your_ Pulse wrote:
Original
Wine
CYP
Come to me my precious lover
Allow my lips to brush away the residue of today
Having longed all day to taste you
Let me now I beg
Let me now
I have no patience for these clothes
Let me throw them to the floor
So that I may release the tension
In your Cock
Your warm sweet Manhood
Allow my wet lips to embrace it
My tongue circling then a flick
Yes my darling love
Tangle your fingers in my hair
Shall we make honey from the sweet nectar
Favored drink of the Gods
Let my palate become familiar
With the wine of your seed
But let us not stop there my lover
For I come not merely to sip the wine
My love
I, myself, want to touch the soil from which it was grown
Huddled together these fragments
flung through time
coalesce to form
the spine of a withering frown
a look of sadness
drops like trembling rain
beading the glass
before the unveiling eye
Pretend the violets count
on icicle fingers
crispy with wit
and rings of truth and lies
drawn out the lines
inscribed with frozen thoughts
Their thoughts must sag
bending brittle branches
as skulking shoots unwind
the breath of winter dies
The words shimmer on my skin
new as bright clouds
forming water memories
their shapes indistinct
intermingling hesitantly
with inexperienced longing
I try to hide their meaning:
the peel of shed things
falling, ringing like bells,
curled into fists.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5253 Dec 27, 2012
I could drown in the

colors of your face,

play in the rainbowy fields

of your imagination.

Only the moon

in full bloom,

light the desires

of creation.

Parallel echoes

pulling me,

the narrow streets

makes it hard to navigate.

The moon has almost

turned to ashes,

the sunlight flies

from you heart,

where white fumes and

rose incense

ignite my lungs.

Itís free!
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5254 Dec 27, 2012
It is dark,
The moon betrayed by her own light.
Long nights turn dark.
Weeping are the weepy children
Of dried roses.
Decay.
What remains are habitual tendencies.
Lighted is the candle,
Flame taken for granted.
Our hearts holds a simmering disaster,
Which we allow.
For what ?
Further collective misery?
Lovers in a loverís amulet
Portraying love as love is defined.
What ground can we hold,
Depths of love truly encounter
When we remain external,
Breathing heredity?
Loves thou not thy neighbor as thyself
Yet?
Bleeds he not enough,
Must his tears turn bloody red?
Prejudices and fantasy.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5255 Dec 27, 2012
The return of life in veins.
Something once dormant.
Spirit awakened.
Too long lingering in shades.
Hidden behind veils upon veils
Of resistance.
Long before you fell into life.

Many had wondered too
Who are we?
Your wild eyes,
Never took into the abyss
And returned
Sane.

Dreams whisper
Secrets.
Bodies on the earth.
Naked.
Still.

Du da di da da da.
Flashes in the night.
Growth of that which grows.
Observant -
No need for gestures
And opinions
Just look and lay.

Be on your way to
Nothingness
And mad laughter.

She sweeps over windows
With frosty lungs.
The purifier.
And amplifier.
Of spirit.

Indeed change.....aahh, yes!
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5256 Dec 27, 2012
She likes to peel off

Labels

Of bottles or cups.

She has a twitch,

Making nervous the eyebrow.

A beautiful suffering.

Ready to unfold.

Balance ~ Imbalance.

Choice.

A familiar situation.

Your choice was then

To be open,

But to receive

No welcome.

The same doors

Of fluid love

Enchants you now,

Its sweet nectar

Jamming your nostrils,

The veil ridden disaster,

Out of reach,

With reason.

Itís black magic?
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5257 Dec 27, 2012
The echo
Is all thatís left,
Hanging in the air,
Like curly smoke
From my last joint.

Once there was I ,
Now a new I,
Tomorrow again.
There keeps being
Something to do,
Another floor to reach.

But the damn elevator
Wont take me there.
Instead tunnels are offered,
Fears in purple and blue.
Until faith or some
Other villain wills it,
Nobody dares to hit stop,
To ask for help.

Helplessness
In a yellow puddle
Of hypocrisy,
Sprinkled with stale piss,
Wont get far
Of making a decision.

Not sure were this will lead,
Where itís led so far.
However, trying to follow
Whatever flow,
Seems the sanest,
If such a thing exists.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5258 Dec 27, 2012
Try to be spontaneous
when you cannot move at all,

Put the thought
in your head,
count down
from five
to four
threeís next
two

what have you?

coat check
time check
check book balancing
check the weather
check your stocks
check the run to see if itís grown
in check
check out
charming the way
you check on the water
to see if it boils...

check this out!
checkers and bows

A clown suit for the depressed
pressing the iron to smooth
the valleys and crags
in the shirt worn at The Point
when you crossed over from East to West
balancing the bubble* with the spear

Language is common
eye colour, hair
so why shouldnít they entwine again,
what is the fear?

Although that happened
more than sixty years ago,
why are the Nazis still mentioned,
havenít we all gotten past it? No,
we remember that war
when people were annihilated,
banished and bled.
was this done with godís blessing, to learn something profound from?

No again, Iím afraid that god was held captive too, his powers demoted -
thatís what happens when someone trusts someone evil.

People do follow like sheep,
because of promises put forth
and like crumbs crumble more
they eventually carry with wind
eyes clear, sights get in check
weíve balanced before...
without bubble*, but not without spear.

*bubble equals fantasy rhetoric
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5259 Dec 28, 2012
(She, to me.........)

"A touch of skin soft and slippery,
With the hint of hint of sweat.
We fought our resistance beneath the cool sheets,
As the wind flowed from the window above us.
Eyes met briefly and begged for the chance,
To abandon all of our uncertainties.
You began your work on my lips,
Probing gently as if drawing sex,
From a deep well of longing and need.
Then heated tongues met in the midst,
Of hot and quickening breath.
And greedily we drank the wine of our lusts.
Then intoxicated with those spirits,
Our clothes found resting place on the floor.
Piece by piece,
Until there were no hiding places,
For the two glistening and wanting bodies.
Hunger revealed in this hot moment.
Then skin meshed with skin,
As the floor became the stage.
You moved atop of me easily,
And lowered yourself gently.
Kissing me as I was filled with you.
As a gasp broke the kiss,
Your hands stroked the stray strands,
Away from my forehead, then became entangled.
Our slow rhythm gave way,
To urgent and demanding thrusts of passion,
As I arched my body for your comfort,
And you threw me into ecstasy,
With the strength of your blows.
You left me screaming and soaked,
In oblivion again and again,
As you growled my name from the back of your throat,
And our bodies both demanded more,
Each giving to the other,
High on the fluids of foreign substance.
I grasped, then released you,
Grasped then released you,
In effort to relieve you of your control.
The taste of your skin between my lips,
Was like no other.
To hear your cry of mercy,
When my teeth met your warm skin,
Was more breathtaking than you knew.
Yet I still released the control to you.
As you wound your hands in my hair,
And pulled until the flesh on my neck was taut,
You moved with one final and breaking blow,
Forcing our way to the peaks of bliss,
Leaving our screams to echo on like battle cries.
I welcomed the weight of you to crush me,
As you collapsed on top of me,
Still hot and burning,
And I glowing like an ember,
Casting a welcome light,
Should you seek my gifts again."
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5260 Dec 28, 2012
Moon hangs, almost full
pieces of cloud scatter,
glide in soft, summer breeze.
We lay in our meadow
listening to the sound of night
her head nestled on my arm.

Night air made for kissing
dances upon our skin
chilling wherever is damp.
She stirs, quietly calls,
my name hangs on summer eve
floats about our meadow.

She sighs, moves closer
snuggling in, once again
her breath stirs, awakens.
Hands join in gentle caress
exploration shared and renewed
oh, so smooth and lovely.

We turn, lips meeting
slow, softly, delicate
building quickly to demand.
Crying out, beginning and end
collapsing, breathing ragged
moon hangs, slightly fuller.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5262 Dec 28, 2012
"You're cold."

He said as he took her hands and he couldn't be more right and wrong at the same time. Her gaze simply fell to her feet as she let the silence envelop her. She felt cold, her soul quivering somewhere in the corner of her heart, obscuring its rhythmic beat and creating a swell of off tempo chaos in her veins. Her memory of his whispers were akin to the sudden rush of wind that hit her skin, wet with the storm of tears and caused chills to cascade their way across her body.

But he was wrong, it wasn't she who was cold, it was him who was stealing everything that made her warm. Coaxing her with his silver tongue, murmuring the words he knows she wants to hear, testing his skill and bringing her to the edge of the flimsy fortress she calls defense, to where she's just barely out of his reach, a paper thin wall separating his will from hers, and he nearly giggles in delight when he causes her to tear it down herself, like a spider tearing down its own web.

But of course that isn't enough, not when she's standing there, all walls down, vulnerable and tender, her heart so soft he could cut right through it with just his fingernails, and Hell be damned itself if he wasn't the slightest bit temped to try because he knows how easily he can, like shoving a pin through a butterfly, simple and smooth, and it'd be so interesting to see her squirm. But instead he's interested in how far he can cause her to do it to herself.

All he has to do is let a few of his venomous words drip from his teeth, promising he isn't like everyone else (because he isn't of course, no one else would be this thrilled to watch her crumble so slowly ), that he understands, understands that she's so incredibly weak, and that her heart is so big it oozes to the surface of her skin for everyone to see, and it's so damn easy that she must be begging for it, and suddenly he's caught her and he loves it.

She's hanging on every word as if he's holding happiness over her head, but this is boring him, he wants to see what makes her tick, how she is the way she is, so it's time to step up his game. He moves his hand from hers and slides it up her arm, resting ever so gently on her shoulder as his other hand moves to her waist, and as if to further prove his point about how she basically wears her heart as her skin it turns a rosy shade of pink, and sends its pulse so strongly he can feel it. He lets his breath ghost across her susceptible ears and pulls her against him as he gives his orders.

"Strip."

And she does.....

First go the clothes, but her skin isn't what he's interested in, and he makes it very clear with the expecting look he gives her, so she goes again,tearing skin from muscle one piece as a time. He knows it must be painful, from the tears pouring from her eyes and how the exposed muscle throbs with its raw appearance, and yet the look of concentration on her face just pulls him in more, and yet it still just isn't enough, and finally that red disgusting throbbing bloody mess is pulled away to expose her shining ivory bones. He can't help but marvel in how gracefully they curve, the very core of her frame standing before him, she's completely bare with nothing left to expose, and that gorgeous pearly figure before him is only more defined by the red heart that's left behind those ribs, as it pulses and drips and beckons him with each flutter.

It glistens like a slimy rotting apple, and it couldn't be anything more since it belongs to her. But you know what they say, fruit is always the sweetest just before it goes bad, and it's too tempting for him to not take a bite. And he couldn't help but marvel at how warm it was, or the sudden chills dancing down his spine.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5264 Dec 28, 2012
So fair! By moonlight's radiance,
Your warm expanse of loving skin.
Such flesh! So exquisite,
To feast my lust upon thy riches.

I love the dewy midnight sheen,
That makes our bodies glow.
When wrapped inside each other's arms,
In joyful ecstasy.

I never thought but I should find
Such love as now I find:
The thrilling touch of tender care,
So deep and intimate.

And oft the throb of strong desire,
And to see it throb in you!
Oh! The joy to hold it all in balance,
And let it work it's will.

For hours in the night or day,
Whene'er the hunger strikes,
Helpless in the sea of love,
We yield ourselves to joy.

To joy, to lust, to anything,
To feel the sweetness of the soul,
That gives itself so readily to love;
That makes humans of us all.

The gentle curve of buttocks,
That lie soft beneath my hands.
That flex and move, in sympathy,
With the surge of my desire.

Each part of this moonlit body,
Is receptive to my touch.
This message, I send through every pore,
'I love you', with all my heart.

We kiss, we kiss, and oft we sigh,
And touch, and moan, and move.
This love making is special,
We play beyond the rules.

Our love making is harmony.
Perfection! Let it flow.
When the mood is strong we can do no wrong,
So ride our fate with grace.

It's to the muse of love I aim my art:
The respiration of my soul.
I long to touch my lover's body:
The instrument of my desire.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5266 Dec 28, 2012
Here is a parody on the excellent Dr Seuss' marvellous work: "Green Eggs and Ham".

That Mr Spock!
That Mr Spock!
I do not like that Mr Spock!

Do you like my throbbing co ck?

I do not like it Mr Spock.
I do not like your throbbing c ock.

Would you like it up your quim?

I would not like it up my quim.
I would not like it to the brim.
I do not like it Mr Spock.

I do not like your throbbing coc k.

Would you like to suck it hard?

I would not like to suck it hard.
I would not like it by the yard.
I would not like it up my quim.
I would not like it to the brim.
I do not like it Mr Spock.
I do not like your throbbing c ock.

Would you like it up your bum?

Would you like to make it c um?

Not up my bum.
Not to make c um.
Not to suck hard.
Not by the yard.
I would not like it up my quim.
I would not like it to the brim.
I do not like it Mr Spock.
I do not like your throbbing co ck.

Would you? Could you?

With you hand?

Pull it! Tug it!
Squeeze my gland!

I would not, could not, with my hand.
You may like it. You will own.
You may like it on the phone.
I would not, could not, on the phone.
Not with my hand! Leave me alone!
I would not like it up my bum.
I would not like to make it c um.
I would not like to suck it hard.
I would not like it by the yard.
I would not like it up my quim.
I would not like it to the brim.
I do not like it Mr Spock.
I do not like your throbbing co ck.

Perhaps you'd like to take a stroll.

Would you in a baby-doll?

Not like a doll! Not on the phone!
Not with my hand! Leave me alone!
I would not like it up my bum.
I would not like to make it c um.
I would not like to suck it hard.
I would not like it by the yard.
I would not like it up my quim.
I would not like it to the brim.
I do not like it Mr Spock.
I do not like your throbbing coc k.

Say! In the dungeon?

I could make you strip!

Would you, could you, with a whip?

I would not, could not, with a whip.

Would you, could you, play the moll?

I would not, could not, play the moll.
Not with a whip, or a baby-doll.
Not with my hand, not on the phone.
Why won't you just leave me alone?
Not up my bum. Not to suck hard.
Not to make cum. Not by the yard.
I do not want it up my quim.
I do not want it to the brim.
You do not like my throbbing c ock?
I do not like it Mr Spock.

Could you, would you, with some lube?

I would not, could not, with some lube!

Would you, could you, on your boob?

I could not, would not, on my boob.
I will not, will not, with some lube.
I will not play the horny moll,
I will not wear your baby-doll.
Not with a whip! Not on the phone!
Not with my hand! Leave me alone!
I do not want it up my bum.
I do not want to make it c um.
I do not want to suck it hard.
I do not want it by the yard.
I will not have it up my quim.
I would not like it to the brim.
I do not like your throbbing co ck.
I do not like it Mr Spock.

You do not like it. So you say.

Try it! Try it! And you may.

Try it and you may, I say.

All right!
If you will let me be,
I will try it.
You will see.

Hey!
I like your throbbing co ck!
I do! I like it, Mr Spock!
And I would like it with some lube.
And I would like it on my boob.
And I will play the horny moll.
And with a whip and baby-doll.
And with my hand and on the phone.
It is so good, so good, I own!
So I will have it up my bum.
And I would like it to make it c um.
And I will strive to suck it hard.
And I will take it by the yard.
And I will love it up my quim.
And I will love it to the brim.
I do so like your throbbing co ck.

Thank you! Thank you, Mr Spock!
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5267 Dec 28, 2012
I have of late, for reasons I shall explain, lost all my mirth,
Forgone all custom of optimism; and indeed, it goes so heavily in my prognosis
That this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a doomed promontory;
This most excellent canopy, the air, look you,
Once a brave o'erhanging firmament, a majestical roof fretted with golden fire,
Why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
What a piece of work is man!
How devoid of reason!
How limited in faculties!
In taste and wisdom, ignorant and infantile!
In action how like a bully!
In apprehension, how like a slug!
The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!
And yet to him what are they compared to hard cash?
Most humans delight not me; wrecking the planet for their short term gain,
And then smiling, as though 'twere not their fault.

NB:- Here is the original from Shakespeare, for all you pedants out there.

I have of late, but wherefore I know not,
lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises;
and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition
that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory;
this most excellent canopy, the air, look you,
this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire,
why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
What a piece of work is man!
How noble in reason!
how infinite in faculties!
in form and moving, how express and admirable!
in action how like an angel!
in apprehension, how like a god!
the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither,
though by your smiling you seem to say so.

Level 6

Since: Apr 12

Location hidden

#5270 Dec 30, 2012
Colorado Chick wrote:
<quoted text> Adrian..once more you have a captivated audience.. YOU are an asset to Topix..thank you..
How correctly you have summed up. Thank you.

Since: Dec 12

Location hidden

#5271 Dec 30, 2012
Original
CYP

Standing here before you in all my nakedness my lover

Without shame or blush

I offer up my swollen breasts and the heat of my womanhood

Treat me not the missionary

Scoop me up in your arms and throw me to the bed

Give to me your animalistic energy and I will give you mine

May your teeth break my soft delicate skin while my nails mark your body

Bury your face in my Tulip

As I Moan in my raspy voice do not stop

Until I feel the throbbing

There between my legs

The waves coming over me

Again

And

Again

Until I have released my sweet passion

Straddle yourself over me my love

So that I may kiss you passionately and with wild abandonment

Run my hands across your chest and then your abdomen

Searching madly for your manhood

I find it

Warm

Stiff

Erect

In your playful aggression

Throw me a top you

So I may see your face

Looking into your eyes as you penetrate my womanhood

Still wet and silken

Your fingers closed around my wrists

We begin our rhythmic dance

Giving rise to the urges of our primal needs

Again

And

Again

Dare I say scopare me now

As my lips explore yours

Biting softly then just a bit harder

Movements in unison

Breathe hot and wet

My womanhood screaming

For more

More I say

Screaming all the while scopare me now

Now

I Say

Now

Then I am utterly breathless

Your manhood throbbing

Your seed bursting forth

As I soak you in my sweet passion
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5273 Dec 30, 2012
I love incorrectly.

There is a solemnity in hands,
the way a palm will curve in
accordance to a contour of skin,
the way it will release a story.

This should be the pilgrimage.
The touching of a source.
This is what sanctifies.

This pleading. This mercy.
I want to be a pilgrim to everyone,
close to the inaccuracies, the astringent
dislikes, the wayward peace, the private
words. I want to be close to the telling.
I want to feel everyone whisper.

After the blossoming I hang.
The encyclical that has come
through the branches
instructs us to root, to become
the design encapsulated within.

Flesh helping stone turn tree.

I do not want to hold life
at my extremities, see it prepare
itself for my own perpetuation.
I want to touch and be touched
by things similar in this world.

I want to know a few secular days
of perfection. Late in this one great season
the diffused morning light
hides the horizon of sea. Everything
the color of slate, a soft tablet
to press a philosophy to.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5274 Dec 30, 2012
Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
and dress them in warm clothes again.
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
until they forget that they are horses.
Itís not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
itís more like a song on a radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
to slice into pieces.
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means itís noon, that means
weíre inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me weíll never get used to it.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5275 Dec 30, 2012
I love your nakedness

because naked you absorb me with your pores
like the water when I sink between its walls.

Your nakedness destroys limits with its heat,
it opens every entrance so that I may know you
it takes me by hand like a lost child
who in you lets his age and his questions come to rest.

I breathe your skin and absorb it, salty and sweet,
until it becomes my universe, credo that feeds me,
the aromatic lamp I raised blinded
when my desires bark at me in the dark

When you strip for me with your eyes closed
you fit into a glass that rests on my tongue,
you fit into my hands like bread Iím hungry for,
you fit beneath my body more exactly than its shadow.

The day you die I will bury you naked
so that your entrance into the earth may be clean,
so I miss kiss your skin on the roads
and braid your loose hair in every river.

The day you die Iíll bury you naked
just as you were born again between my thighs.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5276 Dec 30, 2012
There are so many things Iím not allowed to tell you.
I touch myself, I dream.
Wearing little clothing or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretending
that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands,
these shins, these soapy flanks.....

The musicians start the overture while I hide behind the microphone,
trying to match the dubbing
to the big lips shining down from the screen.
Weíre filming the movie called Planet of Love-
thereís sex of course, and ballroom dancing,
fancy clothes and waterlilies in the pond, and half the night youíre
dependable, mounting the stairs in lamplight to the bath, but then
the too white teeth all night,
all over the darkening sky, too much to bear, this constant fingering,
your hands a river gesture, the birds in flight, the birds still singing
outside the greasy window, in the trees.

Thereís a part in the movie
where you can see right through the acting,
where you can tell that Iím about to burst into tears,
right before I burst into tears
and flee to the slimy moonlit riverbed
canopied with devastated clouds.

Weíre shouting the scene where
I swallow your heart and you make me
spit it up again. I swallow your heart and it crawls
right out of my mouth.
You swallow my heart and flee, but I want it back now, baby. I want it back.

Lying on the sofa with my eyes closed, I didnít want to see it this way,
everything eating everything in the end.
We know how the light works,
we know where the sound is coming from.

Verse. Chorus. Verse.......

Iím sorry. We know how it works.

The world is no longer mysterious.

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