The sheets.
Underneath, us.
In darkness, face-blind,
skin breathing on heated skin,
limbs arguing.
Listening to our hearts calling each other
from lonely chambers
– that joyous, beating echo
that keeps me alive
in this safe place. You, here
between
the sheets
The sheets.
Underneath, us.
In darkness, face-blind,
skin breathing on heated skin,
limbs arguing.
Listening to our hearts calling each other
from lonely chambers
– that joyous, beating echo
that keeps me alive
in this safe place. You, here
between
the sheets
I'm telling you, you could write a shopping list and I'd swoon. 'Limbs arguing'. How bloody wonderful
Across my path last night you flew:
A cocksure, giggling, half-drunk mess
The smokescreen of a hidden you,
unstable in your awkwardness
I grimaced as you spilled your drink –
and played the slack-jawed sort of bloke
Who likes to say, but never thinks
and jabs his way through punchless jokes
I know your sort; perhaps that’s why
I’ve stuck to bookish types who read
– No. I mean that’s what I’ve tried,
but never managed to succeed.
The ones I go for wear a love
of arcane writers on their sleeve.
I'm sure we’ll fit like hand in glove.
We never do. I always leave.
The trouble is, to those who deal
in ordered words and pretty prose,
the everyday can seem unreal
– a blurry world beyond their nose.
Potential swims against the fact:
the promise of a well-read man
(no matter how that still attracts)
rarely goes the way I plan.
What virtue would I stand to lose
to value men as I do books?
Not be so shallow as to choose
them by their cover – or their looks?
Everybody looks to hide
our worst from others. It’s because
we can’t risk showing what’s inside:
the most repugnant of our flaws.
I might as well give you a chance
as drunkards might as well with me;
the gamble of a mating dance
where no-one’s as they seem to be
So send your beer-stained look my way
and watch me primly waiting here,
crafting something smart to say
to rid myself of sober fear.
I’ll fight the urge in me to ask
you as you greet me with a grin:
‘What lies behind your lager mask –
does something graceful live within?’
Who cares? Come here and kiss my lips.
Seduce me with a dirty offer.
Lick my neck and grab my hips
– then tell me of your favourite author.
I’m thinking of last night and this
in particular: that kiss
under thread-swinging mistletoe
just after you were the last to say you had to go.
Our lips touched and held
a second too long, I felt. Lips unpursed I could tell
this meant more. I drowned in the smell
of your mulled breath and the wet taste
of sugar-sweet on your lips. Haste
forgotten in the perfume of that embrace.
It hurts the day after. Where do we go from here
if anywhere at all? It’s less clear
if you felt the same thrill
I did when my tongue touched yours; or if you still
will soldier on as that sympathetic friend.
Too late now, in one sense. You’ve gone away, to spend
the holiday at home. But will you send
some sort of sign? Let me know
where I stand? As for last night, all I have to show
for it is the raw, primal torture of a day spent aglow.
While Miles was kissing Annabelle on the back of her neck and
placed his hands on the one pair of breasts that were so very grand,
she grabbed his crotch, looked at his sister Nikki with a big smile
and said, "I know what we should be doing but now... for a while...
we should help your brother enjoy his Christmas gift.", before all
three of them allowed themselves to take their clothes off and... then... fall
down to the floor in order for Annabelle to cup each ball
and suck his hard dick before the one who became 'The Cleveland
Hottie' had let her brother help her keep that one title
by sucking her pussy and have his cock at her beck and call.
It was after I stripped off her
clothes that I had put my finger
inside her mouth and watched her suck
on it while her best friend had bound
her wrists to the bed frame with round
handcuffs and waited for a truck
sized pussy fucking like the one
I was doing and almost done
with which made me proud of that luck.
I’m thinking of last night and this
in particular: that kiss
under thread-swinging mistletoe
just after you were the last to say you had to go.
Our lips touched and held
a second too long, I felt. Lips unpursed I could tell
this meant more. I drowned in the smell
of your mulled breath and the wet taste
of sugar-sweet on your lips. Haste
forgotten in the perfume of that embrace.
It hurts the day after. Where do we go from here
if anywhere at all? It’s less clear
if you felt the same thrill
I did when my tongue touched yours; or if you still
will soldier on as that sympathetic friend.
Too late now, in one sense. You’ve gone away, to spend
the holiday at home. But will you send
some sort of sign? Let me know
where I stand? As for last night, all I have to show
for it is the raw, primal torture of a day spent aglow.
It just shows how much I've been away, that I've only just realised that one of my favourite poems is here again. Not just favourite Lush poems, but favourite anywhere.
22 February 2024 - How about a quick plug for one of my filthiest recent stories? It's all in the title - Naked Pool Party Swingers | Lush Stories Please read, comment and maybe give it a ❤️ - or even a⭐ if you really enjoy it! Thank you! Annie xxx
The chance to slowly walk with you somewhere,
To sit with you and smoke and drink some wine,
To dance, my hand in yours and yours in mine -
I’ve dreamed so long that now I hardly dare
To know you. Still I wonder if you’d care
For this, my dream of us, my dream of ours.
Let me show you life in a handful of hours.
I would give you here in a room full of there.
I’d button up your coat, carress your hair,
Gently move my hand, faintly trace a line
Across your cheek. I’d need all my powers
To resist from kissing you. And laid bare
I’d be, when you kiss me - a kiss so fine
It leaves me with a taste that never sours.
In my nightly sojourns with the pen
the ghosts bring me no follies
for they fast in shallow graves
with withering flesh as my ink sins
like hemlock ambrosia
As my yard-arms like tentacles bring
thighs from my mind's nave
mounting my joust in heat waves
suspended by lust
and Jiminy smitten
Bringing scare from my chair
and my motley shrew
as the dusk succumbs to my cock
drooling with caulk from my stalk
with lips basking in the dark
So come to me with the homily
and shedding your nun's wimple
with withering flesh as my ink sins
crying me no tears
as I bend your knees
Quote by Adagio That should have been posted, Larry.
Thank you for saying that, Al. I'm pleased that you liked it. In reality it was posted here on Lush on 8 January, 2018. It was nice of you to suggest that, Al.
The night is where I wish to be for dark is my destiny
dressed in raven wings no more fears to breathe
from my eternal eyes for they have slept
grain fed by age crowing the clock
with no shivers in my bed to rock
bending my elbow with rum
But loneliness is as dark of a hollowed out shoe
like a blood red tattoo with fingers tapping
around my starched raised collar
with thorns calling and valentines dripping
memories we shared of an owl's tu-whit tu-whoo
sinking into my obscurity behind lids of cataracts
Of dark's chocolate and sins of caffeine
and the ghost of screams climbing walls of my theme
with words of everlasting stirring a demitasse
pulling at the strings of my tongue's Listerine
bittersweet and obscene like a marionette with tears
in shadows, to thee, I sing
No more tears to shed on these pale walls
as I feel your breath giving me head
kneeling on knees returning to me in dreams
on the nape of my being playing my cock's Calliope
as the tempest flees beyond the freize
of my minds philosophy
In the darkness of my demons of Coventry's rule
and toadstools with jester caps singing
love is not all craven but like a blood red tattoo
hedge-hopping weeds crossing the moats
of winged dryads in the trees
and running of the sap
At midnight with desire, it brings
suckling your breasts with lips I sing
as I lust inviting your touch
stroking my cock with a splintered strum
for the night is my eternity
in my house of petrified wood
Kissing your mound of felted fluff
among the spines of yellowed tomes
in spite of the book worms worn
no more ashes to burn
in the rafters of tu-whit tu-whoo
touching the moon with a ladder's rung
Embracing the coffers of your cunt
as my tongue licks your clit's inquiry
with a whisper of my cock's brew
playing my cards with a full house
and decked out in my walking suit
as I trump the joker
But the love we embrace on the mirror's pane
as a friar's lantern calls the charcoal's black
saying grace as the owls tu-whit tu-whoo
before the cuckoo tolls the dawn
like a blood red tattoo
shedding it's leaves
In a covenant of soul's in the blue bayou
scratching the zydeco before it goes cold
arousing my shadow before the day spawns
dressed in raven wings no more fears to breathe
before my mind begins to weave
on the ides of fifteen
For my dearest friend who is always there for me,
I am very thankful to call you my friend
He is Peter Pan, visiting at night.
Generously sharing magical time,
Smiles with his beautiful stories,
Laughter with his naughty poems,
Tears with his soulful sonnets.
He is a multi-talented artist.
Gifted in his own chosen craft,
His powerful voice for singing,
His talented feet for dancing,
His acting prowess on stage
He is intellectual, sweet and
Kind, taking me to Neverland,
Letting me escape my nightly
Battle with migraine attacks
And when insomnia strikes.
A generous mentor, he said to
Be as nasty as fearless with
My poetry and story writings.
I'm proud to say he is my friend.
This was a poem that I wrote for Rune.
She gave me the words and asked me to create a sonnet.
I think we both thought it turned out rather well.
Meg's Sonnet
The lovely sunrise each and every day
The chirping birds that sing without a care
The echoed laughs of children as they play
The whispered words of lovers as they share
The flowers grazing by our fingertips
The bees that sip the dew without a fuss
The wind caressing both our skin and lips
Dramatic sunsets calling out to us
A poem of love that trips upon the tongue
Baroque adagios that two lovers weave
And loving lyrics begging to be sung
To feel this love is all we need achieve
The sounds of nature play a symphony
We join our lives in blissful symmetry
Quote by Green_Man This was a poem that I wrote for Rune.
She gave me the words and asked me to create a sonnet.
I think we both thought it turned out rather well.
Meg's Sonnet
The lovely sunrise each and every day
The chirping birds that sing without a care
The echoed laughs of children as they play
The whispered words of lovers as they share
The flowers grazing by our fingertips
The bees that sip the dew without a fuss
The wind caressing both our skin and lips
Dramatic sunsets calling out to us
A poem of love that trips upon the tongue
Baroque adagios that two lovers weave
And loving lyrics begging to be sung
To feel this love is all we need achieve
The sounds of nature play a symphony
We join our lives in blissful symmetry
Thank you so much, Larry for writing this beautiful sonnet. hugs
I crawl out of bed at 6:45,
Gritty eyed - half alive.
A nut case raves on the radio,
I breathe in deep my own B.O.
The door slams to with a crashing roar.
I'm off to bastard work once more.
I crawl out of bed at 6:45,
Gritty eyed - half alive.
A nut case raves on the radio,
I breathe in deep my own B.O.
The door slams to with a crashing roar.
I'm off to bastard work once more.
Soft drops of rain on my windowsill
a million miles a million words run through my head
lost in a thought of forgotten sorrow
Forgotten memories of no tomorrow
I lay awake inside my bed with soft spoken words that she once said
My eyes are heavy My heart is sinking what must i be thinking
Under the sun and into the stars
I stare at the midnight sky
I hear thunder then rain bouncing off the street
I look for that place that i can retreat
not to think of anything at all
close my eyes and dream and not think just do it all
all alone and inside my head
It must of been something!
to make me feel this way