Something For Ygritte

In obeisance

Head raised



Through the lungs


From the pulse




Across parted lips


In reverence of

The beauty

Spread before him

For the first time


For the first time



Her head

Thrown back

Mouth agape


His name

In rapture



The Lord’s Kiss


A 55 word poem for dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Form For All: Fifty-Five Shades of Grey

Losing Score

Smoke filled rooms stage the plays
Gyrating bodies form a human maze
The next face may be for always
Looking for true love through the haze

Words barley audible through the din
As if what’s wanted is conversation
And if it doesn’t work tonight, tomorrow try again
It doesn’t take much persuasion

Another night of pretext, a major pretension
A small piece of latex, the true intention

Variations on a theme standing still
The titles change, the players remains
Clubhouse, disco, honky talk, bar & grill
And the morning’s desperation of remembering names

Another night, another chance to explore
Last night found what you were looking for
Hung out, now hung over the cool white throne
This morning finds you still all alone

Smelling of cheap everything, feeling cheaper all the more
Playing a game, that guarantees a losing score


dVerse ~ Poets Pub |  OpenLinkNight Week: 125

Poor Man



Poor is an image I find difficult to afford
Man as the tool to my gain is in constant accord

I can only imagine it – and it’s mine ’till he sighs
Have not met a sugar who didn’t want these thighs
To decorate his hungry lap with something fresh
Tell him I’m a mistake? – I did, I really tried but
You can’t reseal the lid on a busted nut

He took a gamble on the liquid swing of my hips
Never fearful of the snug feel of my lips
Knew he could last longer than always
What has he known? On that subject I’ve got it sewn!
Hit it like an olden broken record pumped straight through
Him everywhere – yeah – my ample tool struck true

But my mantle? Starting anew after I take and take
I am not good at what I do – I’m better
Did I not try to tell him I was a mistake?


A little Word Acrostic tempted me…

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics : It’s Tempting!

Come my Maestro

Come my Maestro

It is time
For an interlude

Play me

Tinkle the lines of my throat
The soft, ripe, plush
Of my mouth
Like the keys of a piano

Strike a chord within me
And make me feel

Your strong fingers caress
Along the curve of my hips
as I arch,
And give myself in
to your manipulations


Like a fine instrument
Knowing just when to pluck
My strings

You create within me
A perfect concerto
Reaching crescendo
With your ravenous lips
Upon mine

We rise and fall
In rhythm
To the movements
Of your baton
Until the final note
Dies away
Deep within

And after this most brief

I dare say
It is worth the time
For an encore

Ce n’est pas?


dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 94

Le Petite Mort

You take me
With skill,
With strength
With the power of lust

Knowing what you want
And how to get it

To feel the power of your body
Against mine

Head thrown back, body arched
I feel your warm breath
Against my thighs

Just before your lips
Reach the ridge of mine
I watched you
gently blow
Like a too hot cup of coffee

Your hot breath sliding over me
Feeling like soft silk exposed
Making my body respond with abandon

I sense nothing
But you and the promise
Of your body to mine, taunting me
To think of nothing but

The moment

The moment when my body meets yours
In a crashing wave of exquisite pleasure

The kind that rips
The satiated breath from our chests
Sweet reminders
Of all that was said and done

Making us feel so alive
We could die

Le Petite Mort



dVerse ~ Poets Pub : OpenLinkNight Week 74


Triple A…

Some say I’m a nympho
And that’s quite all right.
And hell yes! I do love it so!
But only one fills me with delight

He calls me his Triple A Pet
Anytime, anything, anyplace I can get


Soft as the murmuring breeze of a new day’s dawn
When the evening sun is about to set
An afternoon thunder shower should the mood spawn
Or perhaps during a midnight buffet


Going out commando on a dare
With nothing over my shape but a very short coat
Then sitting open in a park getting air
While he presses buttons on that special remote


Members of several airport’s Mile High
In the nose-bleeds, for a Knicks game at MSG
The feast at The Great Wall still bring me sighs
The weekend in the brink for the stunt at Wrigley

And I know it’s just not my predilection
Anytime – Anything – Anyplace
For he suffers from the same affliction

In limos, in cars, in buses, in trains
In a taxi during rush hour, against the door
I think we’ve hit every state except Maine
In a hotel picture window on the second floor


Swinging wildly with our motion
Re-enacting the latest porn
At Macy’s taste-testing lotion
And yes, that cob of corn


The times the reason how they vary
It’s not for food when we go for brunch
One crooks finger the other doesn’t tarry
At my office 3pm, because I needed to munch


Anytime, anything, anyplace that he can
I call him my Triple A Man

Manual, anal, oral, it doesn’t end
With but a moment’s loaf until recur
To each me he’s the perfect godsend
That doesn’t mind if you call him a satyr


Hyde Park Thursday Poets Rally Week 73 (September 20 – September 26, 2012)

Long Fallen

Painting of street worker

It’s Autumn, where the verdant leaves turns gold,
And goldenrod leaves quickly become old
And those old leaves soon become just like me
Something broken and crushed, something empty
Long fallen from the grace it used to be

Hard to believe, less than eight years ago,
I think eight, I’m not sure, the years blend so
My employer came to me one down time
And said I wasn’t pulling in the dimes
I’m a utensil that was past my prime

That as such made me particular waste
And was let go from employ with due haste
Youth started its slide from my once young face
I knew the rules, there was no pleading case
No chance of rescue in this youth built place

I started at fifteen, oh such a knave
But had a knack for knowing clients’ craves
I worked there before I had license to
Attained status, before my year was through
This job was all I ever knew to do

The cache of being ‘personal escort’
I never knew a life without support
That cache provided me some global treks
Spinning clients through my erotic hex
And I won’t lie; I damn sure loved the sex

I joked this job was custom made for me
Their faces at the point of ecstasy
And as conversant in Sun Tzu as Mr. Magoo
My clients soon found out I had smarts too
And for the price, little I would not do

Out lasted many who’ve come through the door
Damn lucky to be there at fifty-four
But like my concaved waist, it couldn’t last
My job choices were very far from vast
Don’t have much future because of my past

I’m offered some dinky job on the side
But I still had a little too much pride
To be a has-been hanging on the scene
I remember how I treated has-beens mean
When I once ruled the roost as its main queen

I’m treated like someone they’ve never known
When I tried to hold some clients on my own
With individual contact of each
A beat down was the last lesson left to teach
That everything I had was out of reach

I’ve gone from elite, to stripper, to street
Where I fidget on very tired feet
Jumping from each nameless and faceless mate
Wondering just which day will seal my fate
The seasons are my only notes of date

And it’s Autumn again the leaves turn gold,
Slowly turning other colors they grow old
Long fallen from the place they used to be
What time has washed away past their glory
And then die, a cruel metaphor of me


dVerse Poets Pub ~ Poetics: Autumn Chill is in the Air


Anything goes

That was his deeply growled whisper
As she, hungrily cupped the sides of his face,
Kissing him roughly, deeply with need
Her mouth singed with the heat of his passion
A smoldering inferno that pulsates
With each extended digit
That careens into her

She lines kisses down him neck
As he nibbles the base of her throat
Goose bumps trail down her arm
She anchors him against the wall
Undressing the rest of him
Hot candle wax drizzles down the center of his chest
She tracing her fingers through it, marking her name upon him
Hearing his breath tremble inside his chest
as he expels throaty moans

Pulling back, her husky breath pants in his ear
The scent of his cologne floats in the air
His lids droop with pleasure
As she teasingly barbers him with her gentle grazing
Around the ring of his empire
The tastes and smells of him whirl through her
Driving her even wilder

Drawing his mouth to every part of her body
She runs ruby red nails along his spine
Her vision grows hazy and she starts to sway
As he pays particular interest in lip service
to chiming the tiny bell that hangs
Just inside the arch
She tries to breathe him in-side her

She feels his arms grip her tightly
as heat pours out of him
Her craving still unsatisfied
Anything goes, came and went
The promise of satisfaction unfulfilled

Still she moans the words
He doesn’t want to hear
And insists he takes what he has earned

But he knows…

He guiltily leaves his unearned fee
On the dresser by the door
That has barely closed behind him
When he hears the battery-operated hum


dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 54

In The Hands

Cloth girds his eyes in loose blindfold
He lays there and conforms as told
To move now would court disaster
He’s in the hand of the master

A maze is stroked across his skin
He holds the urge to gasp within
Warm oils offer scents of aster
He’s in the hand of the master

He seams the pleasure with the pain
The odd brew comfort it contains
One moment slow, the next faster
He’s in the hand of the master

Bordered on pleasure’s dive he moans
And lets escape a fizzled groan
Flesh yields like sinner to pastor
He’s in the hand of the master

A subtle tap sends the message
His hour’s up for this massage
His twinkled grin is now plastered
He’s in the hand of the master

Sore muscles tamed by fingers meek
Sets his appointment for next week
A magic touch like spell casters
He’s in the hand of the master


And today’s form? Kyrielle

The French kyrielle is composed entirely of quatrains (a quatrain is any stanza with four lines). There is no set number of stanzas, although generally a kyrielle contains three or more. The rhyme scheme is up to the poet (aabb ccbb ddbb etc. is frequently used), but it must be the same for all stanzas. Also, the last line of all stanzas is the same. Kyrielles generally have eight syllables per line, although this is not a requirement.

Other rhyme schemes for the quatrain could be abaB, cbcB, dbdB, etc… or abbA, accA, addA, etc.. As long as the each quatrain uses the same rhyme scheme, the choice is yours.

dVerse Poets | OpenLinkNight – Week 44

This Night

My lips curve in my most seductive smile
I’m humming a self-made tune for a while
Crowned dominant by day, but this night I switch
Renewal of a role-play to scratch a different itch
No, this time I don’t command, I only obey
And I enjoy immensely, this role I play

Suspended cuffs at my wrists just a little tight
Gleaming in glare of the camera light
Painted on latex is my only form of dress
And it’s peeled with delighted foolishness
I’m wanton in this peeling and if you think jest
It’s not the cold that peaks me to that I can attest

This night is mine, and it’s only just begun
To redefine the meaning of having fun

This is my desire, being chained and seen
By those with the tastes and the mean
To explore the uniqueness I offer them
Surrounded by all the tools of my BDSM
Like the tense chains holding me in thrall
Upon the spreader bars exposing all

Except for the mask covering most of my face
Only my scarlet lips left in the open space
For the gear covers my ears and my hair
A way to see me, yet ignore I’m there
Even my eyes are covered, I’m denied sight
I’m just a nameless, faceless fuck tonight

This night is mine, all inhibitions strewn
I’m living on the dark side of the moon

My Master’s voice calls out loud to the voyeurs
“She’s your toy ladies and gents – go enjoy her”
It wasn’t in the script, but I’m happy to comply
Feeling the first brave soul pinch me hard inside my thigh
“That’s all you’ve got?” I ask with a mocking pout
Laughter follows, they’re amateurs I have no doubt

But I should have known better than to speak
A mirth removing slap reminding to play meek
Stroking, pinching, hair pulling and bites
Each squeeze is one more unimaginable delight
Soon it’s a blend of sensations all over me
One into another in a sexual cacophony

This night is mine, and no one hesitates
I’m a bell to be rung, they hear me resonate

The endorphins pump in doing their trick
The pain to pleasure ratio getting an extra kick
I enjoy its feel; the sting brings such pleasure,
I enjoy pain in ways others cannot measure
I respond to its voice, the flogger’s sweet song
Both supple and fluid yet biting and strong

Leather against my skin, all is just right
I can tell my “Master” is enjoying my plight
He taunts – teases drawing it across me slow
Or swings wildly in maddening staccato
And he knows me well, reads me like a story
Giving me all but stopping just shy of glory

This night is mine and I know it’s almost the final act
His gentle tug on swollen lips confirms that fact

But as an I act, I milk it for all its worth
Of visual stimuli there is no dearth
Yes, I’m a shock to those newly initiated
But no denying hours later that I’m satiated
And with his only kiss as cool as you all please
Brings me the glory that finally weakens my knees

“And so it must end!” he yells to all
My head snaps back at the sudden call
There is no acting the surprise on my face
At the reality of what was next to take place
The unwritten final act – he removes the blindfold
And the sad look in his eyes is the last thing I behold

This night was mine, to be set fully free
A gun to my head makes a snuff film of me


Thursday Poets Rally Week 67 (May 3-9, 2012)