So, which dreams wrap me in arms
in hours of the longsome night?
What phantoms share their charms
before intrusive morning light?
I am intertwined, mixed with arms
and legs imitating an in-ring fight.
The facade of a battle movements made,
the sword inserted to the sheath,
the polishing of that sharpened blade,
with upheavals above and beneath.
And then the O of the o' so sweet death
from maneuvering in an out, in an out
with our each and every breath.
Then rises my poor member
with each fevered naughty ghost
that haunts the pleasures I remember,
the ones that still touch me most.
It warms the nether of this old man
from the first one to my last
from pale ones to the tan,
the seasonings from my past.
-
Author:
JDB (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 12th, 2025 17:12
- Comment from author about the poem: Night dreams of encounters past.
- Category: Erotic
- Views: 16
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments3
memories of the past are seasoning to life a great metaphor. Very nice Thoughtless
Yes. I agree.
Reflecting back on the good and bad, a well written piece, enjoyed the read
Reflection is confiding in one's own self.
And trusting, enjoy the rest of your day
Fascinating. As if taking the reader along in your nightly excursions in the vaporous world of dreams, how beautifully rendered this is, excellent imagery tricking out the adventure with a fitly haunting poignancy. Thank you for sharing.
You are welcome for the kind words. Thank you for your kind comments.
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