A slow burn,
the way he wants me -
on my knees, on my back.
His eyes sharpen when he hears please.
A slow burn,
the measured weight of his words
Tell me how you want this.
My skin grows hot when I hear mine.
I only exist in this space
between his desire and his restraint.
I am coveted,
And I am bound.
Half close eyes, watching the darkness,
a faint lighter click.
I feel heat,
And I am ignited.
I imagine the ember of his cigarette
He draws in the smoke.
I am the cherry,
And I am burned.
-
Author:
N. Christine (
Offline) - Published: January 8th, 2026 18:31
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell
Offline)
Comments2
Sensual, sexual, seductive, passionate, desirous, an overwhelming flow of hormonic energy. Nicely stated
Remember, smoking can damage your health and eventually kill you.
Sex on the hand, well, what a way to go.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.