your lips

Somewhere between your lips and my thighs there

Are moan-soaked sighs; there are white knuckles and

Clenched-tight eyes. There is your name, darting out

Between my lips, while you lull between my hips, and

There are my fingers, curled into the back of your

Hair, as I pull you in closer and whisper, ‘Right there’.

i'm doing it right

When you have your eyes closed, and you’re taking

Deep breaths in through your nose because your

Mouth is busy trying not to groan. Whether you

Realise it or not, my name escapes on board a

Moan. When I press a little harder, to perfect the

Knack, and from beneath me I feel you arch

Your back; gaining a grip I grab onto your hips,

And look up in time to see your teeth sink into

Your lip, I can see you’re stifling another cry.

Bravely I find myself moving lower, and my

Quick-flick technique morphs into something

Much slower. ‘Is this okay?’ I ask. ‘Baby, you

Can keep going all night.’

And that’s when I know I’m doing it right.

in bed

We’re in bed, and neither of us are willing to acknowledge
The world outside; under these covers we’ll hide, wrapped
Up in each other. We’ve blurred the lines between soul
Mates and friends; so close, I’m unsure of where your skin
Starts, and mine ends, exploring the land of a new lover.
There is a quiver, a pleasurable shiver that creeps down
My spine, as you tease me with your fingertips, taking
Your time. ‘I love you’ dribbles from your lips into my ear,
As you pull me near and hold me tight; the sun kisses the
World goodnight and here we are, in bed. Neither of us
Are willing to acknowledge the world outside, under these
Covers we’ll hide. Where better to lose a day?

she

I take quite a delight in writing poems about the anonymous ‘she’
While people read on, wondering who this ‘she’ could be. Allow me
To pause from a moment and reflect, so that I may project an accurate
Image of the beauty that inspires me. She, is the air to my fire; she
Surrounds me and inevitably my flames flutter higher and yes, that is
A metaphor for passion. She, is my bump in the night; she both
Stimulates and excites and I wonder, what will happen next? She, is
My favourite chocolate after a particularly bad period pain; I will
Devour her, again and again. She, is the reason behind the words;
The ones on this page and the ones that still haven’t been heard.
She, needs no name, she is merely the she that I write of, right now,
And will undoubtedly write of again.

blurred vision

There is either marijuana in the air, or behind my eyes;

The fog protects me from your lies and I fall, willingly,

Into a lull. My mind is full. Devouring every thought

That I’ve had since I met you; with one prevailing

Theme, imbedded within the never-ending queries.

Why can’t I forget you?

danger moon

The moonlight shows us for what we really are,

She said. I didn’t quite understand what she had

Said until she unexpectedly shifted my hand to

Her head and cradled her face in my palm. There

Was a calm. Bathed beneath an off-white moon

I began to swoon; enthralled by the woman who

Knew nothing of me, but simultaneously, knew

Everything. On her finger there was a ring, a

Dead-ringer for a wedding band. I don’t think I

Quite understand, I began to say, before her lips

Slapped mine and sucked my words away. How

Depressing, to see a writer with no words.

Potentially all I have to offer today.