Erotica
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How does one outliveA thousand-and-one heartfelt gestures?With a heart full of fear,I beckon you to hearHow I shower the walls with my tears. How would one burn throughThe ceiling of Hell?Beauty recedes with your eyesBack to memories inside your mind.Like silver tides, your tears are swallowedBy golden sands,And feral hands. Another penetration is neededThis time,
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She has controlled her beauty with evenness. Symmetry within every detail, and symmetry, especially among her smile. I have asked myself a question, if love would be the thing to hold her hand, or perhaps I have, as a flawed man, all the while. I speak these words to resonate myself with guilt. It is
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There is much to adore of a form so raw with flesh. She shows bravery by walking to a place where she may admire her form. As I peer through this window to see her, I may watch the breasts move upwards, as she steers such a form. I may see her cheeks with redness
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Your growing fragrance,Matches this room and its aromatic candles.And I have found it upon myselfWith my hands to claw at the flesh of thee,To tear and yank the burden of attire I see,To match the nakedness to the maker of me,Who is a demon that I cannot let flee.You have sweat glistening upon an arm,And
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I saw beneath lashes, masked by shadow,The beauty, of unfathomable lust,She drew a finger, in my direction,So that I’d lay, beneath ivory flesh. Never was there, an emotion so exquisite!As the one laid, upon my heart,Enough, so that she cared, to comfort,Its undying beat. She drew across, three fingers, to her bosom,So that three orbs,
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Q: As for your belief in a woman’s way to make herself attractive, are you able to explain why you believe it is always necessary? A: Attraction is like butter, when melted, not frozen, and the connection of love and devotion will make a man melt into a woman’s attractive appearance. Should a woman be
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Yearnful heart, with sickness amassed, I am the beggar, of all desires, So that I may lift, the veil, That shrouds, your shoulders. I see Heaven, placed upon, your mantle, I see Hell, swirling, in your bosom, I see breasts, that swell, like beaten limbs, I see, that compassion, has died. A tear falls, from
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Oh, beauty! Taken beneath, bed sheets,Disrobed of tattered veil, and dewy flesh. You were made holy, upon death’s ground,Made for, the chambers of kings. Softness is, concurrent, to your realm,That which I pull myself, down to enter. Disease made ready, on my pillow,Kisses made plenty, among all sorrow. Of futile gestures, and strangeness, in sighs,I
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Don’t die, for the lingering sigh, In harmony, of shadows old. As I saw your face, of white, With folds, of skin, among iron, Death had painted Hell, on a frown, For my nose, to cling, to its scent. What would Heaven offer, if Death denied her form? God, who stalks the bramble, of empty
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Never let, Heaven hear, The great mockery, of my fruit, I was thoughtless, yet here you are, To bare the nakedness, of my suit. The reckless approach, to danger, My uncertainties, begone! Never broken, never saved. Never, but beloved, to the brave. You wilted, as to my own, Brethren, of my hope, Abandoned, with my
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Stillness evokes, the bitter strife, Winter trees, tore off this life. Lisette wore a mask, to conceal, The terrors of love, to reveal. She echoed a panic, of pain, Within forests bleak, by shame. I wandered, the terrible night, Exploring Lisette, in bitter blight. Some tune rung, from the trees, Receiving, my crying pleas. I
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You were the woman, who awoke, among strangeness,Death, had divided your territory; life, had conquered you.Beauty nestled itself, in the fragrance, of your neck,Love crept upwards, to your lips, and laid kisses, deep. In the strangeness, of my strength,That which, would not wane,All beauty, I tore, with bare hands,Blood rose, to meet, my nostrils,An enemy,
Modern Romanticism 