BEDDED, BLESSED AND BARED. Story of sorts, by Louis Hemmings

BEDDED, BLESSED AND BARED

 

 

Plump and pretty, crowned with surprise; beautiful your buttons, delightfully they rise, gravity un-defied, our bodies slightly battered, tired limbs entangled, hearts somewhat tattered. Fumbling blind in your hinge-opened thighs, slow foraging fingers, sleep-sensual eyes; purse-clasp open, pressed pussy-willow tip: rhythmic spasms whip your shapely hips.

My crooked warm wonder shows little indecision, bare bishop-head smooth, piston-like precision, sunken to hilt, my sword sinks to inner core, ecstatic neurons sing but tendons slightly sore. Silent bodies bump, deep in understanding, mutual submission, romantic that *commanding, long covenanted couple, deep our strong roots, bedded, blessed and bared, sweet shared fruit.

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Pain. ‘Bliss, Kiss, Pain’.  A poem written by Edward Meltzer.

Bliss, Kiss, Pain.

Alone together,
In my hole of a flat.
In the land of never,
On our cloud we sat.
Laughing and clutching with our bodies and minds,
Falling and falling,
Completely entwined.
We both called this bliss,
But it was fucked with a kiss.

A moment of lust,
That replaced the fuzz.
Laughter turned to silence,
And although it was silence it screamed out in pain.

I didn’t understand,
You still clutched my hand,
But it was no longer for love,
It was simply because you didn’t know what else to do.

We were still alone.
Sat on the same bed.
Still in the hole I call home.
But our cloud had turned to lead.
And we were now falling and falling,
Not for eachother but back into reality.
And when those tears started rolling,
I was hit by that gravity.
For one night I felt I had you as my girl,
But in the same night, I lost you back into the real world.

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Ache. A sensitive poem by Erin Alexandra.
  • INSIDE ME THERE IS A DULL ACHE

    EVERYDAY IT’S THERE

    REMINDING ME OF EMOTIONAL WARFARE

    SO RELENTLESS IS THIS ACHE,

    SWELLING, RISING BUT

    NEVER EBBING.

    ITS HARD TO BARE

    AND SO,
    FOR MY OWN SAKE

    I ASK MYSELF

    HOW MANY MORE MALE INFLICTED WOUNDS CAN I TAKE ?

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    IS SEX IMPORTANT ? POEM BY SELIN ATES.. ‘sex is wrong, go elsewhere’

    Maybe God, as a man, with a beard, in a chair
    He was right, in the Book ‘sex is wrong- go elsewhere.’

    A feeling for connection or for licking an erection

    Or injecting into skin a little tingle and a thrill of

    “Wow he wants to touch me, and wow she is divine!”

    A craving for a tangling of limbs just really is:

    A question of acceptance:

    “Will you see my skin is rough?
    and I wake up with a cough”

    “I am boring, watching crap
    On the internet while sat
    On a chair with my feet
    in the air”

    “Will you like me when I cry? Not pretty tears of butterflies- a sobbing oh why oh why oh why”

    With a sigh- a moan, a groan- some sex.

    Maybe I will think you accept me.

    Maybe God was right- go elsewhere.

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