what she wanted nov 24, 2013

  

It is there for the taking

 the fruit hanging over her

 The whisper of the serpent

telling her it can all be hers

still she hesitates

all coming at a cost

 and still her fingers reach for it

to grasp that which she's always wanted

maybe a last chance

 if she fails to take it

she might never be able to do it again

 somehow it feels wrong

as if right and wrong actually matter

when it comes to fulfilling the dream

 what makes this one time worse

 than all the other times

the climb up to get the grip

 on the escalator to higher places

why is this scaring her more

 is there more to lose

 is there more to gain

will the guilt haunt her

even after she gets it

 that hamster brain thing again

and again why does she hesitate

 when what she always wanted

hangs right there like ripe fruit

 

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Solomon’s dilemma July 7, 2012

 

It isn’t his fault

The poor fool caught

Between friendship

And that other

Deeper

More passionate side,

A mentor who means

To serve as father

To us all

Trying to mediate

This clash between

Siblings,

(who make love

Behind his back

And then bicker)

Helpless to pick a side,

Throwing his hands up

Scared to admit

How much he loves

Them both,

Faced with the Solomon

Dilemma of choosing

Which one he

Loves more

And me,

The wounded child

Pressing him to

Decide, and

When he does,

Betraying him,

One more mean trick

Kids pick

When he (me) can’t

Get what we want

Or jealously can’t stand

When he gives her

the attention,

he(me) wishes

she could give me,

in the end

condemned to

decide

when there was

never a doubt

who he would,

who he loves best

and who I would have

picked, too,

had I been him.

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Maybe I'm amazed

 

That magic moment July 5, 2015

 

 

I want to lay her down and have my way with her, if she’d let me, or is it always the other way around, she chooses who gets to get inside her while we wait in line to see if we deserve her, lucky enough to grab the brass ring on this merry-go-round of life.

I ride her like a horse when she prefers to be a unicorn, that special aspect, singular difference stuck up between her legs, while my tongue does its magic.

I love the way it looks after the deed is done, the dangling drips on her dark body, like white pieces of fruit, dangling, as I admire my handywork, telling myself “I’m the one who did that,” the one who she let in, and I wonder if I beg her enough she might let me do it again, and more often, let me move around inside of her, this way and that, to make her scream, that magic moment.

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one way coversation June 17, 2012

 

 I pine for somebody

 who despised me, 

I post blogs I know 

she will read if only to keep a connection, 

a love triangle with me as the only participant,

 not merely unrequited,

more a need not to lose 

whatever it was I felt

when all this started, 

not to recover it, 

 more to mourn its loss, 

poetry is how I think,

how I feel, a way to reveal 

what it is that goes on 

inside my head without 

spilling my guts out 

to someone who otherwise 

might not want to hear it, 

this desperate one-way conversation 

I think she'll read 

(even if she doesn’t,

I say it when I can

 because its all I can do,

 like a kid with two tin cans

 attached by string, 

talking into one 

without the assurance 

there is anyone on

 the other end to hear, 

denied all the usual 

methods of communication,

 I write and put these in a bottle,

 sending them out 

into a hostile sea 

with the vain hope

she might take pity on me,

or at least come to understand.

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master of her universe June 19, 2012

 

 

I’m a stubborn son of a bitch.

I want to go to the party

 if only to prove I’m not afraid

 when in fact I’m scared to death.

The office gossip, 

who sees all and knows all 

even with me and her, 

frowns when I say I might attend,

 even as I quake in my shoes

at being in another bar 

where she can put on a show 

to get even with me, 

she is a master of that universe 

and has power to drawn men’s attention, 

and I am a sheep 

led by the nose to slaughter, 

no Daniel in that den of hers,

 while she may have a splinter in her paw,

 I am incapable to removing it, 

since I’m the one who put it there 

I’s a stubborn son of a bitch, 

but not stupid enough to be there

 to give her the spike she might

 smite me with,

 my already vivid imagination

 filling in all the details.

I have no need to see if for real.

 

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These longest days. Dec.6, 2012

  

In these closing days I’ve come to accept that I might never get what I wanted from the start, although exactly how I feel remains unclear, yet still tender, coals from a blaze I once embraced, the intensity of which has long faded, even though I still feel consumed, something occasionally sparking to life what all seemed dead, when we all knew from even in those earliest days, a fire this hot could not endure, no fire no matter how hot every does, Blues filling half the days this time of year when darkness lasts the longest, and I feel the chill of winter deep in my bones, aware of the shreds of cloud that covers my love life like a shroud, the land scape littered with hints of you, embers that still provide me with just enough warmth – if never hope, raising me out of the apocalypse of my own creation, restirring coals just enough to feel a bit of warmth again, your face, your presence, your ever-lasting spirit, haunting me, even though clearly remote, the slanted winter sun doing little to illuminate my world, simply giving me glimpses of what used to be.

 erotic stories

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