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If you could only see
How I lap you up
Like an eager kitten served a creamy bowl of milk.
Soft, delicious curds, your loving words, delight me,
Slurped right up by a little pink tongue.
I am like that kitten
In other ways, too.
Would you like to play?
Roll me over, stroke me,
I will curl up in your lap, and never leave.
Purring, purring,
I will find my voice; you will hear my first miaow,
I have chosen you, happily addicted
From the very first taste.
FIG
So, there's this fig
In my fruitbowl, almost purple,
Posing atop apples and a mango,
Just being beautiful
And begging to be touched.
It bursts with promise;
If I split it open - oh -
Unmistakably labial lusciousness
will spill out and I will have to ****
my sticky fingers like an infant
at the ******, tugging
oh so gently with an eager, warm, wet tongue,
Pursed lips pulsing
where the juicy flesh meets dewy, fragrant skin.
I bear witness to this fruit's fragile moment of sheer perfection,
And my honest, overwhelming lust
For tender flesh.
A sliver of sun through
Early morning haze,
Heralding the promise
Of long cloudless days:
Rescue me.

Fresh meadow scent on
A soft soughing breeze;
Chirrup of a song thrush
Hidden amongst the trees:
Rescue me.

The gentle hovering of
A noisome honeybee,
Searching out pollen
On a dancing petal sea:
Rescue me.

Trill of childish laughter
Echoing from the park,
Competing for attention
With a soaring sky~lark:
Rescue me.

A beautiful woman in
A cotton print dress;
Her leisurely gait enticing
Beneath the fabric’s car~ess:
Rescue me.

The red sinking giant
Painting clouds in the sky,
Just another lost day
Laying down to die:
Rescue me,
Rescue me,
Please, rescue me.

©Paul M Chafer 2014
Take me to a still black lake
In a nowhere place.

Love, love...
Lay me in the sweet soft grass
And we will watch the moon.

We will watch as she dances
with the vast, dark depths,
We'll shiver at the ripples on the surface of the shine
And spill ourselves into the endless deep
Chasing her until we both
Can sleep
Can sleep
Can sleep.
My ghost writes to you
From a shrouded future, scared,
She drifts back; catch her.
When I write here of desire
This specific wanting; the how of now,
I am not talking about the tightrope walk of lust,
That pleasant lower belly pull;
A trembling, tugging need.
My wanting right now is for the soft warm crush
Of your hand in mine as we stroll through autumn halls
Bedecked with fallen leaves, the shedding trees
An audience to the resplendence of our love
Which deepens into the season of sleep
With the same inevitability and beauty
As the crispness of the morning
And the birds that heed the calling
Of promised warmth, in another land,
Another space and time.
So deliciously dark,
The sultry taste of pure lust,
Lingering upon my wet tongue; so hot!
I smile, lapping up your slinky essence,
Writhing, twisting, arching, resisting,
Attempting to deny my devilish charm,
Hiding behind flimsy veils of innocence.
Only, I know, deep inside, you burn,
No chains, or bonds, could ever hold you,
Knowing you want me, so very much.
Parting your hastily erected defences,
I ****** you up; we plunge into the fire,
As one, the flames consume, seared raw,
Forging an emotional alloy, thrashed out,
Hammered upon the anvil of sheer pleasure,
Quivering, breathless, enraptured and blissful,
Again and again, leaving us both sated,
Still tasting of sultry lust,
So deliciously dark.

©Paul M Chafer 2014
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