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Through limerence a longing lust lingers,
Beginning by stroking your face with my fingers,
A sensation wells from my ocean as my body swells with more than emotion,
Helpless to my impulse to begin slow smoothing motions,
Across your soft skinned irresistibly gorgeous pert body,
None of you remains untouched apart from the parts the animal in me wants so much,
As smoothing turns to grasping heavy breathing turns to gasping,
Breathing and heaving in unison as I hold you tightly within my clutch.

You whisper softly, longingly your desires of the night,
As our breath becomes heavier we can't control ourselves try as we might,
The rustling of clothes as they become dispensable items,
Only serving to ready us for the sound of skin on skin as the intensity heightens,
Light thuds as clothes fall to the floor,
You moan in a way that lets me know you want more,
In our underwear we hold one another our lips smacking,
Our movements make the bed make sounds of creaking and cracking,
You gasp for air and sigh loudly with delight,
Your body underneath me is the most glorious sight.

My hands can't help move down your sides to that thong you have on,
While they stay on your hips a while as I kiss your stomach I know it won't be on for long,
I slowly slide it down past your thighs,
As I kiss the inside of them we are both on a high,
I move my lips to your lips below your hips,
Taking care to do here what I do there as you begin to flip.

I move my head up slowly to yours as I kiss along the way,
I'm rock hard when I reach you but I stay outside to play,
I slowly move inside you as you feel me throbbing strongly,
As I move in and out my hands don't stop as you start moaning loudly,
The bed it rocks from side to side as if on choppy waves,
The sound of you in ecstasy is what my body craves,
As we reach the top of what we got I leave some of mine in thine,
The afterglow is so bright it's like nocturnal sunshine.
J J Aug 12
Gallantry badge stitched to rotting cloth
as the skin sinks and the bones fade
and the love made is left to reek the bed
where sexless wife and lonely daughter
   Lay their head's arrest.

In due time they both tan, sag and crackle
Under weight of the sun.

That dizzy cyclops that roped forth
homecoming boats and ships stands
five years from being defunct; rusted
to the hue of a coppice
and hardly the attraction it once was

But oh well— sighs the sailor, too old and bankrupt to care
for approaching poverty— the money has been made and my life spent

For others (his Sister, his Niece, his Brother)
They lack the ability to sigh;
the closest they get is the occasional stormy wind
that cracks the surface, blows through their teeth
resembling a crooked lullaby,
Revolves the bullet lodged in their skull;
O occasional stormy rain that beshrews the water
clogging their lungs and, in due time, The leaking muck
that’ll pluck and sharply snap inward the casketwood--
directly against the bullet gathhering mold in their heart--

Their souls have been spent.
One less soldier wouldn't have changed a thing
(The result was a certainty propagated
   as a contingency)
And if G-d bare'd witness his eyes no longer sting,
  His grievances had and his puppets dead
Following a suffering in his name.

If Thy Kingdom holds true
They bare witness now to the lighthouse
In it's chipping hue, it's trivial dock and visitor

All held in place and burning; They disfigure
Under weight of the sun.
Set in the aftermath of a death in the family duting war
ScarletRose Jul 20
Dear Nocturne,
You have fallen upon us,
Soaring unlike angels;
Endless, countless lights
Taken far away so soon.

Alas, no shimmer of hope
Out there, but here;
I sense my own without
A doubt; you fall again.

Yet no call goes unanswered
As you strike again.
Pretty flowers, lovely sun,
golden petals soar away
With you.
Ritz Writes Mar 28
There was an agony in my voice
Unheard rant and tirade against
The world that couldn't appreciate your sole identity.
Life as we know it!
Trembling in fear, braving the storm not to break down in tears.
When billows of sadness roll
Embracing the state of solitude, no one to call.
Behind the dark circle, hidden with a concealer
Bottled up paranoia and scars
Drowning in a sea of misery.
What could've been done to alleviate this malady
I wish I could crumble into pieces
As ashes of smoke, disappearing into a thin air.
Did I chose this melancholic trail
Unable to succumb myself to death.
A living dead
Leave me alone
I can't handle anymore pain.
Mysidian Bard Mar 25
May the night grant us
a second chance at those dreams
that by day we lack.
Written for a nocturnal friend of mine. <3
Oculi Mar 16
Lugosi Béla is dead.
Ligeti György is dead.
The bat flies past the closet door.
The closet is filled with corpses, screaming to let them out.
The grey house cries out in a voice of silence.
The wood cracks under my feet as I break through the door.
Relative ease getting in, but I fear getting out might take all my power.
I look towards the door, but it is so far.
I decide to go in, towards a familiar stench.
I hear screams from the attic and moans from the basement.
Ligeti's breath. That was the stench.
Wonderful. I take a huge whiff and feel high.
I meet him. He is dead, yet he's smiling at me.
I kiss him on the lips, for he is deserving of love, like the others.
I leave the room and let him sleep in silence.
I hope my love got to him.
As soon as I get through the door, a set of red eyes.
Wings, chapping my shoulders. I am pinned against a wall.
Teeth sink into my neck.
It is Lugosi. I kiss him on the lips, as he demands, and begin to leave.
He disappears, for he's dead. Undead.
But that seems like years ago and I'm still not at the door.
In fact, it's been a decade.
It's the morning now, and I cannot leave.
I feel like... I'm dying? But I feel more alive, as well.
As I reach the door, I fall.

I wake up in an unfamiliar room.
They are both there. They don't present me with a choice.
They are leaving all of their belongings to me.
White on white translucent black capes.
Black on black glasses of *****.
The bats have left the bell tower.
The victims have been bled.
Red velvet lines the black box.
Virginal brides file past their tombs.
Strewn with time's dead flowers,
Bereft in deathly bloom,
I'm alone in a darkened room.

I am Ligeti.
I am Lugosi.
I am neither and I am both.
I am dead and I am not.
As I live and breathe.
I am...
The count.
My 50th poem on this website and I go back to my roots.
ok okay Feb 2
I left the sun for the moon
And found warmth in the darkness
A laptop screen became the light
From which I use to write
About how I became nocturnal
Haylin Nov 2018
They say if you’re awake at 3am, you’re either inlove or broken.
I say it’s neither.
Perhaps it is the silent space between feeling too much and feeling nothing at all.
The indiscernible sentiments of someone who has been long lost and is yet to be found.
A soul that is neither gleeful nor wretched;
And instead waiting to feel, pondering on certain circumstances,
Or probably continually yearning for a type of serenity that time could still not dare to give.
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