#fetish
Are you afraid of my sharp spikes and corse skin
Or my pungent smell that you can’t handle
With my yellow flesh looking different
The shape of my sweet fruit tasting different
Or the fact you can’t handle to eat me at all
Do you tease me for those who enjoy me
Are you intimidated by soft texture
Do you hate the fact that I’m more expensive
Or that I’m more attractive to the people at stores
Are you scared of my small eyes and tan skin
My flavour and taste that you can’t understand
Or do you just want to be me
Only with the good parts and not others
Or you only like me because I'm softer
That I’m “tropical” and “exotic” from others
You like me or not I couldn’t care less
But why would you hate me for doing nothing
Why do you fetishise me for my looks and taste
Just treat me like a normal person and let me be
Oct 21, 2025
Oct 21, 2025 at 12:44 AM UTC
We are way more in my mind
The most wildest fetish I sign.
But only be abled of dream
Is an unjustified punishment, I deem.
When haven't even touched his skin
How can i be,
Guilty of sin?
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 4:57 AM UTC
How swiftly sweetness can easily be transformed into austerity even the best of minds have their fetish...
Feb 18, 2024
Feb 18, 2024 at 3:25 AM UTC
You little tease,
You know,
the thought of you,
not wearing *******
under that dress,
makes me hard,
in all the right places.
Jun 13, 2023
Jun 13, 2023 at 8:24 PM UTC
Old Pantaloons, a Chiasmus
by Michael R. Burch
Old pantaloons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to feel
that which they long most to steal.
Old ***** loons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to steal
that which they long most to feel.
Keywords/Tags: chiasmus, pantaloons, ***** loons, ******* pun, wordplay, underwear, fetish, lingerie, pervert, perverts, **********
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 10:58 PM UTC
in a void of air and space
music floats and keeps us safe
you need to listen
fo real and fo shizzle: listen
it's 3:45 everybody bossed up
dough fetish fantasies
the suzuki in a jakuzzi
keeps my mind busy
(keeps my mind busy)
how can you enter the next stage?
it's fo real like tizzops cage
the barrel of a golden gauge
look into my face: a rat race
never ending being fast paced
today is my last day but i will
remain
Mar 24, 2020
Mar 24, 2020 at 12:11 PM UTC
You know I love this, you do as well
We all love the feeling of the dripping blood
I know this feeling brings us closer to hell,
But I cannot live through this emotion flood
I need it to stay alive and sane.
The feeling is good too, it’s bliss
I love all the self inflicted pain
I want more, everyday, without miss.
You may think I’m out of line, I’m crazy
But i know you love it too
You are a ***** you’re lazy
I deal with that **** everyday, and so do you.
We need our emotion vents to let out the crud.
Why not again use our own blood
Dec 28, 2019
Dec 28, 2019 at 2:07 AM UTC
Careful as you unlace
The delicate ribbons of leather
Separating my skin from your lips
'Lincoln Park After Dark' is the shade
Of dark that fills your hungry mouth
The lips I know and love
Feel even better on the most hidden part of my body
Take your time
With each lick
And keep your hunger for me
Until I kiss you good night
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 3:29 AM UTC
Taste is 5 letters long and
I'm feeling all 5 senses on my tongue
Your refreshing lips
Your porcelain smooth fetish of my aches harbors
Your calls echoing and waving into the bay between my ports
The sight up to the sunlight blossoming flowers in your rolled eyes.
The blues and white foam breathing into me.
I want you how you want me.
In between gasping for truth.
Blitzing language and foreign words only your body can understand with my mouth.
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 6:23 PM UTC
your disgusting lust,
makes you touch,
your nauseating desire,
doesn't care who it is,
or sometimes what it is,
obsession, mania?
whatever your reason be,
**** will never be acceptable.
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 7:25 AM UTC
Perhaps his duality would always be
Irreconcilable,
For had he not been made this way
by genetic chance?
A hulking man with gardener's shirt
and biker's leather pants?
He might speed along a coastal highway,
Wind in his greasy hair,
Unchopped Harley shivering,
Eyes watering from the wind,
or was it because of sheer depth of soul?
As he peeled along, avoiding fatal curves,
Did his thoughts of roses blooming
keep him from launching himself
into the fog?
Were the droplets on his face,
full of salt from the sea,
the same as those he saw
in the morning dew on his flowers?
He was a not a Hunter Thompson,
who might return home to drink and write
reams of rage against the foul Effendi,
who beset him at night
after descending from their mansions.
Yet he too needed respite and beauty,
an Owl Farm in his mind,
Or a hotel on Sunset Boulevard,
Safe under the canopy, among the palms,
His security, not a typewriter
but a garden of perfect roses
that he would tend and breed,
Keeping beauty alive to feed
His hidden desire for peace and order.
Like an old man in the country,
The “rose rustler”he played
Lived in a little house,
His unassuming paradise,
with a cat, as secretive as him,
a lone goldfish in a bowl,
who looked out each day on
manicured paths and brick walls,
worthy of any English manor,
with acres of flowers,
dozens of colors...
but every single one a rose.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 2:00 PM UTC
Honey tastes slow, glowing like amber
Trapping touch in a heady crush of warm
Nestling between my ******* where sweat pools, delicate
Dipping fingers into pots, swirling, lingering
Licking the syrupy sweetness
Craving the rose scented dark and the musk
You, above me like summer
Creating me from the flesh of your hands
Describe me with your kisses, unwrap me with whispers
Suspend the rules of us between my lips
Breathe your will into words that glint with
Consequence, etching heat into flesh
Charge the oxygen around us with sweet almostpain
That draws out my ghosts, blood over flames
Leading the Moon out into the depths, into the crevasse
Wallowing in my softest curves as you
Follow me down to the forest bed and
Claim my world as your Fetish
And if I open to your insistence, slowly unlaced
Kiss me in obscenity until I speak in tongues
Silence me with your sternest hand of fire on flesh
Bring my bruises to boil beneath your gaze while l,
Shyly revealed by your voice,
Try to cover my eggshells and hush my moans
You, beneath me like summer
The seed will grow where l place my kisses
Divining water from your ancient well
Suckling the slick pomegranate flesh
Until the star on your forehead is burning
Shudderfall down into night, into my storm
Collide in me, where the clouds are heavy with rain and lust
Leading the Moon down into the depths, into the crevasse
Melding desire with Fate as you
Meet me down on the forest floor and
Claim my love as your Fetish
Wrap my body in silken cords that sing of you
Handfast beyond gesture
My flesh, your manifesto
Fetish
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 6:58 PM UTC
She said the song was charming,
She had said the boy was cute,
She said I was easy to talk to,
Because I usually remained mute.
She said she liked the biting,
Teeth sunk right into her hips,
She said the blood really turned her on,
But I much rather preferred her lips.
She had a decent boyfriend,
But his love wasn't enough,
She ****** and ****** **** out in the woods,
She was a ***** that preferred this stuff.
At one point I wanted her,
All of her just to myself,
Now I'll avoid her and stay away,
Until she decides to fix herself.
Or should I stay and help her?
I am not sure what to do,
I'll stick around to cure her sickness,
Hopefully I won't catch her flue.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 4:31 PM UTC
You bite my lips
I grip your hips
Scarred in unification,
We invite others to do it like this
Hot beads of sweat
With my dark silhouette
Like the taste?
Now watch my face
Moist eyes and parted lips
Induces an accelerated pace
Objects of pure desire
Fornication can ignite a fire
Soft or mean,
This realm for us outperforms
Any late-night screen
Your favourite dish
And you, my love?
My biggest fetish.
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC
Musing, thinking aloud, of
Taking a little line for a walk, down my spine, down curves of flesh
Over pale creamy rises and falls
Interrupted by the gathering storm of you
Declaring tattoos for others, not me
No story of me in black ink on white, no tale in twisted vine and script, no
Desecration of your terrain,
Alteration in rhythmic refrain and ouch, red everywhere.
I would argue with you but I must please
Your gravity has me riveted, taken aback by the venom
Vehement and pure, spat in their direction
The canvas people walking around
Illustrated versions of lifelong perspectives
Their jewels of ink shimmering in trapped caresses,
Gathered in unison images binding intent to design...
My wont, this desire to be amongst them
Magick workers unleashing heaven as they pass through their days
Eating lunch with their besties in an act of casual sorcery
A beauty never intended
For me.
Sulking, quiet mouthed, you
Taking a little hand for a walk, down my spine, down curve of limb
Over pale milky hills and valleys
You would stop short at the first letter advance
Touch me not, touch me not
Simmering anger at the craven trespass, inelegant in your eyes, crass
Decoration of your domain
Knives in your eyes makes me think twice, cut by ice
I drop the question, keep the peace, yet
I remain
An open page to the world’s eyes
And wear my secret inkings on the inside.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 3:03 AM UTC
The void
Or the scowl.
Are you sure you know which you’d pick.
When the right hand that feeds you,
Succulent wisdom,
While the left hand kills the next breed.
You see the void on sundays,
in time that is only passing seconds.
in moments where you scream silently.
When precious life is the cold bone you hold.
Down the path you walk, you long to be led.
Submission
Is the game for so long,
Catch a ball, avoid a fall
Until you chase it when rolls
Off the edge
And you follow it in faith
Rather than in fear
Keeping your white collar near.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC