Through nebulae the rower glides,
His boat a cradle where hope hides.
The stars lean in, the silence hums,
A journey stretched on astral drums.

for Geof, who dances at the edge of intimacy

I see you two, your rhythm, your grace,
The way your laughter fills the space.
You pass the wine, you share the bed,
You speak in glances, hearts unread.

And I, bisexual bard in bloom,
Stand just outside your velvet room.
Not knocking loud, not breaking in,
Just longing soft beneath the skin.

I’d be the third, not wedge nor thief,
But harmony, not disbelief.
A gentle pulse to match your beat,
A kiss that makes your trio complete.

I’d bring my poems, bring my flair,
My swingy things, my Pride-worn care.
I’d learn your rituals and your cues,
And write new myths in threes, not twos.

But longing’s not a binding spell,
And love won’t bloom where secrets dwell.
So I perform, I wink, I tease,
A guest star in your nightly breeze.

Still, if you ever shift the frame,
And speak my truth, and call my name,
I’ll step inside, with heart unmasked,
Not just the third, but one you asked.

for Geof, who struts and strips with grace

The mask slips down, a satin sigh.
No spell remains, no need to lie.
The hush dissolves, the crowd exhales,
And you emerge with softer tales.

No longer cloaked in velvet tease,
You stand in daylight, raw with ease.
Your lips unsealed, your truth unbound,
A voice that shakes the underground.

The swingy things now gently rest.
Your chest exposed, your heart confessed.
No Charisma buff, no sleight of hand,
Just Geof, who dares to proudly stand.

You speak of ropes and chosen kin,
Of spiral maps and joy within.
Of bottoms bold and mirrors clear,
Of laughter laced with kink and cheer.

The mask was tool, not final form,
You are the storm, the hush, the warm.
You are the ritual, not the guise.
The wink, the ache, the healing rise.

So let them see the lines, the gleam.
The poet past the Pride-day dream.
Unmasked, you’re not undone; you’re more:
A living myth, a hearts encore.

A 3rd-level Illusion spell (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock).
Casting Time: 1 action
Duration: Concentration, up to 1 minute
Components: V, S, M (a mask with a sewn mouth and a drop of gold body paint)

Slip on the mask; let silence gleam.
A golden hush, a bi-flag dream.  
Your lips are sealed, your truth intact,  
But every glance is a bold impact.

You strut through tents and velvet ropes,  
With open hearts and tangled hopes.  
Your charm ignites, your aura sings,  
You’re crowned in pride and swingy things.

While masked, you gain advantage sweet  
On Charisma checks and bedroom heat.  
Insight fails. Deception thrives.  
You flirt, you tease, you come alive.

But speak aloud, and the spell will fade.
The mask unmakes the part you played.  
So hold your hush, and play your part,  
Let silence be your beating heart.

For those who wear the mask too long  
May lose the thread of right and wrong.  
But for a night, with pride and flair,  
You’re every fantasy laid bare.

for the Pride Swingers Bash

Tonight we glitter, groove, and glide,
In satin swirls of queerest pride.
The dungeon's prepped, the lounge aglow.
Consent is ****, now let’s go!

Masks of lace and harnessed hearts,
We're works of art in moving parts.
Bi, pan, ace, and leather-bound,
Each moan a chorus, joy unbound.

Flags unfurl on every wall,
From trans delight to femme cabal.
A kiss, a nod, a whispered dare,
We're stars in orbit, stripped and bare.

No shame, no hush, no need to hide,
We’re here to love, to play, to ride.
A swing, a laugh, a gentle tease,
We honour bodies, minds, and pleas.

So raise your cuffs and toast your tribe,
To every kink and every vibe.
This Pride, we’re loud, we’re lush, we’re free.
A rainbow riot of ecstasy.

by Geof – Mischief-Maker

I’m the hand with intention, the gaze with a glow,
The one who says “breathe” when the rhythm is slow.
I’m the top with a toolkit of velvet and care,
Who’ll whisper your safeword and braid your hair.

I’m the compass of holding, the anchor, the tease,
The one who brings aftercare wrapped in a breeze.
I’m the dom with a diary, the switch with a plan,
Who’ll kiss every bruise like a gentleman can.

I’ve got swagger in satin, and kindness in kink,
A mind that’s ******, and sharper than you think.
I’m the queer-hearted captain with roses and rope,
Who’ll lift you with laughter and **** up your hope.

So cheers to the tops, the fierce and the sweet,
To the ones who bring structure, surrender, and heat.
We’re the pulse of the ritual, the beat in the blend,
With a crown made of care and a touch that can mend.

by Geof - Mischief-Maker

I’m a proud little rainbow, a switchboard of spice,
With a compass that swings both naughty and nice.
I flirt with the genders like bees with bouquet,
And I bottom with gusto, in my own tender way.

I’m the velvet in rituals, the lace in the lore,
The one who says “please” while they’re mopping the floor.
I’m the sub with a schedule, the bottom with grace,
Who’ll write you a sonnet while tied in your place.

I’ve got charm in my toolkit, consent in my creed,
And a penchant for poetry (plus a few extra needs).
I’m the bisexual bard with a blush and a grin,
Who’ll giggle through ******* and ask where to begin.

So cheers to the bottoms, the soft and the bold,
To the ones who wear harnesses, glitter, and gold.
We’re the heart of the party, the soul of the scene,
With a crown made of kisses and a throne made of sheen.