"bedchambers" poems
Were there things of I scarcely write,
Flesh-bound secrets: my darkest plight.
Unaided heat and aching skin,
A howling instinct come from within.
Such carnal longings... my guiltless crime
But none do know my mind sublime.
Left to myself, I twist and turn,
Frustrated flames in which I burn.
I feel the madness course through my veins.
I pull my hair; frustration reigns.
From my bit lip and furrowed brow,
Aroused, I ask myself "how now?"
In vast bedchambers, I lay alone.
My mind basking in depths unknown.
My toes curl tight and nails dig deep
for nowhere will my wetness seep.
I groan quite softly, left unappeased.
Such torment stands eternal tease.
Just one is tangled in pillows and sheets,
Trembling of wanting and unshared heat.
All over my skin the goose-bumps rise.
Perhaps a beast you'll find in my eyes.
What secrets be there in my physique,
Hidden within an element mystique.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
The king paces his bedchambers
Shivering as he pulls his soft brown robe tighter
He remembers a day from long ago
That peasant girl.
She once graced his majesty's hand
with but a simple kiss.
His heart stopped as their eyes met.
He beheld the love within her eyes
and she the pain and hope in his.
Each knowing that with that kiss,
something had changed in them both
From then on, they spent afternoons rolling around and playing in the grass
They went on strolls and had intellectual conversation
She fascinated him like no other creature could
That peasant girl with golden hair bright as the sun
He felt warm whenever she was near
Which brought him abruptly back to the reality of his cold room
His girl with mane of sunshine rays was nowhere to be found
She left only a trace of a memory
A kiss for a king
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
On many bitter winter days
she is what picks at my thoughts
she is what surges through my fingertips
teasingly
softly
slowly
During many darkened afternoons
she surrounds me with an unforgiving presence
around my bedchambers
in my heart
in my soul
When the eventide is evident in the sky
she is the earsplitting static
that grazes over my ears
that resonates throughout
my being
In the early bright of day
she fastens herself to me soundly
like the skin
that I am in
like the sweat during
a Spanish heat
During the restless day
she is the eagerness
she is the unrelenting spirit
that is me
she is my battered self
she is my demise
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC