Tag Archives: lust
By fever, and sappy resin, proof positive that bodies, in thorny solder, invent new ways for souls to portend and commit arson. Advertisements
She, the wrinkled pool of lusty glaze and somatic charge, of aural bouquets teasing cherry-bled sound and fragrance from whetted lips, fasting to shape a comely beckon, moon-fed by dark.
To possess, in eyes leveling a raised smolder, here, there are no rules or fences, only a blatant running of stitches to the sun’s sheerest mend.
It was only when her thighs caught fire that he began to understand the laws of arson as practiced by goddesses imitating sirens.
I found him, wanting, satyr’s swell of thorny play– fondling fresh, green grass.
It is that mouth, pursed, sentencing savor to burn, to kiss, between lines.
Tuesday afternoon, blowing off work to find his lover, in bed, fondling Madame Bovary’s text under the covers, literary flint and tease sparking his novel request–May I read between your legs? (Photo by Henri Cartier-Bresson)
Kiss me one last time, a Trinity collapsed– blown smoke and mirrors. (Photo by Brassai)