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Desire, Sex and Cigarettes

Desire__by_ShanaArielle

I can remember the exact moment when I fell in love with you. The moment I read your work and connected with you on another level. I had not met you then. And I sat there staring at the screen and thinking how foolish i was to be feeling this way when we were virtually strangers.

When i look back at it, I was always in love with your style of writing more than i was in love with you. And i looked forward to putting a face to the words that had stolen my soul. And i still haunt your site to find  new posts. And listen to the music we shared to find you between the lines.

And you beckon me with your toothy smile. And we are taking random pictures. Dressing up to go out. What’s some harmless flirting going to do after all, right? Except it is not harmless. And it turns out we crossed the line between flirting and wanting each other.

And we are holding each other. Laughing at each other’s jokes. There’s this funny TV series we watch together. And there are endless possibilities running through my mind.

I remember when I first noticed that you liked me back. We were in a bar seated across each other and you were smiling at me and our gazes couldn’t break. And the crowd faded as we danced suggestively.

And we stumble over each other. Am reaching for your lips and your breath is fast. Your eyes are glazed and my senses are peaked from the sweet scent of you. I don’t remember how we end in your room.  Your nipples are pushing against the fabric of your tee and I suck your left breast as you moan and push towards my mouth.

There is a certain choreography to our movements. It feels natural that I am here with you. This moment feels like it was waiting to happen. Your part my lips with your tongue, tasting of cigarettes and mint, and I’m breathless.  We make love then, with no strings attached. And it felt as good as i knew it would.

You are dancing with me and my eyes are closed. You pull a little closer and a part of my soul tugs with happiness. Your eyes have this mischevious look and i am smiling now. We burst out laughing because that seems to be the only way we communicate lately.

I like the way your breasts look in your tee and the way your eyes twinkle when you smile. Stay with me. I don’t want you to leave. I like you best when you are laughing without a care in the world. Put off the candle. I want to feel you with my senses ,just without my sight. Until you fall asleep. My nipples graze against yours and my whole body is throbbing naked desire and wanton want.

Your husky voice drives me over the edge. Over and over.

 

 

 

 

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Posted by on March 18, 2017 in Erotica, Muse, Uncategorized, Women

 

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Badge of Honor

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She wears her scars like a badge of honor

From the heartbreaks and the disappointments

From the lies and the slanders

From her friends and family

 

She holds her head high

Strutting around in her  heels

With the glances and the sighs

Forming a part of the music her hips sway to

 

She wears her scars like a tattoo

Her eyes batting off the tears

Her heart beating with a flutter

With self-doubt and a stubborn will

 

She puts on a show for the world

But over time

She has convinced herself

That this is who she is

That the world is her oyster after all

 

 

 
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Posted by on March 3, 2017 in Uncategorized, Women, Writing

 

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Women

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I love women. I am fascinated by everything female. From the way they walk to the way they slump after dragging and gyrating their hips on a  particularly long day. From the way they laugh to the way they cry when they get emotionally overwhelmed. From the way they are warm to the way they turn to ice queens as a defense mechanism against the world.

I love women. I love their forms and shapes. Their curves and gaits. I’m mostly intrigued by the arc in their backs. I find myself drawn to this particular curve. I love to watch a woman walk. To drink in the magic that is in their gait. From those who strut like they were born straight into the catwalk to those who stumble with the grace of a drunk gazelle. You gotta give it to them for trying though. It’s both beautiful and amusing.

I love women. I am taken in by the way they experience everything in a storm. The anger in their eyes when betrayed is almost poetic. The rage of a woman awakened is almost like the force of a hurricane. Explains why hurricanes are named after them. It’s beautiful to watch, just as long as it isn’t directed  your way. And when they decide to give you the cold shoulder…well, they do everything in equal force and enthusiasm.

I love women. The way they care for their families. The way they keep the kids in a straight line as the husband is off working or trying to find a cure in the bottom of a bottle. I like the way they put on a brave face for the kids despite the fact that they are going through hell. I love how they shrug off and tuck away their dreams to put their children first.

I love women. I love them for their strengths and weaknesses. I love them for their beauty and selflessness. I love them for all the right and wrong reasons.

 
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Posted by on July 23, 2015 in Poetry, Writing

 

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Coming Out

coming

She is cupping my left breast and teasing my nipple as she stares intently into my eyes. She looks pensive. She is here, but not really with me. I can tell there’s something she wants to tell me but is wrestling with the way to frame it. I let her stew on it for a while. When i can’t wait anymore, i snap at her “ What the fuck is going through your mind?”

She looks at me and makes to smile then goes, “I noticed you’ve grown thin…”

Thin. She said thin, good people. Level with me here. The fact that she was just swooning over me minutes ago and moaning her ass out seems to have totally slipped her mind. She said thin. Really, how do you even describe someone that way.

Well, i might have shed a few pounds, but really, i don’t look like America’s Top Model or one of those Victoria’s Secret models.

“Who are you pining for? Is it him again? You know he is poison in your system. You ought to flush him out for good” she goes on as if she hasn’t seen the storm brewing in my eyes. “Seriously honey, stop doing this to yourself…it’s better to love something that can love you back” she winds up the observation philosophically…no longer tweaking my nipple.

“Coming from a closeted lesbian, that’s rich”, i spit out thoughtlessly. I see the pain in her eyes and feel guilty for a while. Then anger at the truth she just said hits me and i just ignore the feeling.

“You have a way of brushing away reality, that even amazes me. And not a lot amazes me. How long do you intend to be in the closet? I’ll get tired of coming to see you whenever you are horny, and then what? Are you gonna find a girlfriend then?”

She started it. I don’t come with brakes when i start to verbal diarrhea. She looks the other way as if that will make the words less truthful.

“C’mon smartypants. What are you going to do when i move on and actually find a man or a woman to live with. What then? You are fun and all, i admit that. I fell in love with you at some point, but i’m over it”…she gasps at that as i go on with my tirade.

“What do you want?” She says suddenly.

“World peace…gender equality…a million dollars..ice-cream, another fuck…in any order”, i say jokingly.

She is seething in blind rage at that point. I just look at her sheepishly

“I am fucking serious. What do you want?” she goes on without the slightest sign of a smile on her beautiful face. She dimples up even when she is crying. She makes me hot when she is mad.

Well, no one has ever really asked me what i wanted before. I’m feeling a mixture of emotions. But i need to answer her.

“For starters how about you coming out of the closet. You need to live to your full potential and not tied down by society and it’s opinion. I want to get over this creep in my system. I want to be happy. Sounds silly but i do. I want to travel the world and make love on the beach. I want to watch the sun rise and set with someone i love. I could go on, but you are not Oprah” i say without a smile..

“You’ll get your slice of heaven. I know that. You are made of more than you accept. And you are the most stubborn piece of shit i know”, she says with a smile, no longer mad at me.

I notice that she mentions nothing about coming out and i decide to drop it. We’ve had this fight over and over.

“It must be wonderful to have a gift of seeing into the future”, i mutter as we fall over ourselves with deep laughter.

“I feel a migraine developing”, i tell her as i start to dress up.

“You got it the wrong way darling. THAT, comes before the sex,” she says with a shriek, pulling out a cigarette.

As she saunters to the window pane, i put on my sneakers watching her. She has an ass to make your jaws drop.
I manage to break myself from the trance to bolt before her husband comes back. We kiss one last time and the taste of cigarettes and her sweet taste linger long after we part ways.

 
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Posted by on March 20, 2015 in Erotica, Muse, Writing

 

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Canvas affair

painter

Paint me right now, darling
As I stand in your studio apartment
Freezing to my bones
As the coffee-pot hums

Put me on your canvas
Right this moment goddammit
Don’t wait for me to become
Another significant moment you’ll recollect

Do it now
Make a portrait of me
With your smoldering cigarette between your lips
And your tousled hair the perfect distraction

What’s stopping you lover-boy?
Or do you live for memories?
For recollections and regrets?
Turned into a bunch of colors?

Or do you live for flash-backs?
To recall the almost perfect moments?
Slipping right through your arms?
And dripping into canvas?

Paint my rage and dismay
My lust and desire
My love and hate
Paint my passion

I refuse to become a memory
You’ll revisit when inspiration fails you
The anger that fuels you on
The muse you ache for

I want you to spread my contours on canvas
Mould me in perfect strokes
Touch me up delicately
Till am but a web of fine details

I want you to tease my image with that brush
Gently into canvas
Or you can use your pent-up rage
To create a swirling masterpiece

Whatever you do…I want you to do it this minute

Photo: Stolen from Pinterest

 
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Posted by on March 18, 2015 in Muse, Poetry

 

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Eyes

eyes 2

I’d gladly take a bullet
For the depth of your eyes
Take a knife to my jugular
Just for staring

Magnetic?
Forget it
Hypnotic?
That doesn’t do justice to them

I’ve searched the world
For eyes like yours
I’ve rummaged books
To catch a glimpse of them

Sexy?
That’s too cliche
Bewitching?
Don’t get me started darling

Your eyes deserve a crown
A poem can’t do
They need a whole book
A trilogy if you may

Your eyes make me sigh
Your eyes make me gasp
Your eyes make my legs turn into jelly
Your eyes drive my imagination wild

They are piercing
They are deep
They are mysterious
Yet wild in a magical way

Your eyes are sleepy
Yet ignite fires
Your eyes are innocent
Yet make nuns whimper

Your eyes can stop traffic
They awaken desire in the frigid
They are ravishing
With unknown depths

Well random stranger
Allow me to indulge
In the perfection that you are
And unravel possibilities
That become your eyes

 
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Posted by on March 10, 2015 in Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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Why Must You Drive Me Crazy?

why

There isn’t enough whiskey in the world
To drown your memory
Not enough loud music
To shut off the ring of your laughter

And then i come undone
My mind takes a dip
In a pool of my obsession
And your image is the only high
My imagination can afford

I dream in colors
Whenever i hear your voice
Because then i take a trip
Down memory lane

And then i come undone
My mind takes a dip
In a pool of my obsession
And your image is the only high
My imagination can afford

 

I remember you
Swaying on the dance floor
The sun could blush
To see the light in your eyes

And then i come undone
My mind takes a dip
In a pool of my obsession
And your image is the only high
My imagination can afford

I remember the feel of you
From the stolen moments
And i can’t help but go bonkers
Why must you drive me crazy darling?

 

Image: Mila Kunis…Because I am a sucker for pretty women and eyes that just suck you in

 
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Posted by on March 6, 2015 in Muse, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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