Trembling trepidation

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I would cuss his name
but for the quiver in my voice.
Powerless, bound,
wall holding me,
knees tremble at his touch,
his words.
I blush for my naked skin
it’s translucent hue
weak against his
strong
dark
liquid tone.
I blush at his touch,
his tongue warm, invading.
Hands strong,
demanding.
I blush.
As my body responds .
I blush.
I would cuss his name
but for the rise in need
that throttles at my
throat, but for his
primal scent
caressing my core,
I would cuss his name
If it was,
that I didn’t want more.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image and words

Opiate poison. . .

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Surround me, drown me, engulf me
the essence of your desire has long
become the beating drum of my crimson
blood. Silence now has a curved edge,
warm and delicious it licks across my skin
my palette accustomed to your
embrace, opiate love, in a storm
of ferocious passion, I hear the poison
as it lulls through the shadowed
maze of my mind, and I am lost to
it’s intrinsic beat, a harmony
of ancient touch caressing my soul. Look
here at the constellation of your kisses
as they trail my skin, for all that you are
I hang on the dependency of my need.
I hang upon the dependency of our love
dark and relentless it is the beacon
of my spirit.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words

Touch me, make me bloom.

Photo

Just as the rose,
with her luscious crimson
petals that peel open
before the Sun,
I peel open for you.
My flushed petals curling outward,
my colour, fluid and vi-
brant upon your words.
My floral fragrance
disperses upon your intent.
My blossom awaits your
touch and when I think
I am in full bloom,
my petals become a
little plumper, my colour a little deeper and my scent
becomes your very own personal pheromone,
answering to your
primal calls.

Karen Hayward (c)2017

Image and words.

My spirits rage the primal call. 

There’s a shallowness in my mind, a darkness in my soul, a depth in my need that turns the air blue and makes even the devil blush. There’s a coldness in my touch, a frost in my desire and a selfish lust for power. There’s indifference in my actions for I fear nothing and life is a boundless interaction of loss. Once known the replica is a poor copy. There is passion in my skin and my thoughts are filled with sin. I am carnal in my touch I am primal in my need, but fail to offer up to me that lovely little seed….there’s a shallowness in my need.  Take away the beauty, I reflect what I recieve, take away the beauty, for which I have no need. Theres a darkness in my soul it’s all I’ve ever known. It spreads throughout my blood and spills across my page it’s the essence of my core it is my spirits rage.
Karen Hayward ©2016

 

Your lips divine.

Your lips, the unseen beauty of your face,
the tender skin I want to trace.
To kiss them so soft and tender in my touch,
slowly and then in abandoned rush.
Oh to taste the passion that lays therein
on your tongue I can taste our sin.
I am mesmerised they are my nectar
the red blush a hint of a kiss from a fallen star.
They whisper to the succubus that dwells within me
the driving force of this deep carnal need.
I must have them pressed against my own
such primal desires the thought of you have sown.
They are the cause of my essence to flow,
upon those lips a taste I truly must know.
They are the thirst I hope to never quench,
for love divine has come from whence.
Your lips the place in which I fall from grace,
the unseen beauty upon your face,
the tender skin I need to kiss, to bite to taste.
The tender love from there I’ll trace.

Karen Hayward ©2016