…and then I was caught.

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…And when I search the confines of imagery within my mind,

when I look and find…You are sleeping.

And in the silent whisper of curiosity my fingers,

soft and gentle explore this new found treasure

in waters deep and tranquil.

I touch skin so dark with fingers so light,

never before have I seen such contrasting beauty.

I touch, what is not mine to touch and I caress

what it is I desire.

And as you sleep,

slumber gentle and need so raw

my resistance is beyond my power,

primal need burns inside…To taste,

to taste the hardness of your drive,

the product of your dreams

and my lips are there,

softly rubbing against the tip.

Each gentle touch met with enthusiasm,

my tongue circling,

licking,

more,

more…

and you are awake

and I am caught, blushing,

cheeks flushed followed by the

sudden rush as bodies meld

and passion spills.

Karen Hayward ©2017

 

I want to walk barefoot upon the moon. 

I want to walk on the moon, 

bare foot with universal star 

dust dancing through my tresses. 

I want to stand upon its naked form 

and stare into the blackness. 

I want to sing among the stars. 

I want to look back at earth 

see Gaias true beauty from afar. 

I want to swim in lakes of moon light, 

naked and unashamed watching numerous 

suns rise across my horizons. 

I want to wear meteor did upon my dress,

skimming my knees a full circle

that twirls as i walk, 
teased by the breeze. 

I want to ride chariots of the Gods, 

traverse the skies in the simplicity of innocence
On the blood of purity. 

I want to walk bare foot upon the moon. 
Karen Hayward *© 2017

Denim jeans and vintage lace.

Bottle caps and a cider chase
Denim jeans and vintage lace.
Fallen darkness the nightly chase,
as the devil tries to keep the pace.
Vodka tipples and loaded shots,
Warm evenings and summer frocks,
Chains that bind, chains that lock,
Pleading eyes a front your…
Cider chasers, bottle caps, vodka tipple and semen shot,
summer days and binds that lock,
Naked skin beneath the frock,
waiting, playing, needing your…

Karen Hayward ©2016

Desire burns.

Like a whisper on the wind,
a delicate fantasy of sexual desire
that burns constantly in the distance.
The heated flames never far from mind,
the discovery of new erotic finds.
The desire tantalises the curious mind
with its broken edges
and shadows
left behind.