Porcelain kisses

Photo

Let me fall into pools
of darkness kissed by golden
rays of the falling sun
and peer momentarily
into your soul.
Stroke your fingers
across the soft curve
of my neck, feel the
delicate essence of
my porcelain skin
beneath your wandering
Hands as you grasp me
within your hold.
Pull me into your torso
let me feel the beating of
your heart as your arms
press into me and your
lips search for the
tender kisses that fall
between carnal need,
between abandonment
between love and lust
and desirous want.
Hold me, tight,
within the realm
of always, whilst our
bodies merge, and
our lips search and
our tongues explore
the taste of one another’s
souls.

Karen Hayward ©2017 Image and words

Melodious waltz

A tune so subtle,
melodious energy
igniting in each note,
Twirling a tango,
Willing a waltz
the clumsy stepping
of my whimsical
soul, bells
ringing to Pans beat.
A rhythm
of ancient telling
Lust rising,
love swelling.
And his soul knows my tune,
whistles a perfect song
Plays my body like a flute,
fingers teasing,
Lips caressing,
tongue defining…
And he is the drummer
My skin, his instrument
He beats in rapid strokes
A deep chorus of pleasure
Spilling across atoms..
And he is the saxophone
songs of old dancing
among raindrops
as the moon kisses
my skin…
And he is the song
the beat,
the rhythm
the silence
the rise the fall…
For he is the one
that knows
the ancient
composition
of my soul..
He is my
symphony
of love,
my piano music
Ebony and ivory
in perfect
unison.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image found via wordpress library

Commands the demands

… His words taste like the outer corners of lust, coveted by dark shadows. A curse of black mist rising in me. If I am the succubus then he is my master, puppeteering my desire, fingering my needs to his command. His touch is the black leather choker at my slender neck. His voice the liberating echo of passion that lubricates my strings….and in his eyes is the promise of a million kisses, each one new, deep, purposeful. Each kiss overflowing with lust, each kiss a binding promise of trust, each kiss an exchange of power… And if I am his succubus, a vessel of need then he is my master and from him alone I feed, for there in his kisses, his touch and his eyes, is an abundance of love filling my skies.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image found on Pinterest.

Nothing comes, whilst it all is there

I never thought that I would care.

A chemical reaction and skin that is bare

and that bit of you, that you’d readily share.

But i’m without claim and freedom is yours

so take her if you please, do it on all fours.

Body to body it’s an action of lust

has nothing to do with emotional trust.

So why…

Why did nobody say that the lines become blurred,

that you’ll see emotions written in the words.

Excitement of touch falls to the page

and in that moment I hear what you say.

Words for another

as you explore a new lover.

And perhaps it makes sense

my emotional descent.

It’s more than the skin, the touch and the feel

it’s spirits that touch a connection so real.

And I did not expect didn’t know it was there

but the response that I got, was to be shown that 

I care.

Karen Hayward (copyright) 2015 Image via wordpress library

My Lips…your name.


My lips yearn to speak
your name long into the night,
counting every breath taken,
every syllable spoken
every nervous bite, searching
beneath twilight, in golden rays
endless faces, realms of nothing.
My lips yearn to speak your name,
to taste the letters upon my
tongue, and swallow their intent
caught between kisses, caressed
by desires love, engulfed in
desperate lust, my lips yearn
to whisper your name on pleasures
wave, ascent, descent, upon the
arch of need rising at your touch,
my lips yearn to speak your name.




Karen Hayward (c)2017 Image via wordpress library

The intricate lace ribbons of lust

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I wear a layer of you across my
mind, intricate patterns, vivid
colours, divine scents and
a lover’s lust, entwined with
red lace, silk ribbons and sinful
ropes. Some days I am sure
they are drowning, suffocating,
yet breathing and truly living.
I watch the seconds pass as
depth deepens, truth enlightens
and love weaves a lustrous
web about my broken soul.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017 Image found via wordpress library

He’s the fuck in my diversity

Holy fuck…
It’s the way he did it,
That bloody thing where
falling fast became
the only fit.
Now it resembles
A monochrome web
weaved into the
fabric of time
aeons before that
first
fucking
sign.

He’s all open book
and no fucking index Heiroglyphics with
no picture dictionary.

Yet, if this is our journey
then I willingly walk it

He’s that single thread of intent,
a catalystic explosion,
that’s power,
im powerless yet
empowered by this erotic state that brings
me to my knees like his palate already
knows the taste of my essence
and now it’s back for seconds.

I’m screwed.
He’s so
deep
In my aura
my spirit keeps
asking where we
know him from and
how many times,
decades and fucking
centuries will it take.

I’m his the moment
that voice curls around
my mind.

We’re a cris
cross mashup
of fierce undertones
Hunter gatherers
collecting tidbits
to fill jars with
memories
making paper
chairs out of
snippets of trust.

And I’m scared
shitless
of letting my
tainted heart
dictate the words
that tumble
from my
empty mouth
and spill from my
empty ink.

I’m my very own
battleground
with worn relics
ancient chants
succubus blood
and a soul
made from the
finest China
with no Gold
to hide my flaws.

and fuck..
…just fuck.
Like any thing
was ever gonna
change the
collision of
our paths…

Karen Hayward © 2018
Image and words