Quenched

And so woke an
envious mind
a subtle craving
a gentle image
grasping at
dreams…
… the
bottle between
your hands
the glass between
your fingers
the neck at your lips
Your tongue
saturated
nectar spilling
into your mouth
and the way your
eyes caress
her curves
seconds before
you place the
ice cold
bottled beer to
your lips and she
quenches your
primal thirst.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

His.

A kiss, tender passion filled need as the world twirls as butterflies swirl as you pull me deep within your grasp. Warm lips, wet tongues, tasting, sipping, biting, saliva entwining. Igniting, the imploding need of sacral fires burning, rising, tippy toes, pushing forward, faster, deeper. Two souls alit. Desire, need, lust, fighting to explode, skin a sensory puzzle of excitement, a visual play of energy as the soul becomes the rawest of all erogenous zones, tingling, waking, burning, aching… Kiss me, just fucking kiss me.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Photo

A million shards of shattered self.

He embraced me, with my heart in pieces,
his fingers held me tight within his grasp,
collected up the fragments
and put them high upon a shelf.
He didn’t try to fix me, said, I was perfect
as I came. Still, his love became the glue
and the pieces spelled his name.
I found lust among his kisses, a primal
calling of a mate, and strength within
his arms that surround me late at night.
He’s the passion in my essence, the power
in my voice, the gentle loving kisses
he is my every choice. I gather up his
pieces and take him as he comes
in lust, desire, love and need,
I know he is the one.

Karen Hayward ©2018

No claim to image.

Tangled need.

Your essence scatters through me in broken
fragments. Whispered traces of ancient maps
penetrating my psyche, your scent I
crave as it lays across my skin
caressing the contour of my hip with
sweet lips and a sugar cane tongue that pleads
to be tasted. Look at this chaos of
love that is spilling through me in hues of
liberated need. The paint strokes of a
lover laying his name upon his art
my soul wears the calligraphy of your
lust in swirling circles of vivid pink.
An unboundless love that swarms on the warm
curve of your voice, tangling me in your need.

Karen Hayward ©2018 Image and words

Photo

Feel me as I become the waves…

Photo

Feel not the strength of my force
but the depth of my passion.
Feel me as I pull you under
the air pulled from your lungs
as I circle your body.
Feel me as you sink further in,
your eye’s lost in mine as I create a cyclone of desire.
Feel me as I devour your soul in one single wave of ecstasy.
Feel me as I wrap myself around your body,
feel me as excitement builds,
Feel me as my energy rises,
Fell me as my strength recovers,
Feel me as I explode against you in orgasmic rush.
Feel the depth of my passion as I pull you under.

Karen Hayward. 2015© Image and words.

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.