When lust comes wrapped with golden bows

… I find it still lurking,
that broken fragment
at my core. A moralistic
demise speckled in
broken shards.
It is me,
an intrinsic scar on my soul.
The reflection of my
own self belief
that can only be
bandaged with
plasters of lust,
not love,
kissed with lips of desire,
not love…
A primal need for a
primal scar perhaps…

…but what happens
when love comes
wrapped in primal
kisses. When every
bite of carnal sin
tastes of ancient
love. When every
word is a stroke, every
syllable is a kiss,
every pause…
… A thrust of
liberated ownership…

… What happens then
to the scars of my
past, etched within
the dark recess of
my soul.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Photo

The whirring tides

On keeps edge
a spring breeze
dancing through
auburn strands
of chaos as dawn
wakes. Blazen
skies igniting over
blue horizons
white surf kissing
day’s promise.
Fingers grasping,
waves plunging
hungrily,
mouths searching
tide rising
lust craving…
… gentle blades
of grass tickling
eyes knowing
mouths finding
sun ascending
bodies descending
passion burning
losing sense of
time
within the
whirring tides
of stars that is
Love.

Karen Hayward ©2018

No claim to image

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

The unity of sex

It’s about control.
My control over you,
over external stimuli,
it’s about navigating
my pleasure zones,
taking them cliff edge
and jumping, naked,
abandoned into an
angry sea of lust.
Its about power,
swinging the kinetic
pen-
du-
lum
in favour of me,
of you,
of me,
of you.
It’s nature’s force
rising within,
screaming obscenities
into the silent sky.
It’s about embracing
taboos,
painting them
across my torso,
mapping them
across my hip,
kissing them deep into my existence.
It’s about liberation,
those shackles that bind,
the ropes that burn,
the belt that reddens
The hands that restrain…
It’s about losing sight
and gaining… Sight
Being led into
temptation and
made to feed.
To gorge on sin
To devour whimsical
wishes, its about
control… My control
in your hands, my
power in your fingers
My need in your kisses
My desire in your strokes
My passion burning in your eyes
It’s all about trust
Power/ trust/ control
Yours… Mine…
They are the same
Its about unity.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Photo