It’s not the thing that is romantic or just filled with sexual tension; it’s when our bodies, minds, and instincts agree—there’s something substantive and wonderful there. It’s worth pursuing and preserving.
Struck by Ramblings of a Fragile Mind
All
my
life
I’ve
waited
for this
The
feeling
of certainty
That
thunderbolt
kiss
I woke up still feeling the touch
That visited in my dreams
Delicate and flirty
Intentional and every bit a surprise
I shifted and
Closed my eyes
Spirit
I am the fire spirit risen
from Aries, I have been riven,
on the birthday of Artemis
I was born of a stardust promise.
I am to be sought not bidden.
From in a dark place hidden.
On the cusp of the gloaming,
I may be found the hillsides roaming.
Passion
Summer nights, running through forests of love
Entwined like tree branches intimacy found.
Lips kiss as if greedily taking in water.
Bodies intermingled like vines, sought and received
Wrapped in each other’s arms, passion sated.
First Born
In the November snowfall.
Through the darkness of night. My courage in both hands.
The hours drifted by. The pain was numbed by gas and air. Suddenly, you were there – belovéd firstborn.
Unequal
When one loves
more than the other
no good can
come of it.
The other cheats and tells lies
A divorce follows.
Estrangement
the saddest thing is
to be mourning the living,
our estranged children
Eternity
October sorrows
recalled memories – birth, death,
awaiting rebirth
our promised eternity
free from human pain at last!
~~~
Carolyn Crossley, ©🦊VixenOfVerse, is a poet and writer from the Northwest of England. Previously published in the first The Short Of It book – The Sound of Brilliance, she has also been published in the anthologies, Poetic Vision and Purrfect Poems. Carolyn has a thriving WordPress blog: Backfromdarknesstolight.com containing haiku, senryu, and other poetry forms. Carolyn’s first feature on The Short of It was on November 20, 2020, and featured again this year on 5/27/2022.
Submissions are now closed but if you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future,
click here for the submissions guidelines.
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The heart wants what it wants…
Never Forget by A Faden Romantic’s Notebook
I will never forget
the adrenaline rush
the catch of breath
the quickening pulse
the sense of destiny
when first you touched
this page.
And I will never forget
my overwhelming desire
to seduce
and steal
and secure
your secret
submissive soul.
Purposely apart by Candice Louisa Daquin
They said, now, don’t spill a drop
I drank you down, an illegal cocktail
and wiped my black cherry mouth without regret
maybe that’s the divider between young and ancient?
Feel the fear and do it anyway, fray the tension
I had fear as a lover since I was a child
but you broke something inside
let out the glass ghost who had long dimmed
a need to feel more than harnessed safety
bristling around the edges like a perpet flame.
Why you? With your arrogant aspect and
the cruelty of no-one special
how I thirsted for your marzipan center
like sugar riddled kid will suck
the cherry fondue before even tasting
you devoured me, intentional or occidental
does it matter?
The slayed self knows no quaint repair
she floats in purgatory watchful of grace.
Then lend me the strength to survive passion
and I will bless you with my shame
that thick cost of it
weighing us down as we walk
purposely apart
eyes that catch as mayflies
and glaze over, fine as sugar powder
the unsaid tempest of an adult heart.
Let us always go to great lengths and take the right paths which supply us with the most joy and happiness. We will find our bliss there.
Week in Review: B & W by Jeanne
Do you know golden
the sticky glazed lover lips
washed in sunny hues
Happiness matters
on stormy seas of teared eyes
blinked in snug smile
We’ll camouflage
the pores which hold memories
blackened by torrent
a sea, a sea of freckles and it is between them i wish to trace your mythology through my tongue, to bring forth your sparkle the way you cast out all my dark. fingers dabbling in the wet i leave behind and if you and i have a name by then we’ll reimagine ourselves a thousand times. unhurried revolutions i will part your sphere of flesh and take you to a depth of essence you never thought you’d find. be mine. i want to gaze upon you nightly and know something in this great expanse makes sense and is all for me.
Always chasing the delirium…
Still a Fool by Penny Wilson & Charles Robert Lindholm
I Was A Fool
My Judgment Was Blurred
Thinking Us Soulmates
Was So Absurd
Drunk On Your Kisses
And Lost In Your Eyes
Longing For Love
I Believed All Your Lies
Craving Your Touch
And Sweet Ecstasy
In Love With Love
And The Fantasy
I Took A Gamble
I Rolled The Dice
I Did What I Did
I Paid The Price
I’m Still A Fool,
I’d Do It Again
My love, I have found you.
I want to make love to you from feet to sweet lips.
Your brightness and sadness I need to know.
I want us nude, heart and mind free.
The hot and humid nights.
Allowed us to sleep with no secrets.
We are complete like a flowing river.
I yearn to touch your face, your breasts, your waist.
In the heat of the night.
My feet touch your feet…
My lips touch your lips…
I’m yours and you are mine.
My lovely one.
You are my only sweet dream.
Your love enchanted my soul.
I kiss your feet, your knees, your stomach.
Caress your curves and whisper.
“My love.
Why are you so kind to me?”
One old and one a more recent post, but both are written superbly by my dear friend Candice Louisa Daquin! Enjoy how she weaves her magic by creating breathtaking imagery in these pieces filled with voluminous emotions and passion. Such talent keeps me flustered with pride. 🙂
I am not overt
even when good green absinthe is poured over
a sugar cube
the silver tongs holding
sweetness just.
I am not overt
will not tell you of my sinning urge to
strip you dear of clothing and chew
the very mercy from you
beneath my aching layers
where frill and fancy and the soft cotton of
longing
lie on top of one another, spilling over
in quiet crescendo.
I’m not overt
as you bend toward sunlight, creating a halo of
light beneath your breasts and I see
the coffee cream and the glory of
all that I have ever desired
drawn in chafed clamor.
With reddened mouths, we
empty our aching into indigo rivers
for to release them
and become that thing of wanting
does not possess a language sufficient.
If it did, I fear I would
spend decades
describing what it feels like
to surrender to you, feel the rounding
of dark silver, begin to etch my spine
its crescent capture, a moon within my
shuddering limbs
as we cascade over the other
swimming like night swans
oblivious to the beckon of dawn.
I fear, should it be translated
my throaty cries will be colors without
meaning, a lake of pleasure, where finding you
I sink beneath, without need of air
your fingers playing me
like a waterlogged flute
for the merfolk who surely have
no rest in their abandon.
It is my greatest secret
that you own my heart and I
supplicate myself in yours, with the
rosy thirst of a child seeking measure
I find myself in the echo of you
your fingers deep in me, striking urgent note
sonorous and defeating sound
together we listen to the rabbit stitch beat
of our hearts, pressed in uttered motion
as you enter my blood and I
absorb a little more of you
as suppliant as a beggar for your
nectar.
I fear should you ever not exist
the part of me wedded to you in between
the trees and through time would
perish like starlight.
For only you bid this girl
alive like ancient wood-maker, setting finish
the sound of us, abseiling into the other, our
wordless joy, limbs bound, skin hot to touch
this thimble of love vibrating its frequency
out to lighthouses and beyond.
Lost from you, I would be no more than
a figment of what was, tortured by
recollection, denied the warm sustaining of
your cherished arms about me.
I am not overt
yet if I were, I should
spill like a warm wax, the seal of you
pressing permanently into my epidermis
a shape of longing and need
where mouths are elongated into song
throats flung back in instrument.
You inhabit me, as I reach for you
cresting waves, growing barefoot dance
a chant in time with quickening pulse
your eyes black in half moon shade
swish of violent love, simmering damp and lush
I release to the witching smell of your
skin surrounding us like points of
flame in absolute blackness
rising up, exhausting their burn
falling down to rise again ever
defiant and pleasured
by the anonymity of their
evoking spectacle
as if I were alive
only in that moment
when you struck me
bright with sulphur
the sabotage of my sanity
given willingly for one
such devoured
moment.
something so different stares me down
in the bones of my face, murdering calcium
I fear a change has come on me like death
shifting all I knew previously into stones weighing down
watching myself cut out of the pack with my own knife
a wrong-headed empathy for cruel people becomes the epitaph
we can stare at ourselves directly and see nothing of the future
rushing through life, peering round corners
how soon they show their true selves and the tar of their shriveled heart
the slip from love to indifference, a hesitation gasping to spill her ache
a handful of weeks pass and they advertise themselves to others like cheap meat
for the next fool who scooping down, picks up their deceit like a fallen child
in those instances, I wish for fangs and to be wild
it seems more honest to tear your fucking throat out
than help you understand why you are poison
Those desired cast a spell with their love potion, intoxicating us even at a distance.
Elixir by Candice Louisa Daquin
A yellow-eyed man asked me once
what it was I favored
in older women
I told him
it’s something in their faces
the shape of their bodies
how their bones knit songs
as if all the years they have lived
have built a testimony
to the potency of woman
I’m weak-kneed in the presence of
strong women, vulnerable women
singers, poets, artists, thinkers
the myriad ways of woman
how breasts find their shape
over time
and colors change with seasons
hair grows long with streaks of grey
eyes own brevity
the smile remains that of a girl
rendering me hot cheeked
I feel the purposing of womanhood
like a blanket
though my contracted heart cannot
own more than a singular affection
i’m not like you, falling in love monthly
I could count on my fingers the times
a girl turned my head and my heart
all the way around
and when you wear that red skirt
you know the one
with the ruffles and the midnight cast
and dip your feet in the river
the glint of your ankle chain catching the stars
you could be twenty or you could be seventy
and I’d lead you by the hand
back to our tent, among the trees
all facing the sky in prayer
and lay you down beneath me
a lotus opening her mouth
to the glory of being alive
with lips like you just ate wild berries
and a tongue tasting of laughter
I drink you in
I drink you in
the elixir of your existing
even as we sagged against
the enormity of surviving
perhaps it’s that shape I love best
how well you make enduring
look
Without touching by Romantic Dominant
He touches her
without touching her.
He holds her
without holding her.
He knows her
without knowing her.
He calls her
and her soul answers.
Both pieces are emblematic of the passion of living, creating, and being. What has you on fire?
Poetry of My Heart by Penny Wilson
The poetry
of my heart
spills
onto the page
in blue ink
and fervent sighs
The poetry
of my heart
is written
on the wings
of dreams
and nights
of longing
The poetry
of my heart
negate shadows
of terrors
not voiced
The poetry
of my heart
stands tall
against
this
world
Dia de los muertos by Candice Louisa Daquin
People told me to avoid you
said you had teeth like a demon
eyes with no good intention
I liked how wolfish you looked
without scruples or goodness
it turned me on
see, I had nothing left
except the desire to burn out
fast and hot like a candle without sufficient wick
wax pouring over the table
a great bloody mess
reminding me of the time you
bent me over that same table
and carving my legs apart in your insistence
we’d live forever if we kept dying
a little death wrapped in roses
those days seem distant now
I haven’t been sexed on a table in
a very long time, I don’t burn
candles much, fearing fire
when really
I ought to be flinging windows open in redress
in the midst of a hot flash
tell the world to burn me
reduce me until I’m unrecognizable
and laughing in my ashen dance
there on the table, driven into highways of wax
dripping on the floor
leaving a great bloody mess
live in the face of death
in the way of the young
those who have yet to build pyres of fear
live unencumbered
sexing on tables, hot with longing
with tongues that taste no ash
no day of dying soon
Oh, my imagination is on overdrive! I see luscious lips, passions reeling, and moistness. 😉
Photo: pixabay.com
Today I spoke to you in
a language so intense,
with more love than latin,
and most certainly french,
a language that feels,
as tongues speak of ecstasy,
and lips are guided by heart,
a veritable feast on
which to gorge,
yet never sated.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul, pvcann.com
You’ll understand why I commented “If it were possible to get inside your brain as you write these pieces, I wouldn’t be able to finish my sentences. The passion with which you write, it’s beyond exciting, bordering on excruciating ecstasy. Someone hold me, I’m about to faint. I’m weak…” Enjoy! 😉
When they say someone is driven to distraction
can’t stop thinking about …
I imagine
a woman running in the rain
newspaper overhead, painted nails
pursed lips, the crook of a smile despite
her hose getting wet, soaking her clavicle, glistening like
some jewel in a torrent might
suddenly fruit
it reminds me of the first time I heard Suzanne Vega sing
not knowing she was singing for a woman
but something in the detail caught my eye
how she felt the same hot breath, steaming glass
lost bra strap, showing slip, untucked blouse
a stray hair, falling in her eyes, it took all of my
self possession not to reach across and brush it
back into place
although I’d rather press my face
into her neck and lose myself to the sound
of rain and tempests, growing inside me
wordlessly showing her the crocheted waves
with every brush stroke
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I Write Her 