A sensual poem

artwork by author

At the turn of the tap,
water hits tender skin,
you have thoughts of becoming clean.

Caressing and wiggling it’s way
oscillating between thoughts
of pure and carnal.

The flow gracefully drapes over smooth mounds
while eroding inhibitions around every peak.

A bead silently rests on Cupid’s bow.
No need to speak

The water twists and twirls
as it pours off the lips
of your inner cup.

The mirrored drops congregate
on skin that has become a stranger
to a lover’s touch,
magnifying the holy inner fire.

Desires suppressed and never spoken, hidden with the exception of innuendo. They rest…


photo by author

Deep thoughts while lying on the couch —…


A poem of our stories

Photo by Tim van Cleef on Unsplash

We are merely the hand
that holds the pen,
transcribing what flows on the wind.
Echos of unraveling yarns,
stories of old,
melodies of bards singing of love
and hearts bursting with courage.

Child’s laughter and a mother’s sorrow.
Sacrifice of body and soul
resulting in defeat
and sometimes of victory won.

Lovers that ache for each other
but could never be.
Myth and lore of Gods to be feared
and of Goddesses worshipped
with offerings
of love, fire and blood.
Our prophecy spilled
by the Oracle’s bones.

We, us, you, me, kith and kin or clan and those that…


A poem

Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash

Here I sit comfortably
uncomfortably
upon this thing called couch.

I feel so irritated
like I don’t belong in my skin.
Can’t put my finger on it,
I don’t like this feeling
of being beaten and bruised,
by people’s unwarranted hostility.

Called cocksucker and fucking useless
because they didn’t like the rules.
It kind of takes its toll,
need to somehow shake it off
so I don’t dip into the negative
but rather let it be like
water off a fowl.

Nervous energy crackles in my chest and I pray for it to release. Overcome with self judgement of all…


A poem

Photo by Swapnil Potdar on Unsplash

I don’t want to see the shiny
facade you show to the world.
I want to stroke
the soft underbelly of you.

I’m not dazzled
by your eye candy.
I’d rather taste
what lies below,
as my bite cracks the shell.

I’m not impressed
by your smartwatch,
only how your analog ticker
is expressed.

I don’t feel aroused
by the horsepower
or the smell of the leather
seats in your car.
I’d rather have a peek
at what’s under your hood
and feel how well I would fit
upon your seat.

I have no desire to view your personal collection…

Denise G

Writing is the path back to me and photography a reflection of my soul.

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