Original Photo :

I catch a scent,

That floats in the air,

The lust,

The decadence,

The yearning despair,

The sweet hint of sweat,

And dark visceral musk,

A forbidden perfume,

Yet the essence of trust,

Your breath,

Your whisper,

The tease of your touch,

All prelude the falling,

The need is too much,

Awash with the fire,

In the demons own lair,

The wait,

The want,

The almost there.



 Photo Copyright : hans van den berg


If I started to weep,

Would you ask me what’s wrong,

Would you open your arms,

 Make me feel I belong,

Would you wrap me in warmth,

And heal me with heat,

Would you kiss away tears,

Let my fears all deplete,

Would you let your hand fall,

And let it tease over skin,

Would you watch my chest rise,

Feel the hard nub within,

Would you lower your mouth,

To the bud that awaited,

And drink from the chalice,

Till your thirst had abated,

If I asked you for more,

Would you know what I need,

Would my sorrow be sated,

Would you let me concede.





Cherry moist,

Warm to the touch,

The velvety texture,

A whispered brush,

It begins a tease,

That slides o’er skin,

Increasing intention,

And exploring sin,

Tasting fire,

Infused on tongue,

Liquescent power,

The end has begun,

Temperature rising,

Expanding heat,

Pressure enhancing,

The need to complete,


Your kiss starts the fire,

That plunders my all,

Your taste is the toxin,

That destroys my control.