love

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Category: erotic

Naked fury. 

The impulsive abandoned 

rush of excitement as anger 

roars through the skies around, 

as nature crashes, 

and our bodies entwine in naked fury.

Wave upon wave of pleasure

releasing from the core of my

being, need spilling into

my fingers, stroking, feeling. 

Thirst building from within

as fingers explore my inner

pleasure. 

In your eyes I see flames 

of passion roaring to the

surface, yours, mine, ours. 

Soaring heat burning in the essence

as it slips between my lips,

as I peak, convulsing, releasing,

as you hit the back of my throat,

as it creeps through my soul,

as I swallow it down,

as I spill across your fingers. 

The essence of our souls 

dancing in blind fury 

among the crashing waves of natures force.
Karen Hayward ©2016
 

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I submit.

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Reach into the depths of my soul and feel at the essence.

Give me truths I can blindly trust not words that can

be manipulated to tell a tale of beauty. Show me

again and again that I am your Queen and you

worship the air I breathe not the ground I walk. See

the beauty in me that lays beneath the surface and

make me no promises, for promises are the essence

of evil. Whisper to me the darkest truths in your

soul and let me whisper back, then look me in the

eye and tell me you are mine and I will submit to you,

entrusting you with everything I am and everything

I can be, entrusting you, to keep my soul free.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

In my perfect world.

You would be my toy of choice,
skin on skin beneath a shaded light
fingers fumbling and skin alive.
The tips of nerves, stretching, slow and deep,
moments in memories meant to keep.
In a life that let me loan,
You’d be the passion behind each moan.
You’d be my worn out disc
Worth every moment spent at risk.
In a perfect world where I did rule,
You’d be my perfect relaxation tool.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Make love to me.

Strip away my outer layers,

lay me bare upon the bed

and make love to me.

But first…

give me make up sex,

break up sex,

morning sex and middle of the night sex.

Give me needy sex and lazy sex

and foreplay will do tonight sex.

Give me selfish sex,

selfless sex.

Give me on the stairs, the table, the sofa

and the living room floor sex.

Give me slow sex.

Fast sex.

Give me sex fueled by passion

desire,

want,

need.

Give me lights off sex,

lights on sex,

middle of the day sex.

When you have stripped me bare

and I am left with only my

vulnerability,

then make love to me.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

 

 

What if Cinderella were a whore?

What if…Cinderella didn’t attend the ball?

What if she skipped along the dark and dusty hall

bare foot in royal purple fish net stockings

swaying her hips and really rocking.

 

What if her Godmother, were actually the devil

and they sat at the fireside a night truly to revel.

Whiskey taste and smoke filled eyes

isn’t this better then the made up lies?

 

What if the pumpkin were a cucumber instead

and the glass slipper was actually perfect head!

And as the hands moved round to the beating clock

her tongue devoured the throbbing cock.

 

What if she wore her soul on her skin

and never actually dreamed of that little gold ring.

What if convention was never her path

would that really be so daft?

 

What if she danced to a tune played just for her

and lived her days in a constant whirl?

What if she cleaned the floors with the spit of her need

and crotchless  knickers ready to lead.

 

What if the mice are lovers of the past

empty souls that could never last

and follow her still trapped by obsession

in a constant state of intercession.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016.

 

 

 

 

Games of Old.

I want to play cards. Give me cards.

Old cards with worn out edges and the remnants

of forgotten nights and remembered mornings.

I want to play Black Jack, rummy,

and snap. Yes snap.

Fuck snap.

We’ll play strip snap.

I want to swallow down burning

hits of red aftershock as I shimmy

another Ace from sight.

Play me.

Lay out your cards and

show me your heart(s).

Let the night forget us in shadows

of lust, let the dawning sun be our light.

Wrap me in white cotton sheets, lead me as

cards fall from the air and onto the bed.

Lay me among Kings and Queens.

Spoil me.

Kiss me, lips locked together

as you pull memories from my hair. Push aside

my legs and as the morning sun falls upon us,

fall into me.

One deep thrust.

A nights worth of flirting, a lifetime of desire,

the dark moments in the shadows and

the whispered touches that only the breeze could carry.

One thrust.

Lips locked, fingers intertwined.

Let the air be sucked from my lungs

as you press my hands down into the bed.

Desire so deep, so dark, so desperate

let it seep from me into you and back again

as we are locked together in that single moment.

Hold me and never leaving my body free me. Watch me

as the white sheet falls and innocence is lost.

Hair tangled falling across my delicate skin

trail your fingers across my breast. Gently, stroking

as I rise up and arch my back ensuring a perfect lock.

Watch me. Your fingers trailing my thighs. Hear me

as carnal lust leaves my body covering you tightly,

throbbing, together as the morning sun drops

golden glitter across our skin.

Karen Hayward ©2016

More.

 

If I wandered past you

naked would you see through

me and continue to stare

at the TV? If I laid upon the

bed and stared adoringly at

the ceiling, would you at

least give me a little feeling?

Will you ever see me as more

than an end, will our passion

always e, pretend.

 

Karen Hayward © 2015.

 

More than a switch.

I like it when passion over runs.

When fingers fumble at fabric

and kisses are magnetically pulled

to the skin. When eye’s meet in a

knowing glance and nakedness

is purely chance. I like to feel the

need in your words to see the desire

in your body. I like to feel the wanting

against my skin

as we go

exploring in.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

Tardis dust.

The peculiarity of sensuality
that wanders freely in my space,
trailing magnetically a shadowed trace.
Curiosity magnified by the specifics of mind, electronically relieved by the wonders I find.

Karen Hayward ©2015.  

If I strip away the basic need.

If I strip away the outer layer the easy  route of darkness where sin lays down its beaten soul and confidence preys upon the weak. If I take away the lust filled thoughts and x-rated images that have set up house inside my blacked out white noise Television set of private peep shows, do you know what would be left behind? If I disconnect the mind from the heart, cut away all ties and laugh as it breaks, do you know what I would lose? Love, the immaculate emotion that all dreamers chase, but no one seems to stop and look at what they lose in their haste. Without love I am an empty vessel tied to nothing and ties with everything. I am a warrior with battle scars to show and passion that flames through my hair and pierces you with eyes so deep and so disconnected from the world that you are lost in their darkness for eternity. Without love I am untouchable, I can walk with Satan and bathe in his tears. Without love I am the darkness, I am the darkness that never looks back I am the succubus, I will take your soul and I will laugh in the corner as you beg for a glimpse of a heart that has not lain there for so many years that I will wonder whether it was ever there to begin with. And if I strip away these layers. If I look beyond the aching throb of sexual tension, do you know what I will find? Weakness that succumbs to the beating heart that should lay slain upon the floor. Desire for a touch that feels more alien than existence itself. I will find a desire that will turn even Satan’s blood cold, a desire so deep that the dead will turn in their graves to know I am inflicted with this weakness. And I will stand alone as I walk the boulevard of broken dreams no broken heart just an empty chest no black and white memories of treasured times, just Polaroid shots of the devil in my eyes. And if by chance I strip away this dark and broken outer shell…do you know what you have placed their? A dreamers chase hidden deep inside my blacked out television and white noise shows of vivid pure and dirty white.

 

Karen Hayward (copyright 2015)