love

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Category: lust

Downgrade….good luck with that!

ladyarmor

So you’ve down graded me to (love) friendship plus a bit?

I’m wondering how the fuck that fits.

For I get it we are a must,

but darling you’ve forgot my lust.

In my veins burns heaven and hell,

I’m not made for a life where passion don’t dwell.

Stagnant waters sour my brain

life without desire drives me fucking insane!

(weren’t we synced? or was that just a line?)

I’m repeating history,

why?

It’s a fucking mystery.

Please stop picking at petals they’re dropping to the floor,

push me in this corner my soul will take no more.

Love me as you did or love me not all,

I have plenty of friends to show up at the ball.

You said that I was life yet you yearn for something else,

pain they say is poetry by those who’ve only felt.

And I wonder if you even know what it is to love,

for it seems to me to be that one will never be enough.

I’ve walked that path myself,

self inflicted pain upon my health.

The constant search,

the grueling lurch,

the measly offers to our internal church

and we dress it darling, by declaring we were born to flirt.

KH©2016

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Lust.

What is this echo that seeps beneath my skin, dragging me beyond through the gates of sin. What is this whisper you place upon my name tempting me to wander away from the tame. A darkness that speaks to my soul tainted thoughts I once did know. Abandonment of reality into a world seeped in fantasy. Lust? Does lust echo in the whispered thoughts of morality? Oh angels that walks the darkest paths, what is this spell you have placed upon me. 

KH©2016

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
 

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

Lucky charm or call to death?

My Dad warned me about guys like you,
with your charming looks and eyes of blue,
your slippery tongue
and blind need for fun.
My Dad warned me of guys like you.
They canna keep it in their pants
he’d tell me gently so it wasn’t a rant.
They’ll end up riddled with STI’s
Stay away child, my Dad would cry.
I slipped into the blue pools of your eye’s
your charms magnetic, you didn’t need to try,
as you spun yarn upon yarn pulling me in
till that moment when my brain came up to breathe.
My Dad warned me of guys like you,
The charm he said, is never true.
Their colours show with time he said,
even willing to make a bet.
I broke the field of magnetic pull,
walked away when I wasn’t full,
you glared as I walked the floor,
Mumbled something as I shut that door.
Time moved the way it does,
In no particular incessant rush.
I saw you here, I saw you there,
not a glance to show you ever cared.
Years have passed and years have gone,
my Dad’s wise words are never wrong.
So much charm always another gal upon your arm,
never did you stop to think of the harm.
Riddled now with deaths calling card,
all those lives, it must be hard.
Spreading joy and love and death,
I thank the skies I upped and left.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

60, 59, 58…

Sixty extra minutes, fifty nine really would surmise.

But an extra hour really would be kinda nice.

In that extra precious time I could surely make you mine.

My little tiny world could pause and still I would have time.

I could stretch and flex my fingers

in calm anticipation of this feeling that lingers.

I could make a cuppa, 2 sugars, white,

sit for a moment and enjoy the night.

They’d be time for a piss and still nothing i’d miss.

Time to relax, let go of the day

still plenty of time to sit back and play.

And when the new day arrives,

still I could soar and fly.

Time would be mine to wake from this slumber,

for the clock would be showing just a new number.

I could yawn and stretch or even play fetch.

I could explore and devour and be left hoping for more

if I could just get the extra hour I need at that door.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

The Black Veil.

The creation of distance an elaborate wall of defense indestructible, impregnable. The seeping residue of desire eliminated on sight. Just the slip of the tongue an inkling of fun, in the harshest of lights I find this new sight.  Freedom of sorts exploration of thoughts, no tie to reality my speciality. Follow me into the depths of despair, in the shadows you’ll find someone to care, a troll a monster or darkness itself. Walk with me through the hollow shells, where once sat a heart that often did swell. Let me use you and take you I promise it’s true. The honesty found in the erective salute and the white flaming juice that you’re able to shoot. Play the strings, strum them, listen as their melody fills the air and know for a moment that you are there. Hope for a moments recognition in the blinking of an eye,  see the emptiness recognised by only the sky. Sheets covered, sticky and wet, a moments pleasure you might try to forget. It follows you around in the depths of your mind, a curiosity of what creature you’ve found. Emotive humans slave to their thoughts always seeking what they believe to have sought. Spiteful words, indignation to the free soul that constantly needs out for an elaborate stroll. Walks filled with passion, fingers that roam, thoughts that are free to imagine,  yet blinded in the caves of repression. A divide, a slither of time where darkness hides. A slip of the foot, a slide of the toe changes the results of the black lace show. Bodies hanging from the butchers hooks desire congealed in realities nook. Flesh and blood and bone, alone. Alone. Aesthetically pleasing until the flesh will rot, bones will crumble, blood will dry and no one will utter goodbye.

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.