THE JOURNEY

THE JOURNEY

Uncapping my insecurities with your teeth

Loosening my shirt with your full lips

I stare blankly into your pupils, having your presence dress me in provocative decorum

I attempt to speak, your fingertips dispel that urge

Your breath trickles down my neck, exploring my spinal cord

Your tongue collects the goosebumps that flicker onto your canvas

You feel my body convulsing at the thought of being touched even further

Words escape my swollen lips, and you say, “Relax, I own you.”

*

My eyes breed nervousness, my hands create a boundary that you smile at.

You smile at the innocence

I’m yet to break in a new man

Without the faintest idea if my soul will be intact afterwards

“May I touch you?” I ask

“No. Give me your index finger,” you say

“Yes sir,” I purr.

You run your finger through my lips

Up and down, slowly capturing their buoyancy

Your eyes glimmer over my face, my eyes glimmer over your desires

The passion burns away at my feet, curling up my toes

“I’ll creep into you like this…” You smooch my waist.

“And I’ll plague you like this…” You grab a butt cheek.

I gasp, inhaling the aroma that lays dormant on your body

An aura that elates dead roses

“Give me your hand,” you command.

Our fingers interlock. Your other hand lifts my chin.

You smile into my eyes, it invokes joy

My lips, I moisten, as I yearn for an ounce of conviction

For unsure is what I am of this thirst and desire

“Help me, show me…”

*

You rest my back on the bed. My hands go to touch your belt buckle.

You remove my hand. “Patience and suspense means more elation.”

“Yes sir,” I murmur.

You discover my briefs. I let your hands excavate my belonging

Your fingertips greet the shaft in a slow motion.

My breath catches. A smile cracks your face.

You swirl your tongue around the tip.

You feel me expand into your palms.

You lean into my left ear. “How does it feel? How do I feel?”

*

You call me Baby

Your right hand meets my little hole

And slowly you tease me

I can feel your drool touch me and cause a river of ecstasy.

You pause. Breathe, before delving in like your life depended on it.

You grab them, my little cushions

“There’s plenty to eat,” you promise. “Get ready for a long night.”

You move to my spine, generating more neurological signs with your adventurous tip

Swirling it on the outer layer of that needy warmth

You let it get harder, then slowly inject yourself into me

You let each impalement expand me further and over the edge

I arch my back as you go in deeper

I echo your groans with my moans

We make magic together

We move together slowly

As one

Graduating in tempo and the expenditure of passion

Climbing higher and higher…higher still

And then crashing spectacularly

We suck in breaths long forgotten along the way.

“Atta boy…” you murmur with complete satisfaction

Poor you… And I was just getting started

“I missed a spot,” I say. “Let’s do it again.”

And again, the journey begins…

Written by Vhar

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17 Comments

  1. simba
    August 26, 04:47 Reply

    Haba, pure fuckery this morning.. Vhar nice work, u ‘ve improved a lot..felt so real..

  2. #Chestnut
    August 26, 05:43 Reply

    Is it wrong for me to admit that whenever I see a poem here,I scroll down to check if it was Vhar who wrote it, b4 reading it? I’m so sooo sorry to all d gifted poets we have here; it’s just me…I’m just too stupid to get poetry.but Vhar…Vhar just transports me to another place…#OkBye

  3. Mandy
    August 26, 06:16 Reply

    Ode to a gay virgin. lol. Good one, Vhar.

  4. Ace
    August 26, 08:05 Reply

    All this poetic fuckery this morning. It is well.

    P.S: Suddenly I am earnestly waiting for an article from a top that is not DM. (Bite me).

      • Ace
        August 26, 08:43 Reply

        Or should I add “alleged” top? Cos some folks said this blog for bottoms

  5. Teflondon
    August 26, 11:40 Reply

    Finally a piece on sex (though not raw and raunchy enough) but ill manage. all those other poems on ” true Love ” gives me all kinds of head ache. Not so my thing.
    VHar; Like me or not, i respect you and your works.

  6. Diablo
    August 26, 11:47 Reply

    It’s another one of those quasi-poems where nothing rhymes and everything is spaced. Goody!

    • Mandy
      August 26, 18:02 Reply

      Poetry comes in different forms. They aren’t all about rhyme and pattern. It’s okay to say you don’t get poetry, but to sneer at one’s effort is in such poor taste. Your comment is something I’d expect from the likes of Teflondon. Not you, Diablo.

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