Last Line First Challenge

Not to ignore our other cravings,
we begin to explore.
Weep with me for a moment.
Do you taste the melancholy
of the kitchen? Past warmth
sacrificed in the heat of the moment.

The taste of Snickerdoodle cookies
still haunts me to this day.
Her occasional unexpected treat
Haunts me with that sense of spice.
And she understood spice, Smelling of cinnamon
in the curve of her throat

while our fingers
take the pulse of each other.
Intimate touches intending to please
in intimate ways. Sense of intimacy
In her every smile, saying
I know your secrets.

There would be no need for martyrs then.
Not that I feel the martyr now.
But enough of yesterday.
Let us break eggs together,
Knead the dough into shape,
then give it time to rise.

Together we can taste
of savory, sweet.
Bitterness offering contrast.
Salt adding seasoning.
Not too much though,
I’ve tasted too many tears lately.

This is wonderful! You take the lines of four different people and create an uncanny unity, a sense of two people sharing the fullness of a complex relationship. Awesome!
 
To Scarlett Charmes, TE999's avatar:

Not too much, though--I've tasted tears too many times lately
But you don't pull too tight, the leather lashed around my wrists just right
So that I make the Y I might as well have been in my chromosomes
Instead of the X of our sex, but hell, sex is more who I am than anything
And why we're both here, right, Scarlett? Anguisettes and pomme de sangs
Fangs and fools and nymphs and satyrs--the woods are getting thicker
But it's just the two of us here tonight...well, maybe we're more of a threesome
As you brought my favorite stiletto, in its cutaway black leather sheath
Like a V-slit evening dress on the pale-flashing vamp flesh of a lover
Ecstacy clouding my vision as you hold it on palms in front of my eyes
My pupils blown so wide that I say you look like you have a halo
We both laugh at that, deep, devilish, and delicious, like dark chocolate sin
It's time to get down to it, as you walk around me in that slut strut of yours
So hot I want to taunt you by offering you a quarter.......
Just to feel you pull my hair and snarl into my face
But you would like that so much, I don't say it
Though you know I'm thinking it with my evilly twisted smile
And my head tipped down, but my eyes glittering up at you the challenge
Circled behind my bare back, I hear you draw the knife as I draw my breath
Just as sharp as the blade, with the same soft hiss at the end of its length
The first touch of the tip, a perfect pirouette upon my neck
Now that is foreplay for yourself, and we both know it, I whisper raggedly
But you ignore me, beginning the tracing design masterfully light
A Celtic spell of binding, the witchcraft of your interlocking swirls
Twisting vines, expert arches and dives, in, around, and over again
So good, so damn good, the growing feel of fire and wetness, and our desire
You know that is what will break me, mistresse, not the pain or blood, but you
I cannot take your detachment any longer, screaming out the word for finish
As you laugh it triumph, flinging the stiletto's blade singing into the wall
Just below where Tom stands, chuckling, from the dungeon's shadowed stairs
Your lunge snapping me forward, my head whips, stretching my neck
This sacrifice about to sanctify the satisfaction of the night
Which boils darkly and flows so freaking hot between us
Your first fine bite unleashing the surge of power that we ride wildly
As only the wanton, wet and wicked know how to ....


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
http://forum.literotica.com/image.php?u=681197&dateline=1254882259
Scarlett Charmes
 
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Synchopated (for Remec)

Leaning on the speakers the vibrations
Makes my vision shake psychedelically
As I balance a drink in my hand the cherries
Are bellydancing on the toothpick in the waves

The gleam of your glasses casts tracers
As you turn your head and walk towards me
My move was meant to make me look nonchalant
Make me want you less or atleast make you think so

But the bass playing through my pelvis backfires
As I instinctively tighten myself against it
All I can think of as my eyes avoid yours
Is what would happen if you took me here and now

What would it feel like for you to feel it through me
 
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What would it feel like for you to feel it through me
That would explain the reams of paper
The pretzel tangents
Disjointed, unresolved
Filling leather bound books
Or loose leafs piling on my desk
Turning yellow with age

Will you be my condiut?
Will you link me back
To that person buried in
The pulp, the miasma
Of circular logic
That brings me near
But not to the answer

Looking for the key where the light is
Not where it was lost
Is your night vision better than mine
Will you reognize me
When I am revealed.

If the prism of your eyes is just so
What little light I give, may fall upon the answer
 
(In Progress...don't critique...invisible poem--lol)

What little light I give may fall upon the answer
Every history layers of mystery handbound
While my flame pirouettes like a tiny dancer
The candle's wax drips slowly to the ground
 
The candle's wax drips slowly to the ground
leaving its trail as if it were half-comet,
half-snail. The candle's wax drips over living
and non-living without preference; it is only nude
to the flame in the moment of its consumption
as I am before your eyes, all my adjectives stripped
and limp in a puddle, hot but hardening.

PS. Super idea for a challenge thread, Ariel.
 
The candle's wax drips slowly to the ground
leaving its trail as if it were half-comet,
half-snail. The candle's wax drips over living
and non-living without preference; it is only nude
to the flame in the moment of its consumption
as I am before your eyes, all my adjectives stripped
and limp in a puddle, hot but hardening.

PS. Super idea for a challenge thread, Ariel.
limp in a puddle, hot but hardening,
spent yet invigorating, a movement
rolls along, the supine line of curves
gentle, pooled at the nadir
of the creases, it flows along,
a spine flex curls the fibres
until, the phoenix rises from a little
death to fly towards another
 
Death to fly towards another
His wingbeats as quiet as ashes
Sooty feathers trail as he closes in
Cloak sewn from fabric of shadows
He closes in and with bonely fingers
To reach into the secret safe between
The flesh and the soul of its owner

To pluck away what might have been
And deposit it in the bank of eternity
In this exchange there is no fair trade
No receipt except the epitaph's ledger
The Accountant calls you into his office
Hopefully you invested in your future
Your currency is no longer good here
 
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Your currency is no longer good here
History is written by the victors
But I am conqueror no more
Keep your bills of guilt, your conferate coin
I will ignore the southern cross tatoo
You tried to hide and give you what I can

You think I like you as the beggar
That you owe me as a penance paid
But your doubt that was keeping score
Made you walk in rags when gold lay at your feet

I have to turn away, my currency is vastly down
But nothing that invested do I regret
If it was a war then I fired the final shot
We disagree on whether it was aimed at you or me.
****
To the one who knows Bladey says this has nothing to do with you. Thank you for the line you will recognize from our chat.
 
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We disagree whether it was aimed at you or me
This blood-tipped arrow on the bed between us
We both have too many wounds that can bleed
And the morning's revelations are never genius

Somehow we tried to recall last night's fantasy
When we chased away our judgment with our lust
That's when the smiling armed midget in a sheet
Looked like a character that we should trust
 
Next Day Cupid

Looked like a character that we should trust,
not that either of us did, mind you,
You turned your head, and then your back,
putting faith in the power of blindness;
while I looked over the rim of my glasses
as they sat halfway down my face again,
and sawed my lips trying to think of what
I might say to chase the cherub away.
Last night was both powerful and fun, but we
both knew that it was what it was,
no sense in letting Love into the Sex,
plenty of time for that, if we want it,
after we get to know each other.
-----
:cool:
 
Cyanside

Your world is fading down in dimension
Descending into a monochrome madness
Turning the lantern I carry to find you
Into a ghostly will-o-wisp
As I try to guide you out

But you bring your blueness with you
Even your soul is stained cerulean
See my world anyway through indigo glasses
Morning breaking over cornflower mountains
Wings of bluejays that are louder than their songs
Against the Alice-blue of frosted fragment branches
Wisteria clouds floating above them in autumn skies

Here winter wetlands look like Dresden plates
With cobalt magpies chattering in the reeds
Arabians grazing on stubble with blueblack manes
As we walk through a mayan dusted landscape

This slides slowly into spring with rivers running turquoise
And puddles forming beryl patches through the fields
As the sky shifts nascent from baby-powder to navy

Summer comes in then with electric splendor
From alabaster early light to sleepy azure sunsets
When the moon steps over like a polished-steel giant
And looms closer to the glitter-and-smoke colored lake
That I lead you to through blueberry shadows
Where my skin slips phosphorescent through the water

My eyes flash at you as if they were fireflies
From their depths more midnight than the sky
As you move closer my pupils bloom to blackness
There you suddenly see the prism of a place
Where you would never have to be blue again
Unless you really wanted to.......
 
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Tango (for Lorencino)

*I privately pass your last line back to you, like good wine from my tongue...:kiss:*

My loins sensate at the sight
I watch from the crowded balcony
Anxiously lean forward over the handrail
To where you dance lithe around the powerful bull
Just as you lunge under him and quickly arch backward
Twisting deeply the final dart into his flesh to end this play
I pull the perfumed scarf from my tight cleavage and you
Look up at me making my nipples show despite the tight
Layers of lace and corset and stiff satin I have worn for you
Your pleasure in deep obsession with the details of passion
Portraying my part for you know only too well the garter
Is worn only for your eyes from such a public advantage
Like the Juliet that you say should have been Latina

Your loins sensate at the sight
Of me watching for you from my lonely balcony
Reactionally I recline away from the moonlit handrail
Where you are climbing and charging over so dangerously
As you lunge for me I throw my back against a stone pillar
Where your thoughts twist quickly and you pull off my scarf
Tying my hands with it as you slowly tear away the silken dress
Noticing then the details notoriously absent but oddly tighten
Your grip upon my wrists and hair with greater pleasure as I smile
Unworried that your skill is increasing because you are about to
Impale me darkly as you always do the bull in his equal publicity
But I think perhaps the taurun instincts are to enjoy the dance
Just as I am as I think that if Romeo had been my Laitno lover
Those two would have certainly found better ways to die
 
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Playing Strip-Poker with The Fool

But in a decidedly nonromantic way *
As I am far too edgy in everything to be called that
Hookered up in an irish bar wench getup with lace-up
Corsets inside and out pushing my ample nipples up
But wrapping them so tightly in the white scoop rufffles
That they look like bulging cupcakes about to forcefeed
Their target across the table who is down a pair of pants
But is still decent although we both know he will call
The cigar the last thing to go which is a wise choice
Because is we were both foolish enough to let me make the call
The cigar would need to be kept anyway as necessity after the fact
So the wiseman in disguise tries to concentrate past his hairy legs
And the fact that I look like the St. Pauli girl should not only be
Eating my heart out but that with the way that I am grinning
Perhaps she is already dining on something else under the table
And I have invested in enough segues of lingerie to make his
Tongue lose the ability to speak if he made that many transitions

On the table is already a fat plate of snickerdoodle cookies
A box of havanas and a bottle each of crown and velvet and jack
This is where he knows I am probably going to go in for the kill
Omnivorous omnisexual adrenaline and testosterone junkie that I am
And with him distinctly yet discreetly catching alot more breezes than
He was an hour ago when he sat on three thrones and wondered
Just how creatively I could use my obvious pair to devastate him
He had no idea what a rough week I had in the real world and that
The pair was not as much what I was banking on as the cache of goodies
No man is such a good player that an experienced woman will find him
A match for her mastery of spices and feminine intuitions she was born with

The Fool looks at his hand as if they were all jokers although
Even the jesters of hoyle had more clothing on them than he did
Long he looked into her eyes as dark and blue as the smoke was pale
So intense that he was sure her pupils would still gleam in the dark
And if she had known that he was thinking about her in the dark right then
She probably would have tipped her hand so that he finally got a break
But he was too noble to think about cheating and besides he knew that
She had never lost a game of strip poker against any man in her life
WIthout cheating and even beating a room so soundly it was a fullhouse
Followed by a fullmoon and she was hiding a jack in her hand as they folded
But tonight was different because although she had not used it she
Had an ace held prominently in her cleavage that turned her rack into an axe
So formidable it could split wood but he was too frustratingly a gentleman
To notice it on his friend although she kept her hope facepalmed as his cards
Moved towards the table that his boxers would be moving to the floor and
He would allow himself the consolation prize of one glance just in time
To jump-up across the cookies and the liquor to call her to the carpet


Of course Mike would say that he is too much of a friend and gentleman
To take the kitty especially if he thinks that someone might lose their shirt
Which is why this poker game is only held on Thursday nights in her head;)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Last Line First is from TheFool's poem "couple" from Coming Together
 
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Treasure ( for PandoraGlitters, line from her 007 poem)

A question of worth
Dear beauty if the world were
Based upon that question I think
I would be just as tempted as the fox
To steal into the cornfields some night
To steal you away wrapped in silk

But sweet box of awesome karmas
It would probably end as the legend
Of the Aztec princess once stolen away
By he eunuch lover for the same reason
As her private worth to him
Despite her public role
And material riches
If she stayed

When they were found by her father
She was tied in the field for her defiance
Her refusal to provide him an heir instead of
The greater worth of happiness being an ending
But angrier still were the gods of beginnings
And when the draught came she perished
To appease the gods her father slew
Her lover upon her dirtcovered feet
His blood binding their souls for
Eternity as famine swept the
Farms of all the king's lands

Only then when her people wept
For their children were about to perish
Did the first stalks reach up to them then
Of a nourishment as bittersweet as boiled
And spicy chocolate in better times where
The princess and her lover lived among them

When the first fruits of the stalks
Were harvested the people saw maize
For the first time and then they all knew
That this was the way the princess had
Found to make from her and her lover
The new life the people cherished
 
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Expectations (for Remec: Bring it on...)

Lay me down in leather
Sheets are for Martha Stewart
I need the skills of the Man of Mystery
Not to be wrapped in raffia and fine linen
The colors coordinated to my eyes and thighs

Clothes are meant to be torn to be off
The silk over your nipple the price of foreplay
The heavy gold chain around your neck made for
My teeth to hang onto as we ride

I only make myself look good to make you
Want to mess me up like the icing on a beautiful cake
Making you salivate as I set myself on the table
Legs apart saying "Cut me" in a frosting voice
Why have the expectations of being delicious and
Huskily calling your name just to be looked at

Leave the shades on baby I'm not into visuals
Unless you want to trade your shades for a blindfold
And find out all the colors of my tongue
Exploding into psychedelic madness man I guarantee
That when you drop into the technicolor pool
Those sheets will come in handy for cleaning up
The mess on the linoleum fading back to country colors
Covered for you in sweet blackness over your eyes

As I lay you down with the haunting burn of my lips
All over your body as I deposit you in your precious bed
I slip silently out of your return to ordinariness
Leaving you still wrapped lusciously in leather
 
Tango entangled

Those two would have certainly found better ways to die
than as virgins with fevered brains and loins unsullied
by the dark, giddy orgasming that you and I seek to extract
from the propensity of our bodies to drive us to consume
our energies in wanton demand of pleasures. Desirous
of dance, I release your hands, step back and stare
at your consternation, watch the setting of your jaw
as you spring, catlike, to stake your claim on my arousal.
Arching backward I stagger-shudder with the pleasure
of your fondle, my breath rasping vainly to ease the pain
of the pleasure you surge through me, ruthless.
 
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Firedancer

Of the pleasure that you surge through me, ruthless
I cannot properly speak justice to with inept words
You are so well versed in the language of the dance
That I will not merely be your echo my bullfighter
My pride my fire will not merely let me be harmony
The sound of my heels the castanets of challenge
As you take me faster and faster to the edge
The tango twists into something fiercer than before
As your thigh sliding in between mine incinerates
By its friction the first edges of my dress too easily
Hungry are the lips that would refuse to say mercy
Even though we are both suffering in the flames
My eyes smolder into yours still cool as charcoal
Enraging my blood even further coiling in your arms
Wickedly wondering if you crave such a branding
As love with a wild wanton woman will carve itself in
Just as my fingernails ache to seek their share of flesh
So do my teeth and every inner inch of me in yearning
To take its measure and pleasure of every piece of you
You bite into my tongue and taste the heat unleashing
My laughter rises above our sweating deep intensity
Did you never learn before this not to strike matches
That leave you forever burning as you bear hotly into me
 
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Afterburner (For Lorencino)

I should not have left the fire untended
As I see that it has cooled too far for you
Another has taken the embers for their own use
And left me with nothing but the coals

No matter

As you tango in the arms of another
I have lovers enough to become entangled
In arsony and animality and burning bloodred lips
That cauterize against all memory, almost-lover

But be wary as we share the dancefloor
That these nails that rake down athletic backs
Drawing them skilfully like the bow of an archer
Might just be vicarious arrows aimed at you....:devil::kiss::rose:
 
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Hark Ye, my Goddess

Might just be vicarious arrows aimed at you....:devil::kiss::rose:
that spill energy which, conserved, would better serve as fuel
for pointed passion's purpose to reach for wilder pleasures
than we were wont to know in youthful innocence.

Nay, this tango, Fiery Tigress, is yours, all yours alone
to enjoy in arms that thrill as we incite each other
to soaring ecstasy that arcs crackling across horizons
in periodic peaks that mark our smoldering dance
with brilliant release.

These others with whom you share communion
provide the fullness of needs satisfied that no single man
or woman, and all those in between, could achieve
as individuals. So too, in the interstices, between our abundances
are needs that others share to make me whole.

As much as I must have the Tigress
I need the Rose as well.
 
The Lady or The Tiger

Ah my dear Lothario, wantonly
As you wander the streets tonight
Like the tomcat of many balconies
Wistful for the affections of a tigress

Perhaps knowing not your own limitations
In the limitless searching and scrowling
That you practice calling the name of love
A game with as many aliases as your affections

What you believed of me was most mistaken
Love boundless among my lovers is still bounded
I do not mind sharing my bed with another woman
But I will not share any lover with another bed

Lest the tempest in me rise destructively
And burn all beds and their contents to cinders
Go and dance in the flames if you wish in this arena
It is not choosing between the lady or the tiger

Because I am still my own goddess
And we all know there are no ladies here
 
The Goddess is a Woman

And we all know there are no ladies here
nor there, there, anywhere, if reason would prevail.

Lady an expression of puerile fear
of boyish mind in mannish body escaping
the chilling realization
that mother likes to fuck and must be chained
to chastity in lady. Yet, with Lady banished,
woman is free to be infinite variety
limited only by what she pleases to impose.

Then, my Tigress, though you be more
than ever I could know, Tango with me
to the fullness of what we combine to be
and, even as we soar to surrendering moments of oblivion
that stretch our brief lives to eternity,
celebrate our unique production
but honour
my need to waltz with my Rose.
 
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The Goddess is a Warrior

'Whenever we go out to play', Lorencino
Perhaps I should remember that you are constricted
By the impositions of yourself and others
To only dance as you have been instructed

You mistake me for a fellow student of your school
Instead of recognizing me as the master of another
Interested in the half-life of the mundane
Instead of the real passions of the transcendent

Never a silly woman but aways a serious warrior
Mother not only likes to fuck
But finds that certain others' mothers are the better lay
Although no man or woman could ever contain me in chains
Nor would I be interested in those so tethered
Unable to choose their passions
Which means that they do not know them to begin with
And so like you dance with their swords behind their backs

You remind me, bullfighter, that your real skill
Is not in the wielding of your weapon
But rather in the art of distraction
Which holds no honor at all
And therefore none of my passions' interest
 
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Passion spent is passion earned

And therefore none of my passions' interest
stuns in its finality. The soft feminine flesh
hard with bristling hairs and the heat of anger
that bridles like a plucked goose captivates
my confused awareness. The icy chill
of her rejection bangs my heart against my ribs
even as fearfully I want her to take me
as I turn away in dread
 
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Last Dance

Perhaps we wound each other too tight
In our dance too dangerous to share this floor
And so, Lorencino I bid you goodnight
I have no interest to continue as before
 
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