Summer Time and the Living's Easy Challenge

[29wordsforsnow]

Summer Switch

(exuded on a lazy late summer Sunday)

No Showtime,
oh, Mistress o’mine?

no latex to gleam
no leather to crack
no eyelets to ring
bared of second skin

the first with drops so wet
not me who made you sweat

no fingers that scratch
no hands that latch
no arms that swing
no whips that sing

the air outside forever still
relief won’t come from the windowsill

exhausted from nothing
we lay on the sheets
absorbed by the morning
submission to heat

your fingers’ touch
almost too much

a lazy breath
to send ‘em off
a tiny death
your sigh a cough

such a reward for a single blow?
one more to see your arousal grow

my mind excited
from your desire
your skin ignited
from my lung-born fire

I bring you gusts, winds and storms
for bedtime games, are these new norms?

Your voice a mumble
I beg your pardon
blowing more, you tumble
while rosy buds harden

the shiny layer soon is gone
excitement too, a sudden yawn

replacing with spit, I’m no puritan
isotonic memory of life’s origin
when licking up dried salty secretion
until your body grants me repletion

dispersing breathes as any lung can
a welcome relief when finding a fan

the satisfying tool
made of lace, not from wool
only the best, my slave
my right hand starts to wave

soon enough saliva’s source depleted
seek for a substitute repeated

my left hand starts to spread
the endless rivulets
of glands’ moist outlets
from your toes to your head

your streams rising, our fluids blending
another release of heat pending

cheeks redden
nipples tremble
lust ensemble
hips madden

spread ‘em some more
open that double door

the fan becomes a blur
the dam breaks finally
sending bliss spinally
ebbing away, you purr

oh, Master o’mine,
Showertime?
​

 

[champagne1982]

This Summer

Blazes aren't as fierce
as a spring of floods
has dampened those straws
and ashes where wildfires
spark out of control, fed
with dry. hot air off
the southeastern slope
of the Continental Divide.

Instead we feel the eastern
cool of Atlantic air pressing
fiercely against its western
bank and raging on the wall
of Appalachian resistance
and carrying the fury north
to be bent westward, diminished;
made nothing more than gusts
but significantly cooler.

It feels like mother nature
has set her fires against
fresh fuel in Siberia
as the muskeg dries, glacial
steppes moving southward
when vortices press Arctic
deep winter cold over lands
much better suited to Earthly
climes rather than Martian
summers of sixty below.

Maybe next week will bring
warmer temperatures and kinder
breezes to more moderate,
temperate zones and leave
the chill sleeping until
autumnal frosts stir it
up from a three month nap.

 

[todski28]

Kiss me hard before you have to go
I saw you
white dress on in the pale moon light
the flutter of moths as they try
to bridge the distance between now
and the next generation
while we grind and the
alcohol pours out dirty thoughts
the music hard base
screaming lyrics
that speak
an echo of our ancestry

a spear of moonlight hits your hair
beauty queen and harlot
it looks as if summertime's fingers decided
to caress your skin in pale moonlight
and wipe away your tears

the sizzle of the air
is sweet and taste like the curse words that
you whispered

a plea of please fuck me
before this night ends
and the enduring heat
is more than I can take

we find ourselves driving down the freeway
my hand buried in your crotch
weaving across three lanes
because we're young and reckless
the scent of your sex
in this moment is god
and the devil
and a penchant for not giving a fuck
bar to you and the stain that you make on the seat

we park on the boulevard
overlooking the ocean
I enter you
dress hiked up
my pants still on

you slide over me the way summer does
hot and wet and
your cries are the night

 

[Kadyia]

Island Dreaming

California dreaming on the radio,
but I ache for a sandy beach
outside Matala, on the coast of Crete
where I’ll lie, sun on body, topless.

A cute Greek boy might stare;
I’ll bite my lip and roll over on my stomach,
offering a teasing smile.

Then mind snaps back, I pull forward.
The In-and-Out girl takes my order;
I wait for my single burger, animal style

Beneath my feet,
I feel the cobblestones of my imagination
when walking back to a blue-and-white villa,
serenaded by the quiet island murmur,
Nowhere in sight this fast food nation.

Mask covers my face as I pay.
Driving home, I long for retsinated wines,
ouzo, and homemade raki.

Give me a hard-bodied man
to hold my hand and make me blush.
I want to make memories
and feel a wanton goddess, not locked down,
staring at Summer’s end.

 

[todski28]

Island Dreaming

California dreaming on the radio,
but I ache for a sandy beach
outside Matala, on the coast of Crete
where I’ll lie, sun on body, topless.

A cute Greek boy might stare;
I’ll bite my lip and roll over on my stomach,
offering a teasing smile.

Then mind snaps back, I pull forward.
The In-and-Out girl takes my order;
I wait for my single burger, animal style

Beneath my feet,
I feel the cobblestones of my imagination
when walking back to a blue-and-white villa,
serenaded by the quiet island murmur,
Nowhere in sight this fast food nation.

Mask covers my face as I pay.
Driving home, I long for retsinated wines,
ouzo, and homemade raki.

Give me a hard-bodied man
to hold my hand and make me blush.
I want to make memories
and feel a wanton goddess, not locked down,
staring at Summer’s end.

well met Kadyia, an erotic twist with a kick of reality
a tequila shot, salt, burn then a bitter tang on the tongue

a blend of past, present and desire to be free.

much enjoyed, thanks for the read.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

We'd tumble from the beach, bare feet and sandy legs.
giggling and shoving as we queued for ice cream cornets.
Those endless days of summer hols, when it never rained,
or did it? Probably, as I recall crashing thunder storms.
More and more my mind takes me from this chair, caged
as I am, glimpsing only sunshine through the open door.
Back to that long ago home of sea and salty fingers
and sandy sandwiches shoved at us by Mothers, safe
behind windbreaks, before racing back to the sea
and the hard work of shrimping nets. Those sunburnt
shores where I know in my heart, I'll never run again.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

We'd tumble from the beach, bare feet and sandy legs.
giggling and shoving as we queued for ice cream cornets.
Those endless days of summer hols, when it never rained,
or did it? Probably, as I recall crashing thunder storms.
More and more my mind takes me from this chair, caged
as I am, glimpsing only sunshine through the open door.
Back to that long ago home of sea and salty fingers
and sandy sandwiches shoved at us by Mothers, safe
behind windbreaks, before racing back to the sea
and the hard work of shrimping nets. Those sunburnt
shores where I know in my heart, I'll never run again.

No emoji here to express this emotion

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[todski28]

So very poignant Annie, hit home with the raw honesty of a cricket Bat to the junk!

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Thank you, didn't appreciate it when I had it.

 

[Kadyia]

Those sunburnt
shores where I know in my heart, I'll never run again.

Beautiful poem, movingly poignant.

 

[todski28]

Thank you, didn't appreciate it when I had it.

Taking life for granted is probably one of the most human traits of all.

It’s a powerful piece of writing and has a slow build and a very hard hitting crescendo, you should submit it in my utterly worthless opinion

 

[Angeline]

More Miracle Than Bird

She is the cat; he the moon.
It is a love poem disguised
as a rustic tale. She tips,
sure-footed on delicate feet
dampened in the night dew,
she skims almost in flight
but he can only wave
his wavery, lunatic face
tall, far above her, distant
shivering. Her eyes change
and he wonders what she sees
and whether she sees him.

Oh it's just a fiction, imagining
them on a late August night,
imagining how she quiets him,
then sinks with him into the grass.

It's just a fiction of a long dead poet,
but I read it and burn and shiver
and burn.

 

[todski28]

More Miracle Than Bird

She is the cat; he the moon.
It is a love poem disguised
as a rustic tale. She tips,
sure-footed on delicate feet
dampened in the night dew,
she skims almost in flight
but he can only wave
his wavery, lunatic face
tall, far above her, distant
shivering. Her eyes change
and he wonders what she sees
and whether she sees him.

Oh it's just a fiction, imagining
them on a late August night,
imagining how she quiets him,
then sinks with him into the grass.

It's just a fiction of a long dead poet,
but I read it and burn and shiver
and burn.

You write in such beautiful imagery
Your final lines are just gorgeous

 

[Angeline]

You write in such beautiful imagery
Your final lines are just gorgeous

Thank you tods. I was just musing on a book I was reading.

 

[butters]

Thank you tods. I was just musing on a book I was reading.

muse more, please