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Poems On / About LUST  8/2/2015 1:15:27 AM
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  1.     

The Dancing Girl

In an erotic dream I see
A shapely girl dance close to me.
As sensuous slow music plays,
Her slender, lithesome body sways
Like lover lost in extercy,
Delightful in a thousand ways

Dancing with slow rhythmic motion,
Like one performing her devotions
In temple of the love goddess
By subtle move and bold caress
The dancing like the tidal ocean;
Phantasmagoric loveliness!

With seductive swing of ripe hips
She takes up wine glass and sips
Then with an imperious whirl
And toss of hair, that dancing girl
Blows breathless kiss from rose-red lips;
Hair a riot of raven curls!

The tempo of the music grows
The dancing girl she spins and throws
Her vestment off with artful flair...
But oh, what's this? - oh grim despair...
Awakening brings the dream to close;
The dancing girl gone into thin air!







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Terry Dawson

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  2.     

Completing All The Touches

Her pupil shone –
Black stole a peek

Her smile wore sleek
Beneath a knowingness
That I would seek
A slipping down of garments,
Jealous of their role
To hide the jewels that complement,
Completing all the touches.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
















































































































































Lines of Lust


lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
 
Mark R Slaughter

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  3.     

Witch

Eyes, rivulets of red that run beneath a canopy
Of green-tinged lashes –
Tear blood playing on the grey-white skin,
Stretched across the twin peaks of cheekbone.

That slender pillar of a neck –
Magnet of eroticism, blinds to
Veins gorging on the flesh,
Dancing under pulse of blood –
Or whatever pumps inside.

Coal-black lips word intentions –
Castigations – variations of the horror
She was born to be.

O the hair! – a flame-orange avalanche
Thundering down to Hell
Where seething mounds of torn bodies lost their souls
To viler wants and fouler holes of
Scatological minds.

And the plunge of lavish breast –
E’er the siren’s weapon! –
Baits the mortal man –
Were he to chance his hand across
The certainty of doom.

But still we go, our weakness on display –
Hers will not a challenge be to see to our decay.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011


































































































Under lust rain

lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
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lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
 
Mark R Slaughter

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  4.     

Fantasy Iv

Pounce of nipple
Snatches,
Catches me off guard

Flounce and ripple
Thro' the breasts
Arrests

Landing hard,
I'm flung upon my back
To analyse the ceiling -
No appealing under stress

Now under dress -
Panties gone
And she upon
My countenance -
I rouse to bait
Her feminine way

Lead astray by
Aromatic warming
Of her womanhood,
I tune her body's
Resonance
Thro' eloquence of tongue -

Her shrieking
Highly strung

We up the play


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012



































































lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
 
Mark R Slaughter

Read more poems from Mark R Slaughter >>>
   
 
 

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