It's Always The Smile

Formerly “The Other Poems” with 12,000+ readers and correspondents until without warning Tumblr decided I was no longer worthy of web space..

Below is my first book of poems from the original "Other Poems" blog. You can get it on Amazon on Kindle and Paperback.

If you have any of my poems from the original blog on your blog, let me know so I can repost it here. If you like a poem, please repost it so I can find my friends from the last blog. The worst thing about being Tumblr Erased is the loss of connection.

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My corset blog was also erased by Tumblr. I have rebirthed that one too. You can find it here: https://www.tumblr.com/corsetsandkinks4

I have not rebirthed my "The Other Words" blog, which had prose, memoirs and sexual topics worth a comment or two. If you are interested in that one coming back, drop me a private message and if enough people want it, I may start it up again.

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I love conversation, but I am in a wonderful relationship, so no come ons. You would not have a chance no matter who you are.

M or F?

Male. The poems are about me and my love.

Time Well Spent

We took the time. So much of it when we could have been doing.

But instead, we chose intimacy first. Time. Spent. Wisely. Learning

Just how much, and how far. How many and how much you believed you could.

What excites you. What scares you and yet still calls, now that you know fantasies happen.

And now, that time behind you, I know just how far to take you, and a bit beyond.

Still finding some of my old poems from my Tumblr delete sight. Thanks to all of you who reposted so many of them.

Helpless in Lace

There is no reason to rush.  We have the night.  We have tomorrow and I have you,  helpless in lace. 

I fondle the knife in my pocket.  Small and sharp,  I will take my time touching you,  slowly slicing the soft fabric and letting it fall,  enjoying your exposure,  bit,  by bit until it falls in a black puddle at your feet. 

I will touch you, at first as tender as a whisper,  but only at first. 

As my passion rises, I will shed my gentility like a snakeskin and take you like the animal I am inside.  I will make you cry out in pleasure and pain,  and kiss the tears of helplessness as they trace down your cheeks. 

I will force you to your knees violating your tender lips until I am sated,  and then release you to my arms can carry you to bed,  my lover,  my dearest,  my slave. 

One of my poems from my deleted blog

Trussed

I like you trussed.  Helpless.  Exposed.  Your mind racing at what might be next,  the nature of pleasure,  the nature of pain;  how,  and how long I will take you. 

I like to watch the rise and fall of your chest,  how your breathing increases as I approach,  your eyes darting to my hands.  What are they holding?  What signals do they give you? What are my intentions. 

Your eyes dart as your mind roils and I revel in your gasp at my first touch. 

I like you trussed,  Hanging limp and spent afterwards,  your voice low and raw,  a single line or mascara down your cheek,  your head bowed,  I like the soft whimper as my hands  run up your side, up your back the last time and I cut you loose,  the way you fall into my arms,  Your body spent.  Your mind at rest.  Your soul at peace. 

I am slowly finding the poems I lost in the Tumblr purge of my former site.

Serve Me.

Serve me.  Indulge my every whim and desire.  Give yourself to my pleasure,  and I will give myself to yours. 

Are you familiar with Literotica? If you are wanting a larger readership you may find it there.

I am, but I have to admit, I had not thought of them for a long time. Maybe I should submit a few things.

A Different Kind of Art.

Stop. Just like that. Let me admire you a moment. Each curve. The position of submission. A moment of perfection before the passion is unleashed and you are made a different kind of art.

The Culmination of Assurance

It is the after. After the surrender. The taking. The sweet ravaging with all its pain and desire. After the orgasm. and the next orgasm and the last, forced orgasm, and we are both spent, and we fall together in silken tenderness, so sure of our love we could weep, this, the after, the culmination of assurance.

Hours

Hours. I can spend hours savoring each square inch of perfection,

made perfect not by popular standards or the right software, but made pefect because it is you.