Sous la lune

A la tendresse de la lune,

J’entrelacerai tes doigts dans les miens

Afin de mieux sentir résonner

La fréquence de ton âme.

Dreams

Occasionally when floating on my boat of dreams,
I become aware of the nebulous sea of regret rippling under my vessel.
Am I living in a constant state of denial,
Or am I simply appreciative of better times?

Occasionally my smile crisps itself into a stone line,
And my thoughts race back to another side of my mortal reality.
Am I just another memory to one of my memories,
Or am I flesh and bone that can be touched?

Occasionally I hear the pitter patter of the rain on a tin roof,
And it brings me back to a long ago place I once knew.
Am I sure the sensory appreciation is real,
Or am I simply a projection of a non-existent former self?

Occasionally I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders,
And it seeps down into my hidden soul.
Am I truly awake and aware of my existence,
Or am I merely dreaming…


Poem written in 2015.

© 2018 Lilith Ember All Rights Reserved

🔥👄🍑❤️🌸🔥👄🍑❤️🌸

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Lover Art

I haven’t yet told you 
that I want
to etch you
into my memory
the canvas
my mind
the tools
my erotic charge
painting
every inch
of your sleeping body

Feet first
each toe traced
meticulously
“Lilith, the Science of lover painting.”

Blush is your skin
a bowl of milk
with a single
drop of blood

engrave the touch
my hands
firm muscles
buckling legs
a curious look
your lower back

Your sigh
fingers
rounded cheeks
pause
just a moment
leave a mark
teeth

Supple
stomach
kisses
like butterflies
forever
in my soul

Your breasts
complete
my dainty hands
warm
voluptuous
perfect storm
sensual witchery

Hard
the grip
my throat
you tell me
daddy
teaches
lessons

I haven’t yet told you
your star pupil
the paintings
in my mind
someday
on display

© 2018 Lilith Ember All Rights Reserved

🔥👄🍑❤️🌸🔥👄🍑❤️🌸

Thanks for reading! Don’t forget to follow my social accounts. 😘 
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Bathing Beauty

It snowed yesterday, lover, for the first time this year.

Walking home through the flurries, I contemplated the warmth of a bath and its timeless efficiency at chasing away a chilly day.

The crossing approaching, I looked up and met the eyes of a man. He was rough, wrapped in clothing that fashionistas scoffed at. Under his clothes, I surmised, hid robust musculature, sun-kissed skin and natural strength from years of manual labour. A glance at his shoes confirmed my suspicions.

I smiled at him, imagining what it would be like to have him beneath me, my personal erotic steed ready to be mounted. I mused at the polar opposite nature of your lives. You, the coiffed specimen, groomed by generations of tea parties and social gatherings; so close to perfection. Ivy leaguer extraordinaire whose yearning for adventure had pushed you to embrace me in your adulterous arms. But he seemed free, careless, almost innocent in his demeanour. One whose primary concern was meeting his friends at their favourite pub to watch the next hockey game. He shared the forgetfulness of those who crave nothing more than the present.

Revelling in the simplicity of my bath, I wondered. Would you enjoy knowing I yearned to warm him from the cold? Place his hand in my pocket as we walked, the pressure of my fingers on his revealing my intent.

I’d invite him in, take off his clothes and lead him to the bathroom. Conscious of his own strength, he’d run his calloused hands over my body with the utmost care as I bend over to open the tap. Kneeling, my legs would spread apart as his fingers caressed my clit and he explored me with his tongue. Surprised by his dexterity, my knees would buckle, causing my body to shake as I moaned, gripping the sides of the clawfoot tub. Without warning, he’d be back on his feet, turning me over and lifting me up against the wall with one hand. My thighs dripping, he’d thrust himself into me, a primal urge to ravage me overtaking his every cell.

The sounds of his body merging with mine would bounce off the marble walls, filling the room and echoing through the open window. Passers-by, ripe with desire and renewed lust, would go home to make love, inspired by our concerto. As the frenzied pace accelerates, my hair would free itself from its tight but, falling onto my sweat-covered shoulders. The guttural moans you love would permeate my sighs, he’d grip me harder, groaning in my ear. My back would arch, and my nails would dig into his muscular back as I tighten around him, overwhelmed by the searing temperatures of our bodies. Unable to hold back any longer, he’d explode as we reached our apexes, dying to empty every last bit of his seed into my shaking body.

Without realizing it, the bath had overflown.

© 2018 Lilith Ember All Rights Reserved

🔥👄🍑❤️🌸🔥👄🍑❤️🌸

Thanks for reading! Don’t forget to follow my social accounts. 😘
Instagram
Twitter (where I will indulge you with occasional sexy photos).
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