Poems under moonlight

Cinnamon moon

I’m going to lay me down in

the opulent moonlight

transforming into a cinnamon glow

spice becoming lovely curves

spice becoming alluring

and the earth shall welcome my touch

like a lover

embracing me down to the roots

where my naked-heart-upon skin


Gold Mask

and the gold mask slips over her face

hinting at her sensuality

inviting you to peek

and lust

wanting you to peer deeper than skin

harder than desire

and the gold mask beckons you to her

not for man driven urge

not for pleasure incarnate

simply to see

the finery of soul

lingering in blue and gold


The Study (new poem)

I get much inspiration from like minded sensualists, so thanks for fuelling the fire and roleplay.

The tone is meant to start off slow and in control within a study, or a private den surrounded by books and leather, it’s comforting, warm and a soft lull. As the poem continues it’s meant to be in the tone of a woman realising she’s a little out of her depth, pushed beyond her safe little sensual world. Spacing in poetry tells as much as a story, silences and pauses are very revealing. Enjoy x

The Study

Your hands on my ass means
The silk against my wrists
Your lips against my neck
The hardness of your cock
Your fingers tease my cunt
s l o w l y
The linen of your trousers
Your eyes peering into mine
The length of you rubbing into me
Your utter control of my skin
The need to shed my layers
Your kiss……. getting me
The crescendo of want





This body of mine

This body of mine tells a story
an opus, an epic tale
starting with the kisses your mouth traced
like scorching fire and lust combined
playing my pain like a sad, sweet song
only you know the notes to
I may be lost, I may be hidden
but my body sings for you in the darkness
feasting upon wants and wanton-ness
you ask me what words to say
and I raise my hips in gesture
to partake of my surrender
and in the silence laying upon my curved ass
your fingers say all the things
those beautiful lips cannot
this body of mine
mute but so very loved

I’m your canvas

Cyan paint over skin, stark, translucent over pale mounds
lascivious hues over my canvas
you wanted a landscape
and instead of a frame, I painted myself
i’m a work of art beloved
a private showing for one
how will you watch
how will you learn
I could be Monet, I could be fucking Warhol
for the moment
i’m your private masterpiece
and you
you are the painter