Exercise in the erotically mundane

I reach out, the cool smoothness

unrelenting as I grip; anticipation sends

a tiny shiver coursing up my spine.

I lick my lips, fluid pools, and I pull,

pull harder towards my chest the weight of it,

breathing in an indescribably sweet scent;

the scent of fragile, pliable warmth.

Stepping forward to the glass I blink;

my reflection, flushed with pleasure, blinks back at me.

Beyond, plump red nestles in a silky bed of cream;

smooth golden flesh drizzled with glistening wetness.

Amber and chocolate intertwine, merging in their dance

to become as one, and enthralled I

reach out, quivering with need,

fingertips press, breath quickens,

lashes flutter and sweep against rose blushed cheeks.

And I watch as a pair of flawless hands

dart in to cup the delicate treat I have chosen

and deliver it into my hands.

I bring it to my mouth,

where, with the soft caress of my tongue,

it explodes in the ecstasy of confection's perfection.

. . . . .

AKA - a trip to the french bakery

. . . . .

This was a product of another school exercise. Those college professors!

The Nightmare

Another old experiment for a writing class. Rather silly, but we were prompted to write something scary sooo .....

The Nightmare

When slumber calls at the witching hour

they creep and crawl as the tolling bell

grants them by a necromantic power,

like master reaching from icy hell.

I walk alone through the garden of stone,

the damp grass cushions my tentative steps.

At first unknown, this, a garden of bone,

till a cold hand clasps from the dirty depths.

Dusty bits of earthy decay

shower around the creature's form.

Stinking stench clothed molding array

from its slumber by evil torn.

A soundless scream; a powerless cry,

skeletal maw grins a wicked gleam.

Horror bound my mind grasps for the lie -

Is it only a dream? ... It was only a dream.