Tuesday, 31 August 2010

A Razors Edge

















A Razors Edge

The walls we built,so tall, so stout,
our sentinels of endless fears,
bastions of lonesome doubt,
recede once more through countless years.
To peek above the torpid ground,
the rocky outcrops of fractured minds,
they do not make a single sound,
just sit there waiting with there kind.
Until some fearless soul decides,
to dig them out, from seasons past,
to find that in that hole resides,
their final resting place at last.
Will we fly into that open sky?
and shuffle off the shackles grip,
or bound below, sink down and die,
a 'razors edge' in one last slip.
A choice forestalled,
is quickened here between these walls.

© Richard Michael Parker 2010

Monday, 30 August 2010

I want to be your skin












































I want to be your skin

I want to be your skin
to envelop your body completely
to line every inch of you
and disappear into every intimate crevice.
To peak into blushing rosebuds-
sensate titillations.
I want to be your skin.
When i slip into the cool water,
to tighten upon your taught frame,
your muscles heaving against me-
pushing me out,
pulling me in,
with each rippling undulation.
I want to be your skin,
Squeezing between your thighs-
slapping me against the tide-
i want to be your skin,
as you rise from the waters edge,
dripping upon a burning shore.
I want to be your skin,
as you lay languidly upon me,
laying me down upon the sand,
squeezing me into the earth,
pushing me breathless into your yielding folds.
I want to be your skin,
as the sun melts me into you,
sliding in sweaty slips
upon the sips of the warm air,
that play upon me,
as i mould myself into you.
I want to be your skin,
as you rub oil onto my crisp, sun drenched bliss,
tingling with each sizzling stroke of your fingers,
easing me into you ever deeper,
yielding into the deep surrender of you.
I want to be your skin.
To feel you smile,
as joy floods you from within,
erupting upon your face,
and stretching me into a giggling mass of joy.
I want to be your skin.
To sweat sweetly through each pore,
opened utterly, leaking you out of me,
cooling you within, without-a moments hesitation.
opening to your sweet unguence,
every fluid of you flowing over me.
I want to be your skin.
The rising fire from within,
the waves, the tempest, the storm,
the lightening, the thunder.
The heavy breath of your chest, stretching me,
in long powerful heaving drafts,
your hot breath, rushing over my tremulous lips-
full and sensate-
the sensate soul-state.
I want to be your skin.
As you wash me down, lathering and lingering,
cleaning every speck, every spot,
each blemish of the day, washed away-
easing each anxiety,
as i feel your muscles relax beneath me,
slowly toweling me dry,
pampering me with your powders and sweet lotions,
in long languid motions.
I want to be your skin.
As you lay me down upon the bed,
curling up, clasping me in a deep repose,
the silken sheets slipping over us,
raising every nerve to a heightened ecstasy,
burying me in a huddled mass of you,
sighing as we dream together,
inseparable in the night of a tantalizing dream,
a dream of enraptured bliss,
a skintight kiss,
I want to be your skin.

© Richard Michael Parker 2010



Bernice Wagnitz