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Holy sin

Eyes to lips

throat to breasts

belly to hips.

Arse to thighs

hair to skin.

You are holy.

You are sin.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not a brand new post but sometimes I find holy sin

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on June 12, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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In my youth

Art by Annick Bouvattier

A girl like you.

In my youth I would have fought other boys for the right to walk you home. Wearing the scars like a badge. Or I would have wandered backwards and forwards past your house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you at a window. Or long for you to see me, a shadowy figure beneath the street light, and think me romantic.

In my youth I would have carved presumptuous initials into innocent trees, into battered park benches, into tables, and desks, and the backs of chairs – not caring if I was caught. Or that you would disapprove if you knew.

In my youth I would have sought you out at dances, making a mess of my over-rehearsed lines. I would have asked a friend to give you messages – which you would probably receive with a frown.

In my youth I would have made up a hundred heroic stories in my head where I come to your rescue. Saving you from the clutches of the mob, the grip of an assailant, the jaws of death. Or perhaps just finding your lost dog.

In my youth I would have written you tortured poems, toiled over for hours, scrawled on stolen paper, that would never leave the pocket of my faded denim jeans.

In my youth I would have wished for the internet, if I could have seen into the future.

Yet here I am. Connection at my fingertips. Posting pointless poetry.

That you will probably never read

A girl like you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written some years ago, and I am still posting pointless poetry.

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 
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Posted by on June 11, 2021 in Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Drifting

 

It is a soft, still afternoon.

It is slowly stirring from the morning’s drab dullness.

The light is becoming pale honey.

There is bird song floating in through the open window, bleating of sheep, a distant dog barking somewhere beyond the trees, horses hooves nearby.

I live in the country. Trees and hedges, narrow lanes, small ancient villages, a patchwork of fields that are home to sheep or cows or are yellow with rape, green with wheat or blue with flax.

Sometimes I feel far from the world.

It is easy to drift.

Like today.

I have practised Pilates, I have meditated, I have drunk tea, eaten lunch, and sighed at the world on the web.

I am now tapping out words which will somehow, magically, weave themselves into sentences, paragraphs, chapters, and then a book.

But still, it is easy to drift.

And to let myself think of you instead.

Wearing a simple summer dress that kisses your curves perfectly.  Your hair is free, your smile warm, your eyes laughing. Your beauty makes me sigh. And smile.

My fingers leave the keyboard.

I close my eyes and breathe you in. Across the miles. You fill my mind.

Your presence inhabits me.

There is nothing here but you.

It is a soft, still afternoon.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Vladimir Volegov

 
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Posted by on June 10, 2021 in Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Maybe somewhere

.

Maybe

you are out there

somewhere.

.

Maybe

somewhere close

beyond fields

and trees

roads and cities

valleys and streams.

.

Maybe

somewhere far

beyond borders

and flags

mountains and lakes

continents and seas.

.

Maybe

somewhere

beneath

different skies

in a different land

with a different tongue

and a different skin.

.

Maybe

you are out there

somewhere.

.

Maybe

you are out there

somewhere

waiting

for me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written a few years ago, but I like it.

Painting by Marc Figueras

 
2 Comments

Posted by on June 9, 2021 in D/s, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Approval

She studies herself

in the full-length mirror.

She knows that he cannot see her, does not see her, may never see her.

Yet she turns through three hundred and sixty degrees.

Aware of her breasts beneath the shirt, her arse and her thighs, tight in her skirt, the way the morning light touches her skin.

She runs her hands through her hair and lets it fall.

She hopes he likes the way she looks.

And though his eyes may never find her

She still seeks his approval.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written five years ago. Reposted because I think you do.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 
4 Comments

Posted by on June 8, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Summer Dress

I see you

in a summer dress.

Thin straps on elegant shoulders.

Your breasts captured sweetly.

The curve of your hips caressed.

Your arms and legs beautifully bare.

The hem high on your thighs.

Your hair is caught and stroked by the soft, warm breeze.

Your skin is kissed by the friendly sun.

Your gorgeous eyes are shining.

Your smile is heavenly.

Yet you are shy

as the dress falls

like a cotton sea

at your feet.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Vladimir Volegov

Written six years ago – but it is a time for dresses – and removing them

 

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Knowing

Art by William Oxer

Naked beneath sheets

in the raven black dark

tapping out poetry

in the glow

of my phone.

.

Sensing you

reading me

knowing

I am touching you

calling you

beckoning you

seducing you

to be owned.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by William Oxer

 
5 Comments

Posted by on June 6, 2021 in D/s, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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More than your name

I whispered more

than your name

last night

before finally

I slept.

.

I whispered more

than your name

last night,

bravely

into the dark,

like a poem

like a prayer.

.

I whispered more

than your name

last night,

hoping the soft

seeking syllables,

the wishing

wanting words

would somehow

reach you

and touch you

deep.

.

I whispered more

than your name

last night.

Perhaps

you didn’t hear.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new, but I whispered your name.

Art by Amy Judd

 
10 Comments

Posted by on June 5, 2021 in Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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The Call

Sexual submission

is not for the needy

or the lost

or the lonely

or the bored

or the casually curious.

.

It is for the independent

intelligent girl

who knows the call

the ache

the yearning

to be owned

and fulfilled

deep in her soul.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new, but endlessly true.

Art by William Oxer

 
2 Comments

Posted by on June 4, 2021 in D/s, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Music starts

Lorelei

The music starts

slow guitar

growling bass

dirty brass

drums kick in

high hat

snare.

.

His eyes

are upon her

watching her face

watching her body

as she moves.

.

She has never

felt more

a woman

than she does

right now.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This is five years old, yet a dancer is always special.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 
 

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