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Seed

Seed

You can try

every cure, every potion, every remedy,

you can erase it with drugs, with sex, with religion

you can cauterize it, crush it, cut it, crucify it,

you can freeze it, forgive it, forget it, fuck it,

you can deny it, defy it, deride it, destroy it,

you can burn it, break it, belittle it, betray it, bury it,

you can hate it, harm it, hurt it, harangue it,

you can trick it, tear it, trap it, trash it,

you can eject it, evade it, evict it, eat it,

you can poison it, persecute it, prick it, prune it,

you can shame it, shatter it, smash it, suck it

you can ruin it, regret it, reduce it, rape it,

you can inject it, intimidate it, isolate it,

you can leave it, lash it, lose it.

You can try

every spell, every enchantment, every charm

you can call in an exorcist,

you can send up prayers

you can summon the devil

you can invoke an ancient curse

you can wear it away, wish it away, wash it away, want it away

you can pretend it never was, never is, never will be

you can try anything and everything

but you will never

ever

be free

of the seed

I planted

in your soul.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Kelly Reemtsen

Written six years ago – but already one of my favourite performance poems, so much fun to write and recite – truly worth a listen, though I say it myself.
And this seed is dangerous whenever and wherever it is planted.

 
 

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I want you

Art by William Oxer

I want you.

It is as basic as that.

It is as primal as that.

It is as simple as that.

It is as wild as that.

It is as raw as that.

It is as dark as that.

It is as holy as that.

It is as dirty as that.

It is as true as that.

It is as pure as that.

I want you.

I want you.

I want you.

.

.

Copyright the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on July 5, 2022 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Pale words

Art by William Oxer

When I see you

all my words

suddenly

seem dull

and pale

and empty.

Yet I wanted

to give you them

so much.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on July 4, 2022 in Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Shiver

Art by Yanjun Cheng

A shiver.

A delicious, electric, thrilling shiver.

An ice-hot sensation rushing from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine.

It hurries to her throat and steals her breath.

It colours her skin with a sudden, rosy, tell-tale blush.

It hardens her nipples as if touched by a kiss

It dances wild across her belly and hips.

It makes her gasp as it tugs at her thighs

It penetrates her sex.

A shiver

Running down her spine

Coming from him.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by Yanjun Cheng

A post from eight years ago. Yet hopefully it resonates.

 
 

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Slow surrender

She is innocent.

Her bold beauty is barely blemished. Her gorgeous body is almost untouched by another’s breath. The gentle pages of her heart are yet to be written.  Her hunger is new and urgent. She longs for something she has yet to discover.
She has purity in her soul.

He is darkness.

He has loved and won and lost his way through enough joy and sorrow to fill the night. He has coaxed forth endless sweet fantasies, elegantly bestowed a thousand decadent pleasures, and administered such breathtaking, delicious torture.
His eyes have seen far beyond the shadows.

Yet there is an ache that binds them. A primeval yearning that sets them apart from all others.

He will sanctify her slow surrender and make them both holy.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

More delving in my archives. I like this one.

Art by William Oxer

 
2 Comments

Posted by on June 29, 2022 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Mirror

She stands before the mirror.

Her reflection is the same and yet she knows something inside herself has changed.  She had expected to see the evidence in the face of the slightly pensive woman staring back at her, but there is none.  Except for perhaps a slight blush in her usually pale cheeks.

She raises her chin and flicks her long black hair over her shoulders.  She is aware of a pulse dancing beneath the skin of her throat.  The room is as silent as a church.  She feels holy and profane at the same time. She feels like she did her first day at school.  Excited and afraid, and slightly awed, all at once.

She unties her gown, opens it, and lets it fall from her shoulders.  As it glides to the floor it brushes her skin like a soft caress.  She is wearing nothing beneath.

She is not ashamed of her body and yet, even though she is completely alone, she has never felt so exposed.  She interlocks her fingers behind her back and places her feet a shoulders width apart as he has instructed.

It is as if she has undressed for him.  In front of him. And yet he is not there.  He cannot see her.  There is no camera running. There are no stills to be taken.  He has simply told her to do this.  He wants no proof that she has complied.

As the allotted minutes tick away she becomes aware her breathing has quickened.  She can hear the blood pumping steadily through her veins.  Her nipples have hardened and there is a slight but definite ache in her lower belly.  Her mouth is dry.  She knows she is wet.

She has no idea why she has become so aroused.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Another rather old post of mine that I hope deserves to be reposted

Photo discovered on a website without reference to the owner. If it is yours please let me know so I can credit or remove

 
 

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Beyond Time

Art by Hamish Blakely

It is a magical place here.

I can be anywhere I want to be.

A restaurant by the water, sunshine, grilled fish, and rough local wine. Watching the fishermen mending their nets. A blue sky swept clean of clouds.

A high peak on a stormy day, the wind torturing the bravest trees, the rain threatening, the light fading. Lost in the wild view across forest, river, and fields.

The first run of the day on fresh snow sparkling like a million diamonds. The air clear and sharp. Skis gliding effortlessly.

A summer night in the city.  Light and music spilling out onto sultry streets full of Friday promise. Friends and lovers and hopeful strangers filling clubs and bars with laughter and drama.

Best of all, with you. Your heat, your scent, your touch, your breath, your voice, your smile, your mind, your beauty, your body, your soul.

Skin on skin. You and I.

Beyond time.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by Hamish Blakely

 
5 Comments

Posted by on June 25, 2022 in Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Until the dawn

I will seduce you

with poetry

capture you

with prose

enchant you

with possibility

and have you

dance naked

for me

until the dawn

makes the sky

blush

and the light

perfectly paints

your skin.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by Alexey Chernigin

 
 

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Solstice

Art by Trudy Good

I am almost always in control.

Of another, of course, but particularly of myself.

But tonight with the summer solstice girdling the evening with magic, and with a wild, apocalyptic moon building herself in the heavens, I am partially undone.

I pace the humid, velvet, fantasy-rich night with light, hungry, tireless footsteps.

Prowling. Circling. Rattling this invisible chain that tethers me.

I am taut, stretched, urgent. I am savage, romantic, decadent. I am poetic, dangerous, sensual.

I close my eyes and allow the rush of her body to sweep over me, exciting my imagination. Her hips, her thighs, her belly, her breasts. The sweet hollow of her throat. The sacred mound of her sex.

The delicate silk of her hair trailing against my skin. The feel of her gorgeous curves beneath my fingers, against my lips, beneath my tongue.

Her scent filling my mouth.

The certainty of leather restraints upon her elegant ankles and wrists. The circle of a collar about her neck.

I am almost always in control.

But tonight I could roar with this aching, yearning, delicious desire.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by Trudy Good

I am fond of this old post of mine and like to resurrect it for the summer solstice. Apologies to regular readers who are no doubt bored with it. And yes, sometimes the solstice finds me this way.

 
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Posted by on June 21, 2022 in Uncategorized

 

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In wait

Sun on my skin

eyes closed

birds singing

insects humming

breeze whispering

and my restless

hungry

Dominant soul

waiting

for you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on June 20, 2022 in D/s, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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