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Tag Archives: Jeremy Mann

Flown past

 

I have been reading

our past

our dim distant past

captured like photographs

running like video clips

repeating like gifs

fading on pages

that were new

at the time.

 

I have been reading

backwards and forwards

endless conversations

desires and wishes

tears and kisses

endings and silence

promises

to remember

and to never forget.

 

I have been reading

when I should have

been writing.

 

I have been reading

and the time

has flown past.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I first posted this around this time last year. It was a reflective time then, and it is now. So I have posted it again.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 
3 Comments

Posted by on February 8, 2019 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Long night

 

They are alone.

No outside sound can disturb this stillness. No alien light can penetrate this darkness.

He touches her skin. She catches her breath.

He moves his slender fingers lightly across her cheek. Over her lips. It tingles like electricity. She parts them the width of a sigh. He feels her breath like a whisper.

He gently strokes the underside of her jaw. Fingers and thumb go either side of her throat. Her pulse is as rapid as the beating of heart of a small bird. He squeezes almost imperceptibly. She raises her chin and leans slightly into his hand.

He releases her. With the palest of caresses he navigates the curve of her breast. He circles the areola, the miniature terrain like braille. He finds her nipple hard and urgent. He teases it. She swears she can feel the raised, complicated whorl of his finger print.

Index and thumb again, like a pincer, capture the perfect rosebud. He tugs gently. She moans close to his ear. She is hungry. He tightens his grip. She feels it like fire. It tracks in a line of pure white heat down her belly and deep into the heart of her sex. She is wet. Tighter still and the pain is impossible pleasure. She wants him to stop – but never.

He lowers his mouth onto hers. She gasps into it as another intense wave thrills through her body. She thrusts herself against him. Wishing her hands were free, yet glad they are not. Needing muscle, needing bone, needing his hand, needing his cock to satisfy her delicious, frantic, gorgeous yearning.

There is no light. No sound.

Only them.

And the long night.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Last year I was going through some of my old words and found this – written around this time five years ago. I like it. I hope you enjoy.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 
4 Comments

Posted by on November 4, 2018 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, 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 two years old, yet a dancer is always special.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 
4 Comments

Posted by on May 30, 2018 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Somewhere secret

 

She imagines

being somewhere

secret

silent

and still

with his blindfold

his toys

and his rope

and his long

slender fingers.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jeremy Mann

 

 
2 Comments

Posted by on May 25, 2018 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Flown past

 

I have been reading

our past

our dim distant past

captured like photographs

running like video clips

repeating like gifs

fading on pages

that were new

at the time.

 

I have been reading

backwards and forwards

endless conversations

desires and wishes

tears and kisses

endings and silence

promises

to remember

and to never forget.

 

I have been reading

when I should have

been writing.

 

I have been reading

and the time

has flown past.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jeremy Mann

 

 

 
4 Comments

Posted by on February 6, 2018 in Lovers Past, Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Long Night

 

They are alone.

No outside sound can disturb this stillness. No alien light can penetrate this darkness.

He touches her skin. She catches her breath.

He moves his slender fingers lightly across her cheek. Over her lips. It tingles like electricity. She parts them the width of a sigh. He feels her breath like a whisper.

He gently strokes the underside of her jaw. Fingers and thumb go either side of her throat. Her pulse is as rapid as the beating of heart of a small bird. He squeezes almost imperceptibly. She raises her chin and leans slightly into his hand.

He releases her. With the palest of caresses he navigates the curve of her breast. He circles the areola, the miniature terrain like braille. He finds her nipple hard and urgent. He teases it. She swears she can feel the raised, complicated whorl of his finger print.

Index and thumb again, like a pincer, capture the perfect rosebud. He tugs gently. She moans close to his ear. She is hungry. He tightens his grip. She feels it like fire. It tracks in a line of pure white heat down her belly and deep into the heart of her sex. She is wet. Tighter still and the pain is impossible pleasure. She wants him to stop – but never.

He lowers his mouth onto hers. She gasps into it as another intense wave thrills through her body. She thrusts herself against him. Wishing her hands were free, yet glad they are not. Needing muscle, needing bone, needing his hand, needing his cock to satisfy her delicious, frantic, gorgeous yearning.

There is no light. No sound.

Only them.

And the long night.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I was going through some of my old words and found this – written around this time four years ago. I like it. I hope you enjoy.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 
8 Comments

Posted by on November 3, 2017 in D/s, Erotica, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

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

A year old, yet a dancer is always special.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 
2 Comments

Posted by on May 27, 2017 in D/s, Music, Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,