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Sleeping Beauty

Photography by Tiffany Zettlemoyer

She is sleeping

Her breathing is shallow. Her chest rises and falls. He counts the seconds and studies her for signs of waking.

There are none.

He says her name. Softly.

Again. A little louder. But still quietly. He does not really want her to stir.

He gently takes her hand in his. It is small, and soft, and cool. Her fingers lie over his. They are quiet and still. His thumb and forefinger circle her wrist. He can feel her pulse. He imagines it quickening, but he cannot be sure. He lowers her hand to the bed.

She is beautiful. Her hair is raven black against her pale skin. Her lips are perfectly formed and ruby-red. She is wearing a pure white dress that is fitted at the breast, tight at the waist, and clinging to her hips. Sleeping Beauty

He knows he should kiss her, rouse her from her slumber, bring her back to consciousness.

But her still and perfect form has mesmerised him, captivated him, bewitched him. He feels himself harden as he moves towards her. He murmurs her name again. His throat stifles the sound.

He reaches out and with almost trembling fingers he strokes her cheek. Her skin is warm to his touch.

She does not stir.

He carefully undoes the first of the buttons. And then another. And a third. The gorgeous swell of her breasts makes him dizzy with desire.

At the sixth button, as the material begins to peel open, he realises she is naked underneath.

……………………

She is not sleeping.

She senses him standing by the narrow bed, gazing at her. She knows his eyes are upon her, taking in every curve, and every line. She waits. And tries to control her breathing.

She focuses on keeping perfectly still.

She hears him say her name. Twice. She ignores it, forbidding her eyelids to flicker.

He picks up her hand. His sudden touch in the darkness almost makes her flinch with surprise. His fingers are long and thin. She fears he will feel her pulse race crazily as his thumb presses against her flesh. He releases her gently, and she knows.

She is certain about what is going to happen when she hears her name a third time, and it is said like a faint prayer in a hoarse and caressing whisper.

His touch upon her cheek is like fire. She almost gasps at her own arousal.

He begins to undo the buttons of her dress.

Achingly.

Tantalizingly.

Deliciously slowly.

This is heaven.

She will not wake now..

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo by Tiffany Zettlemoyer

This is not new, I wrote it some time ago. But I like it, it has proved popular (sometimes controversial)  – and so I hope you can forgive it’s regular July outing.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on July 31, 2019 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Disappointment

 

Disappointment

in others

barely

breaks my skin.

 

But disappointment

in myself

cuts me

to the bone.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

 
10 Comments

Posted by on July 24, 2019 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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If this was not this

 

If this

was not this

but was a bar

beneath the stars

where couples sway

to soft and sensual

guitars

I would most certainly

ask you

to dance.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Hamish Blakely

 
4 Comments

Posted by on July 12, 2019 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Scent

 

Somehow

across the miles

I catch

your distant scent

and imagine you

close

your movements

your breathing

your laughter

your eyes

shining

the silk of your hair

the taste

of your warm skin

in my mouth.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new – but I like it

Art by Daniel del Orfano

 
3 Comments

Posted by on July 10, 2019 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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If by poetry

 

If

by poetry

I can make her

flesh and blood

my body on which to press

I will forge

such compelling words

her hungry soul

to steal

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Cesar Santos

I originally tweeted these words over four years past, but liked them so much I elevated them to a blog post three years ago. If elevate is the right word. I hope you don’t mind them again. It is one of my favourite short poems.

 
4 Comments

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

 

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Skipped

 

When I first saw you

my heart skipped

beat after beat

like a stone

skimming

exultant

across a lake.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph found on the internet without provenance. If this is yours please advise and I will credit or remove.

 

 
2 Comments

Posted by on July 7, 2019 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Prophecy

Art by Casey Baugh

 

She gives me her palm to read.

I trace a line

from the tip

of her index finger

to the flickering

nervous pulse

in her wrist.

Then along the pale skin

of her arm.

 

I climb the rise

of her breasts

and traverse

her elegant shoulder.

I tenderly

stroke her throat

and chin

and cheeks.

 

I touch the curve of her lips

then softly kiss

her mouth

with a prophecy.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written three years ago, but I hope the reader does not mind the repeat

Art by Casey Baugh

 
6 Comments

Posted by on July 2, 2019 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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