Buns
I treasure your booty
murmured he in silk voice
the beast in him boiling
as he watched peaks and valleys
undulating between hips
Let me heed your cheeks,
play hopscotch on your moons
shake your sexy tush to rhythm
flourishing and nourishing desire
buns of dreams in booty shorts.
Wannabe Pirate
I took a trip on an old rocking ship on a sea among many ships
A floating boat that rocks to and fro on waves that grow
I felt the need to bend at my hips and do some dips
In agony I winced, I needed to go as I looked for a place to blow
my stomach felt tremendous pain, I cringed, as I heard rips
I blew out my back door goo & poo, I felt a messy lava flow
I'll never forget last nights Carolina reaper avocado dip & chips
This will forever be a memory of my worse vacation trips.
William Henry Mills Jr. 09-03-2017
Hello September it has been some time
Since we last played in your special rhyme
A year has passed and come again
To showcase your leaves of rust and tin
Your breeze and rustle have just begun
The lyrics to your song unsung
A gentleness you have come to form
Among your showers and easy storms
And as the leaves shake and fall
September unwillingly tells us all
She has come to visit but can not stay
Though she will return on this very day
Morning Light
Walking taut tightrope of insomnia
somersaulting off edge of nightmares
tumbling without safety net balm
plunging, red puffy eyes wide open
watching end rise to curtsy at my feet
vanilla morning light sets me free.
The Insurmountable Expanse of Infinity
This simple concept, hard to grasp,
Complex to understand,
Outlives our every dying gasp
And laughs as we expand.
Foreplay
Mr Portmanteau carried too much baggage,
bags and suitcases he wanted no longer,
sins and wicked deeds spilling out on the floor.
Wore striped suit in jail for Californication
because of his great love for sexercise.
Guzzled tall mixed drinks of scotchka,
suffered in winter from chilling affluenza.
Wanted bromance from his very best friend,
lost his Volvo to a friendly carjacker
people he knew were all his frenemies
wearing clothes made of plush pleather.
Holed up in his house for staycations,
fancied himself as a workaholic but
found guilty once again of spamforgery.
Just couldn’t get rid of his baggage!
port•man•teau Definition
ˌpôrtˈmantō/
noun
1.
a large trunk or suitcase, typically made of stiff leather and opening into two equal parts.
2.
a word blending the sounds and combining the meanings of two others, for example motel (from ‘motor’ and ‘hotel’) or brunch (from ‘breakfast’ and ‘lunch’).
Voyeur
She smoothed her thong
over her curvy hips
and fastened skimpy top
over ample size breasts
but she had no tan lines
because all would come off
when his eyes lit up
with one thing in mind.
They sauntered down
to the cool water’s edge.
As they slid in
goose bumps arose
but it wasn’t for long
before combustion began
flaming their bodies
both begging for more.
His probing fingers
slipped down her suit
found the core of her desire
and stroked sensually
her throbbing passion.
He ripped her thong off
threw it up in the air
untied her top
sucked heaving breasts
into yearning mouth.
He lifted her up
she wrapped tanned legs
firmly around his waist
he caressed her buttocks.
He entered her essence
in a thrust of pure lust
their juices mingled
in fireworks of ardor.
He carried her nude body
to the sandy shore
threw her down
and took all he wanted.
Kissing and licking
wet mouths of passion.
When all was through
they slept naked
on the white beach
wrapped together
for a while, before
languidly opening their eyes
to sense movement in bushes.
A voyeur watching
their erotic dance
and then they began
all over again,
viewed by eyes of a stranger
touching bodies with his mind.
Fully aware of his presence,
turned on and aroused
they cascaded to a zenith
of sighs and groans
before they felt
the third party
joining in their romp
with slippery abandon.
It brought them to heights
they’d never imagined.
When they collapsed
after the heat subsided
the stranger was gone
but remained in memories
to be recalled now and then
reawakening their intensity
when both were alone
in the lapping aqua water.
A Treacherous Web
Lost in the dark, tangled in silken threads.
The black widow before me begs to be fed.
Devious and cold, a demanding deadly trickster.
Resplendent and ravishing, but don't succumb to the whispers.
Haunting, yet refined. All attraction proves fatal.
Detrimental. Toxic. Endless warning labels.
I sift through the threads to see the fiend clearer,
Until my fingers strike glass. Alas! Only a mirror...
