Skip to main content

Tonight


Tonight, as I lay here in this darkened room,
My body helpless as desire seems to consume. 

My bed so lonely without you laying here next to me, 
As steaming hot passion burns uncontrollably free. 

As inside my heart, flaming desires are definitely sprung. 
My lips are moistened, with my feverish tongue, 
I begin to moan, but try hard to keep it hush. 

My breast bare, as the night chill gives them a rush, 
To delicate places, my fingers slowly come to a rest. 

Tenderly, my fingers dribble down my bare breast, 
I circle my nipple, 
as a chill flows through, 
As sweat begins to build, 
upon my body so well, 
Inside of me a passion burns, 
so deep with thoughts of you. 
I linger on to places, 
that even more feelings can dwell. 

As my fingers dip into the deeper depths of me. 
Down to my stomach, 
my fingers seem to glide, 
Down to that spot, 
where my passion seems to hide. 

A hot burning desire, 
I feel the flames flowing so free, 
As I want with excitement, 
So wet and flaming the power of my desire, 
Inside this spot is the total height of my extreme fire. 

My mind trapped in thoughts of you beside me so, 
So much hot passion, that I moan, 
The faster my fingers seem to go. 

A deep sigh, a erotic moan, 
a deep emotion breaking free, 
Sounds of rapture wanting to erupt, 
A burning desire, inside my body so deep, 
and open up to total ecstasy. 
Unable for silence to keep. 

Upon my body, 
a burning desire I can't keep away. 
Thoughts of you consume my soul and my heart, 
As this burning desire within me comes forth to depart. 

As emotions inside me remind me of your sweet love. 
I let go of myself, and seem to float high above, 

Oh tonight, 
I may dream and feel this rapture, so true, 
My bed empty, 
where in my mind you lay, 
But, tomorrow, my love, 
But tomorrow it will be so real. 
I will give all this desire to you, 
and only you. 
A burning desire, 
inside we both shall feel, 
As tonight may be just a fantasy.



Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.  "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies"  "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"  After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"  "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...
Post a Comment
Read more

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....
Post a Comment
Read more