who needs poetry
when all it takes is just three
little words from me
A piña colada, a beautiful sunset and us. Darling, I think I’m in heaven. I love you.
Ah, er… well…
What was that?
I, er… well, er…
You can’t say it can you? Not even in the most romantic restaurant ever, and if you can’t say it here, now, you never will!
Well, erm, okay… I love you too… so… er… can I take your order now?
So, I’m down this nice little boozer last night, down ‘oxton an’ that, an’ its proper posh, wiv decent grub an cheap lager an’a proper ‘ot fuckin’ barmaid an’ everyfin’, know what I mean?
I was ‘avin’ a right good night an’ that, except for this fuckin’ couple in the booth opposite us. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all in favour of love and romance. I Fuckin’ love all that shit: bash any cunt’s skull in for my missus, I would, even when she’s in the wrong. I mean, I buy ‘er fuckin’ underwear an’ blow an’ fags an’ all sorts’a shit. I don’ even feel gay when we do all that kissy-kissy, foreplay bullshit; that’s ‘ow much I love ‘er. But this couple in that booth, well, its enough to make you wanna puke, know what I mean?
They’re doin’ all this “I wuv you honey bunny!” shit, an’ me an the missus are makin’ eyes at each uvver, like ‘get a fuckin’ room ya cunts!’ Next fing you know is, these cunts are feedin’ each uvver each uvver’s fuckin’ food. ‘Now, if you wanted chicken, fuckin’ biriani ya cunt,’ I’m finkin’ ‘then fuckin’ order it!’ know what I mean?
It’s when they start leanin’ over an’ fuckin’ kissin’, that I get the arse. I mean, the cunt’s tie is danglin’ in ‘is fuckin’ beer, the fuckin’ dicksplash! I lean under the table an’ tell the missus to stop suckin’ my cock, “I’ve ‘ad enough”, I tell ‘er, “We’re fuckin’ leavin!” I mean, there’s a time and a place for everything, know what I mean?
the distance is fun
until you fall in love
then it becomes sad
you finally meet
and your dreams come true
“I call her Black Beauty.”
“Awww, that’s sweet.”
“Not really, she looks like a fucking horse.”
We kiss for ever by the breakwater, our mouths and eyes locked in a deep salty embrace, the waves licking our flesh, washing over our passion. We have wanted each other for so long and are not going to rush this, and back on the beach our foreplay lasts an age. Our mouths and fingers explore each other slowly and gently, gradually building our passion, our heat rising with the morning sun. Our lips and tongues travel over each other’s naked, vulnerable bodies, covering every inch. Our hands caress and stroke and grasp, and we hold each other tight as we kiss, oblivious to the cold sharpness of our pebbly bed. I kiss your breasts and your belly and blow softly on your glowing pussy, feeling you quiver with delight and wanting. You tease my cock with the tip of your tongue delighting in how it dances for you. You run a single finger lightly and slowly up and down its length, enjoying how it pulsates with desire for you, and then, wrapping your fingers around it, you plant a single, long, wet kiss on the tip, feeling it throb against the soft wetness of your lips and tongue.
Pushing me back onto the pebbles, you straddle and stroke my hardness against your burning, welcoming pussy, moaning as you rub my length up and down your clit. Then you push my tip gently into you and slide down onto me, filling yourself, smiling. We both groan and gasp as you slowly rise and fall like the waves behind you. Months of longing take over our bodies and and we lose ourselves in our love making, our rhythm becomes fast and fierce, my hips thrusting and your body pumping in perfect, animal unison. You throw you head back, filthy little words bursting from your throat in between your gasps of deep, red pleasure as I drive deep into you, over and over. Our eyes meet as we both begin to come, and we both shout each other’s names at the same moment. Our orgasms crash, like the waves we just swan in, over us and through us, consuming us and shaking our bodies and hearts to their cores.
We collapse into a trembling, smiling heap and lie there just kissing and stroking each others hair and faces, smiling into each others eyes. You raise you eyebrows, as if to say ‘ that’s impressive’ when you realise how quickly I am getting erect again, but I have wanted you so badly and for so long that I that I think I could stay stiff for a week. Rolling over onto your back, you open your legs and beckon me in with your eyes. This time our love making is long and slow and deep, until our orgasms rack us and shake us like a great earthquake, the sea rolling up onto the pebbles a symphony to our love. We lie their again, side by side looking up at the skittering little clouds, holding hands and making plans. A man walking his dog shouts at us angrily, but we barely hear him.
We have worked together for a few months and we have both felt the attraction, seen how we look at each other, felt our gazes stroke each other’s souls, understood the growing connection. I want to taste your lips so badly, feel your gentle curves, press myself against you, into you. I feel like there is a rubber band being stretched ever tighter in my heart, like something is going to snap.
They send us together to this poky little seaside town on yet another pointless project. Our rooms in the bed and breakfast are adjacent and the walls are thin. I can hear you brushing your teeth, the tinkle of your peeing, your light snore, you sound like a kitten purring. I hope you can’t hear me masturbating, hope that I do not talk about you in my sleep.
There is nothing to do here of an evening and when the little pub shuts, we walk along the seafront talking, laughing, sharing our pasts, sometimes until it gets light. Tonight has been a night like that, and we sit on the beach, aimlessly flicking pebbles into the morning sea. I do that man thing and try to show off by showing you how I can skim little flat stones across the surface, making them bounce and dance. You shake your head and smile, looking at me like I was some kind of idiot. The early sun tickles the tips of the waves, turning them into gold and gulls circle and cry overhead waiting for the returning fishing boats.
“Fancy a swim?” I grin. You look at me almost startled but smiling.
“We don’t have bathing suits.”
“So what? There’s no-one here but us.”
“You first, then.” you say, your smile growing a little wider. I strip, my back to you and hobble across the pebbles comically, hearing your laugh against the lapping of the waves. The water is not cold but chilly and I wade in up to my waist and turn round to face you.
“Come on in, its lovely.” I beam, only lying slightly.
“Turn round then.” you beam back . I turn and wait for you to undress, hear you feet on the pebbles, hear you enter the water, hear the splash of your naked body diving into the waves, and I watch excitedly as you emerge a few feet ahead of me, shaking the water from your hair and grinning wildly, the water level just above your nipples but with the gentle rise and fall of the waves tantalisingly exposing more of you. You enjoy the way my eyes probe you and and the water is clear enough for you to see my rising erection. “Ha ha!” you giggle, pointing, “I can see a little fishy.” I make a grab for you but you are fast and slip under the waves and dart away from me. We chase each other and play and try to duck each other’s heads under the water.
We come to rest by a breakwater and I push you gently back onto it and press myself against you. I can feel your softness, your panting breasts, I can feel your heart beat, feel how it races. You can feel what you are doing to me. “Not such a little fishy now?” I snigger and you shake your head again, but you smile and I kiss you, knowing with every fibre of my being that it is what you want.
Janet won’t answer my calls.
Because I stood her up on her birthday.
Because I got tickets to the game. You know that, we went together.
I didn’t know it was her birthday.
Write her one of your poems for me. Chicks seem to like that bullshit.
You write her a poem.
I can’t do that shit, its gay.
Then say sorry with a romantic gesture?
What? Like flowers?
Or something original maybe?
Chocolates? I don’t want her getting fat. What would you do?
Not stand her up on her birthday?
I was being serious. Er. I’d cut out a thousand paper stars and post them to her.
Well do that then.
Ok, but do I get to fuck her if she forgives you as a result?
Wanna play Gears of War?
“You can’t park that thing there sir.” said the security guard. “What if it starts doing it business on the sidewalk?” The knight ignored him and leapt from his white charger.
“I have come for my princess.” he informed the guard in a voice like steel.
“Er, there ain’t no princesses here sir,” stammered the guard, “we’re an insurance company.” The knight briefly considered running the laggard through with his sword but he wanted there to be no blood shed, not on that day, not on the day he finally got to rescue his princess. He marched through the revolving doors and called her name.
“Have you seen what’s going on outside?” said another one of the PAs staring out of the window. “Some nutcase with a horse.” Her heart leapt into her mouth. Surely not, she thought, could that be him? Her knight from Facebook? Surely not. She had thought it had all been a big joke and played along with the knight in shining armour thing. It has seemed sweet and romantic and fun, but now he was there, she could hear him bellowing her name as he bounded up the stairs five steps at a time.
She hid in the bathroom until he had left, heartbroken and confused, galloping off down Madison Avenue. The security guard’s head rolled into the gutter, a look of surprise glued forever to his face.
i don’t allways know what kind of man you want – i am just me.
why can’t i be sweet and be strong too?
sure, i wanna cover our bed in rose petals but i wanna shove your face into them as i fuck you roughly from behind.
sure, i wanna write you poetry but i wanna hear you read it as i eat you out.
i wanna wash your hair and back and light candles for your bath but i wanna spank your ass until its raw after.
i wanna die for you ok? but i wanna kill for you too.
i wanna take you for long walks in the countryside, then tie you to a tree and fuck you like a wild animal.
i wanna write you a love song and sing it as i come into your mouth, pinning you to the bed by your hair.
i want you to see me cry but i want you to see me fight just as much.
i wanna make things for you but i wanna break things too.
i don’t allways know what kind of man you want – i am just me.
Before I could say a word, Hope plunged the dagger deep into the man’s heart. He gasped and our eyes met, a look more of puzzlement than pain shot across his features as he looked down at the tip of the dagger now protruding from his breastbone slightly. Silently he dropped to his knees, blood trickling from his wound and mouth and nose.
Hope and I stared at each other. There was something in her eyes that I didn’t recognise, a darkness that had not been there before. She looked down at the body of the man she had just killed with barely a flicker of emotion. If anything there was a slight sneer on her face.
What had happend to my love I wondered. Had she perhaps been cursed, or possessed? I had heard tales of the soul-swappers, demons in human guise that could exchange their souls with other beings. Suddenly dread shot through my veins like glacier water and I shook with what I thought may have just happened. Was that what he meant by kill her? Was that my Hope’s soul in his form reaching out and trying to tell me the demon was now in her body? As I looked at her was I really looking at him? At it?
There was only one way to find out.
And I pass the story baton on to The Tales Of My Heart
when he gets back, she is not there, which is strange for the time of day. he walks around the house, twice. she has taken the rocking horse though and so must have read the note. he sees little point in hanging around.
she sits on the cold faux-marble floor, heartbroken for most of the afternoon, rejecting any offers of comfort or assistance with snarls and fuck offs, she even spits at one woman, who tells her that it could be worse. eventually a security guard helps her to her feet, sits her down on a hard, shiny, brightly coloured plastic chair and fetches her a glass of water.
he is about to leave, head back to the airport and book a hotel for the night, when he hears the unmistakable sound of her badly tuned mini rounding the corner. his heart misses a beat and feelings he does recognise drill through his veins. he wants to run and hide. in all his days of soldiering, he has never felt so scared as he does right now. no fire-fight, no sniper, no i.e.d. has ever made him feel as lost and small as he does now.
she stomps through the house, flinging her coat and bag onto the floor, spilling the bag’s contents and not caring. then she sits on the steps of the veranda and tries not to think of anything at all. it is impossible. there are a pair of feet sticking out from under her garden bench. they look like his. she calls his name and he crawls out sheepishly. she walks up to him, trembling slightly, places her hand gently on the side of his face with the scar and kisses him. no words are shared between them, none are needed.
inside they kiss over and over gazing into each other’s eyes in between. she pushes him backwards onto the couch and straddles him. he stares like a little boy in a candy store at her breasts as she pulls off her top. “touch them.” she smiles and he takes one in each hand, unsure almost of what to do. she can feel him growing inside his pants though. “touch them properly” she giggles and pushes them into his face and he lets go of his fears and smothers her with kisses and tiny little bites, his hands a swarm of thirsty fingers, covering her torso and neck. she pulls open his pants and takes hold of him, he is hard and perfectly proportioned and taught as a guitar string, she honestly thinks that if she twanged it she would get a note from it. she leaps off him and kneels before him, pulling off his pants and boxers and taking him into her mouth. he lets out deep, beautiful, primal moans.
she stops and looks at him “you wanna fuck me then soldier boy?” she grins wickedly. he looks a little shocked at hearing her use such language but thrilled too. all he can do is nod over-enthusiastically. she lays on the floor, spreads her legs and beckons him in with her eyes. she guides him with her fingers almost melting as he fills her. she had imagined he would blow almost immediately but he does not, he fucks her with long, hard, powerful thrusts, pulling her onto him as hard as he plunges himself into her. they come together, many minutes later, and it seems to last forever. he fills her over and over in long thick pulses. “my god!” she exclaims, “you could fill a bathtub with that thing!” he looks at her disapprovingly but she can see the smile behind his glare and they both break into a fit of giggling and roll around on the floor together.
he is up and ready almost instantly and they fuck long into the night before they take a break and even then they are wet and hard and continue to touch and stroke each other. she shows him how to touch a woman, how to stimulate her clit and g-spot at the same time, how to go down on a woman and how to enter her without her help; he is an eager and willing student and a fast learner. she kisses his scar, tells him he is beautiful, not ugly at all and kisses it again. she pretends not to see his tears. they bathe in each other and drink each other. they exhaust each other, and she falls in love with him all over again, when she turns and offers him her ass and he says he’d rather not.
her kids are at their father’s and they spend the whole weekend in each other’s arms and loins and hearts. by the time the children return, three days later, she has lost as many pounds.
many decades later, after their funeral, three of their sons stand in the old house amongst the collection of rocking horses, one for every child and one for every grandchild, and one for a great-grandchild. they weep and hold each other and remember.
She makes me feel powerful,
and she makes me feel weak.
She make me feel big,
but allows me to be small.
She makes me think deeply,
or think not a bit.
I think only of her
or nothing at all.
this is what i want to do:
i want to run you a bath and surround it with candles and and pour sweet smelling oils into it.
i want to wash your hair and back and whisper sweet stories in the dark to you.
i want to show you the stars and constellations and tell you their names.
i want to name one after you.
i want to name them all after you.
i want to paint you, and sculpt you, and i want to scribble filthy words all over your naked body with a thick, red, magic marker.
i want to tickle you and hear you giggle – sometimes i think simply the sound of your laughter would be enough to make me come.
i want to cook for you and i want to sing and dance for you, and with you.
i want to grow things for you.
i want to fight for you.
i want to hurt for you and would happily die for you.
i want to climb mountains, swim entire oceans, and i want to slay dragons for you.
i want to make you stuff, and i want to weep at your beauty.
i want to make you happy, and safe, and warm.
and… i want to do all these things every single day.
After a few months, Romeo started to get on Juliet’s tits: he drank too much, never put the toilet seat down and would fart in bed.
She should have listened to her mother.
Today someone sent me this delightful video clip:
I wrote down all the points.
be happy – show up – follow your heart – find a new perspective – have a sense of wonder – find people you love – set goals – help others – dance – pamper yourself – face your fears – go to a museum – exercise – limit television – get in touch with nature – lighten up – get a good night’s sleep – read books – buy yourself flowers – don’t compare yourself with others – don’t beat yourself up – be open to new ideas – don’t focus on negative thoughts – focus on creating what you desire – make time just to have fun – keep the romance in your life – make a gratitude list – love your mother earth – want what you have – be true to yourself
It all sounds very nice, particularly set to Pasquale Catalano’s Cuore di sabbia (Heart of Sand) but when you think about it; if you ever met someone that did all those things and had all those qualities… they’d be an unbearable dickhead.
i am in love with a woman on the other side of the planet, literally, and although there are the obvious physical frustrations, it is wonderful and perhaps the most beautiful romance i have ever known. her evenings are my mornings and my evenings, her mornings: i call it morvening. sometimes i forget what time of day it is completely, i even forget what day it is at times. here it is winter, there it is summer. here it is light and there, dark. time and season evaporate and mean nothing. i get two mornings and two evenings every day, i am so lucky. we talk via satellites, our words travel through space, isn’t that magnificent?