Ice Cube Fantasy

Midwest Fantasy Writes

ice“Close your eyes”

he said

and I did…

“Don’t move at all”

*

Then silence

*

My stilled naked body

wondering what was in store

*

Then the drip

*

Single drop of icy water

on my throat

where it lay

in the little pooled area

between my neck and chest

*

Second drop

between breasts

slithering down skin

chasing my belly button

*

I caught my breath

two more drops

one on each breast

hardening the already anxious nipples

*

Two more drops

across sensitive hipbones

causing a rising wriggle

to which he said

“Stay still”

and I obeyed

biting my lip and inhaling

calming myself

although anything but calm

*

He continued…

ice cube dripping

down inner thighs and calves

even sexy pink toes

got a treat

*

And then

three, four

I don’t know how many

down the narrow slit

of all wonder and ecstasy

gasping trembles…

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Ice Cube Fantasy

Midwest Fantasy Writes

ice“Close your eyes”

he said

and I did…

“Don’t move at all”

*

Then silence

*

My stilled naked body

wondering what was in store

*

Then the drip

*

Single drop of icy water

on my throat

where it lay

in the little pooled area

between my neck and chest

*

Second drop

between breasts

slithering down skin

chasing my belly button

*

I caught my breath

two more drops

one on each breast

hardening the already anxious nipples

*

Two more drops

across sensitive hipbones

causing a rising wriggle

to which he said

“Stay still”

and I obeyed

biting my lip and inhaling

calming myself

although anything but calm

*

He continued…

ice cube dripping

down inner thighs and calves

even sexy pink toes

got a treat

*

And then

three, four

I don’t know how many

down the narrow slit

of all wonder and ecstasy

gasping trembles…

View original post 28 more words

Warmth – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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Photo: wildflowers at Talgomine Reserve.

“Spring work is going on with joyful enthusiasm.”  John Muir

 Warmth

Winters dark that keeps the soil
surrenders now to shards of early light
that creep around the curtains
and stroke my eyes,
rousing me from sleep and
filling the air with crackle and buzz
a language feared redundant,
the sad rot of autumn feeds the new
and a warmth long absent in my bones
draws forth life in every corner,
while everywhere expectation wafts
and I weave my sense of joy
into this new day.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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The Hand That Feeds

Sarah Doughty

“My demons never stop trying to tear me down.
But I never stop fighting back.”

My demons aren’t just idle creatures lurking in the shadows. They’re alive, well fed, and rabid. They’ll rip the flesh from your bones before you could even blink. They’re just that aggressive. Sometimes I think, maybe if I try to befriend them, ease their hostility, offer them kindness, then maybe they’d show me mercy. But they don’t.

They never do.

They bite my fingers, or remind me of who I really am in his voice, and once again I’m their helpless little victim. And I fear they’re going to eat me alive one of these days.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

And here I am, years later.
They don’t give up.
But neither do I.

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