my ...
fingers are
tactile moonbeams …
and like that porcelain light
I let them dance upon you, bare -
tiptoe across your shy
places with a
delicate (but deliberate)
adoration ...
many, the times they've made
this dermal sojourn
yet each is as if the first -
softer, sweeter, more
sure that the journey is as savory
as it’s delicious end …
each inch, it's own mystery
here-and-there your flesh jumps and
rises as you coo and sigh -
little bumps follow that spread
to the rest of you
like moonlite spattering the sea …
but your sea is mine -
an ocean of tender integument
beneath my touch …
much deeper
and darker
warmer …
and where I
long to …
drown.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
fine patterns of ridges on the skin are my subdermatoglyphic
the underlying dermal matrix performs this amazing trick
a bouquet …
exquisitely exquisite
like naught else on this gilded planet
blooming on tender branches
supple and swaying
‘una flor fragante’
silken and sweet
pink petals open to entice … entirely
it’s lilt, aromatic
whirls thoughts like an eggbeater into
a carnal chaos
it’s synergy directing a
divine dermal dissolution of discretion
bane of the omnipotent
the fearless turned fools for its magic …
and madness …
inviolate or prurient
it has made kings out of paupers
twisted wills to wars
spun orbs on their axes
and made the universe of unions
ache for its aspect
the imperfect perfection of its
bewildering allurement
and the satiny seduction of
it’s beguiling floret -
the flower …
feminine.
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with GALA AI software )
dulcet …
the night …
holds far too few hours
to attend you, pure … proper
in twilight reverence
your body’s song is my scripture
the braille my fingers ache to read -
sexy verse moonlight recites
and orates to my blood
longing’s lullaby
spoken glyph-by-glyph
and plopped like sugar on my tongue
where it attends …
yours …
speak to me with
your coy and curvy whispers
such fair flesh tells an epic tale, erotic
few know the language
but I am fluent
I will listen with an anxious ear
and reply in cursive on your dermal page
my game?
to raise those tiny little bumps -
catkin skin that jumps to
the touch, as my adept answers wind
their warm way south
to the source …
come, let time stand still
night is too fleeting
and a delicious pas de deux awaits -
a torrid tale of pillows and percale and
moonbeamed madness …
where minds and moans and motions are
met in one rapturous breath …
of breathlessness
ghostwriter … and manuscript
this tome is ours -
you and I … lost
to ourselves …
to each other …
to the world of whys and whatevers
and to everything …
but us.
An amateur with art in her veins,
A portrait and palette to design dreams and pains.
Serendipitous ideas flood the gates,
An obsession mushrooms as fate curates.
Rekindling old fondness,
Crafting nuance with skillfulness.
From canvas to clinic, the journey unfolds,
Exploring dermal maps with a finesse untold.
would, that there were four of me
the ways that I could pleasure thee
each tentacle to tender tickle
fancied freckles, firm or fickle
one all-at-once massage, divine -
all hands on deck, in grand design
perceptive palms with petting jives
could raise a rash of ‘rotic hives
oh, goosebumps of the finest kind
quadrupled thus to blow your mind
four tens of fingers, fixed just SO
to warm the embers down below
mass touches placed with dermal love
bear moans from zones rare spoken of
pray how could one but NOT adore
a mate like me, (and mine) …
times FOUR?!?
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 16, 2023
How I long for days of yore,
Young at heart with open door.
Wishful, bashful, silly grin;
Wearing smooth and silky skin.
Now the years have passed me by,
My wrinkled face makes me sigh.
Cream it, stretch it, make it tight;
Purely for reflective sight.
Thinking of those times to come,
When then I can't remember some.
And even though a dermal sin,
I'll pray for crinkled skin again.
I do not like the skin I’m in -
It’s dotted, dry and wrinkled,
Like paper with a reject poem -
Once smooth, now sadly crinkled.
Each little tap becomes a bruise,
A purple blotch, attesting
To all the years I’ve spent on earth,
A dermal-type divesting.
Some freckles, not here yesterday,
Have multiplied and scattered.
They would have bothered me much more
When my appearance mattered.
What troubles me some others might
Find trite and almost risible.
I should let go, for at my age,
To others I’m invisible.
Shadows are but sign posts,
fleeting moment capsules,
brown leaf portent creeper‘s auto-pilot,
tarpaulin-sky mist draped on ancient chapel spire,
worship at the coat tail of a wrinkled orange rind lantern,
oak wood clouds smoulder from their taproot ash to blur the camera shutter,
sonneteer who mines a rock salt crystal,
earthly grain-squeeze imitation pearl,
false trail bard whose basket weave of catalysts hint at lustrous form,
but still we wind-blown minstrels hanker for those dermal layer meters cast ashore.
Remove the dead leaves
Peel off the old layers
Start all over when it all falls apart
Remove the medications
Peel off the dermal patches
Start all over when you have a broken heart
Retrace your steps
Pack your belongings in a case
Stop fighting all the good intentions
Retrace your roots
Pack your life into your bag
Stop wishing for the future, there is none.
Electrical
Tiny dermal vibrations
Tingly, soft of exquisite texture
Warm, of porcelain delicacy and tone
Your skin pulse mixes with the thrum of mine
Tender touches cuing tiny shivers of your surfaces
Small flutters where my fingertips dance, barely brushing
Squeaky little deep-throat moans tell me it's what you're desiring
I continue my touch games as I trace sexy words on you
Little hand prances that make your soft places jump
Shudders and sighs as I explore every surface
Sensual journeys that end in the spots
That only I know of and attend
With special caresses
The sensual rash
Goosebumps.
Dermal atrophy abated
Crows and creases toxified
Final look not contemplated
Alien just like you died
Flowers never reconstructed
Perfect beauty quickly fades
Aging process you obstructed
Mirror damaged thought invades
No way to see yourself again
Face frozen stare distorted
Looking back the joker grins
A novel look turned horrid
June 24, 2019
to swim the abyss ...
dark depths of a sparkling gaze -
your coy, captive eyes
to touch electric ...
my fingers find warm welcome -
your dermal landscape
to kiss hot and sweet ...
tender chili pepper lips -
your fiery flavor
to savor and sip ...
the places hushed and hidden -
your nectar, luscious
to imbibe you whole ...
honeyed, sour, tangy, and tart -
your wine ... drunkens me.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Best Haiku Ever Old Or New" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 10th Place ~ in the "Multiple Haikus" Poetry Contest, Jamie Pan, Judge & Sponsor.
Bare back
Sweet dermal fells
Sublime landscape, rare traveled
Olympus, shamed soft, shapely, supple
Tender esses slide to warmer, wilder climes
Delightfully dimpled, seductively swayed
From tresses to recesses ...
Succulent.
Wrinkles
Manifold are the etches upon a dermal layer
A masterpiece of lineage but for some to despair
With aims to erase the folds with manifold lotion
Instead of nurturing them with love and devotion
A map of years and tales is what they represent
To be admired without the slightest bit of resent
Each little groove and tell-tale crease reflects a time
Of happiness and contentment and laughter line
And times of sadness expressed in downward frown
A furrowed brow bears times of stress and worry
Other folds recall an age of joy and making merry
It’s easier to smile than grimace, glare and scowl
Those lines will gain a stronghold upon a droopy jowl
No matter age or gender the wrinkle has a place
Adding character, beauty and stature to every type of face
So confront the mirror honestly and peer at what’s before
Smile and see a face to love or scowl at one to abhor
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