All Poetry is copyright

"She Knows"

In the evening.
She is waiting.
Palms facing the sky.
Eyes half lidded,
Cast down within her sighs.
She knows me as no other.
Knows where my heart dwells.
Her breath comes quick, yet easy.
Waiting for my touch.

I lift her chin,
With helium fingers.
See within her loving eyes...........
That which I crave, like a hunger.
An emptiness,
Only she can revive.

She knows she enslaves me
With those haunting eyes.
She knows she has chained me,
Though she is bound,
Within the circle,
That is mine.

She knows that I love her.
With each knot, that is tied.
As though each one is a heartbeat.
Each sting is a lie.

Such pain is a kiss.
From lips,
That whisper her dreams
She knows she has chained me.
To her insatiable need.

Though I may be master.
She my most willing slave.
She knows each tingling cell,
Is the sea,
In which ... we wade.

I smile within my heart.
Each time I look within her eyes.
Knowing our hearts beat,
Like two voices.
That always harmonize.

She knows that I love her.
When she's kneeling,
At my feet.
For my touch sends us reeling,
From the heat.
From the heat.

And I know that she knows.
And that's just fine by me.
I can smile with the knowing.
Cause she belongs to me.

How lucky can a Master be?

By Robert Bo Golden (C)5/15/02 AKA MythicPrince/LovngStrength

"Call it Love"

She lounges,
Amidst the pillows.
Nude, translucent, smooth as silk.
Young beautiful eyes, half closed,
In Eros.

.Sweet like berries,
Ready to ripen.
Like the small upturned bellies,
Of sparrows,
swell with her deep breathing.
As He binds her.
Blinds her.

So innocent,
Yet she has known his love,
Now needs his love,
Addicted to his love.
His tenderness,
his depth of feeling,
And patience.
The way he sees,
Into her heart,
And body.
As though.......
He is, her body,
Dwelling deep inside.

She loves him,
without pause,
Without rancor,
Without shame.
So deeply,
That it burns within her,
Like a hot flame.
Takes her breath away.
And leaves her weak,
From her desire. .

For, when he touches her,
With deft and knowing,
Hands, lips, tongue, teeth, breath, body,
And cock
She knows,
Is how it is supposed to be.
Meant to be.
Should always be.
And she loves him so.

Though sometimes,
He can be rough,
Push her to her limits,
Then a little beyond.
Have her feel,
All there is to feel,
She knows,
He loves her completely.
And does all he asks,
Without hesitation.
Or shame.

Though some,
May question,
Would call it forbidden.
They, in their deepest heart,
And souls.
Call it love.

Call it Love.

Poem by: R. B. G. 9/18/00 AKA MythicPrince...LovngStrength


She is bound,
by satin and lace.
Eyes are darkened by silk.
No leather or chain of steel,
has touched he tender skin.
Not yet anyway.

Her body, like a flower, opens,
in full bloom, turning, twisting,
seeking her sun, the light, that gives her life.
She hears my breath, upon her ear,
my light touch, upon her breast,
her throat, her stomach, her glistening loins.
The soft touch of my lips, to hers.
And she arches to meet me,
as I, stealthily move away.
She tries to anticipate,
but she cannot,
for I am the master of this play.

Ah, such sweet anticipation!
The smell of pheromones, infusing our bodies, our thoughts.
I look down upon her,
and see my heart beating inside of her.
She does not know,
how she enslaves me, with her need,
her love, and her passion!
And I will never tell her.
With ice, I cool her, upon breast and loin.
With wax I burn her, then quickly cool with breath.
With oils, steeped in myrrh,
I massage.
From brow to toes and back again.
All is touched, all is made mine.
And, she trembles.

I bite, then kiss, then cool with breath.
Not one patch of tender flesh untouched.
Exquisite pain, without the whip.
It is a whip within itself.
For I do not inflict pain for pains sake,
I inflict pleasure.
Oh I try, to push her bounds, her thresholds.
But so slow, so painfully so.
And if she needs, I give her that.
Which moves her to,
that other plane, where pain, and pleasure,
become the same.
I will not release her yet,
she must go on,
so many more planes to conquer.

She is my slave, as I, am hers.
Her pleasure my pain,
her pain, my pleasure.
Till we meld as one, and we cannot tell,
the difference.

I give her a gift, each time, she surrenders,
completely to my will.
And she gives me, the better gift,
her love, her trust, her orgasm, as I release her,
into that tiny death, that exquisite death.
I remove her darkness, her bonds,
so I may lay upon her full,
and seek into her eyes,
the love I need to see,
as she sees mirrored in me.
I love her so.
And we are at peace.

Poem by:
Robert Bo golden (c)6/29/99

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