Just right

She was Papa Bear’s porridge. Too damn hot to be any good, making her all kinds of right. Goldilocks, it would seem, clearly fucked up. ~ Mark Thompson

111 Fahrenheit

In sweltering heat your body sweats, taking charge I quench, and thirst some more. My hands they glide your body’s waves, slipping endless upon your dripping shore. ~ Mark Thompson


…and when we’re done I’ll take in the sweat on the nape of your neck; every nectar-filled drop of sweet-released pore, whilst you writhe in surrender At night’s nearing more. ~ Mark Thompson

Timeless taste

And when she was done so was he, as he placed a hand upon her chest coming to rest on her racing heart, not ever apart, in this moment’s bliss. And when he was done so was she, her subtle plume, oh that sweet perfume in glowing grace, filling the room, transcending the void with…


Piercing your skin Cold-metal pressed Driving deeper Squeezing into place That sharpened lance. Importance hung Displayed for all; Exhibitioned form A reminding gift On brass button’s end. ~ Mark Thompson

Ikea shopping aftermath

Another hole to screw, to thrust dowel into. No words needed, whilst tracing images of design. Just Allen twisting her tight, Swedish form. ~ Mark Thompson


Wars should not be waged between men, They should be waged between a man and his woman’s zipper. ~ Mark Thompson


I want to kiss your sugar-sweet lips, until their moistness subsides, allowing your wet to rise; elsewhere. So I can taste your lips once more. MT


I like your filthy mind. The way you describe that gutter is so irresistibly divine. MT

Tracing Lines

Luscious green Mountain air Timber cabin Maiden fair Sun departs Moon returns He examines She yearns Warming glow Log fire Whisked smiles Known desire Flame flickers Else fades Hands grasp Connections made Breathing work Music spun Lights dim Sacrifice begun Tracing lines Luscious skin Exposed nape Clavicle sin Kisses drape Maiden’s form Awaken her Laying…