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

Popcorn

She was the blanket, the popcorn,and Battle of the Bastards. ~ 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

Song of you

How can I write the song of you, when words in rhyme cannot express, clearly divulge, nor deeply carress the sweetest of connections shared. For a pen is just an object used to scribe a language known from past. Yet the song of you is only known in a language new, yet to be shown….

Core

When I gaze into your eyes and hear your thoughts in carefree bliss, when I grab your ass and place a hand behind your neck to pull you near, taking in your breath holding each so dear. I can feel your pulse and that sense of care, my soul caressed in conscience aware, you opened…

Entwined

When their fingers touched, he didn’t just hold her hand. She became an extension of him and he, an extension of her. ~ Mark Thompson

A flower awakens

A flower blossoms; made in time from decaying life. Death handpicked to return to Earth, to join what was before. To become churned aeons of past life’s dirt, to fill the bed, to sew the seed, allowing flower’s frolicking fun to begin. To eventuate into a delicate, blooming beauty, swaying to the beat of a…

Future’s reminisce

She was the bulb, not quite in bloom, a petal-layered lock; her deep within. Alone in a field of similar form yet to unfold on Spring’s warming kiss, A yearn to feel that touch on skin, the gentle breeze stroking her stigma’s end, in blissful thoughts of evolving dorm, she lay warm in the light…

Sweat

…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

Air

I want to breathe in your breath. I want to breathe it in until I don’t even know if it’s your breath or mine that we’re inhaling; Whether it’s your breath or mine filling our lungs. ~ Mark Thompson