The Dance at Fate’s Hands

Holding one another, the two lovers dance, swaying softly
Music is piped in through the speakers, a gentle rhythm
Their bodies pressed close as they slowly move together
Each intimately aware of the other, responding to the slightest touch
Clothes slipping off, falling to the floor, naked flesh against naked flesh
As they continue to dance together in a slow sensual dance

Neither had anticipated they would ever have this dance
Or the chance to feel one another as they swayed softly
Let alone feel the smoothness of each other’s naked flesh
The desire and passion for one another, creating a unique rhythm
As the music ends, but the dance continues, guided by a gentle touch
The hand of fate leading them, orchestrating the time they are together

Bodies heated with passion, fueled by a desire to be together
Pressing her against the bed, ready to take their sensual dance
To the next level, he longs to feel her body respond to his gentle touch
Yearns to hear sighs as they escape her lips while he explores her softly
Wanting their bodies to be connected, joined, rocking in their unique rhythm
As they both willingly submit themselves to one another’s flesh

Her lips part as he lowers his mouth to hers, as his hand roams her supple flesh
Runs down her abdomen, over her velvet soft sex, as she clamps her legs together
Holding his hand firmly between her thighs, fingers against her petals strumming a rhythm
Chords of delight on sensitive flesh, making her senses joyously dance
Her wetness coats his fingers, as they slip into her, sheathed softly
Muscles contracting softly around his strong fingers, moaning under his gentle touch

Reaching down, searching, she gasps feeling his firmness as it throbs under her touch
Feeling the heat in his loins, and the desire for her radiating from his hard flesh
Unclenching her legs, parting them, she pulls him, guiding him ever so softly
Feeling him pressed against her soft petals, their heat combining, joining together
As he penetrates her soft folds, her legs wrapping around him, another step in the dance
Rocking into her deeply, fully, their bodies begin to move in a natural rhythm

Hands clasped, music emanating their bodies in sighs and moans, a divine rhythm
Bodies rocking steadily, lost in one another’s eyes, enflamed by each other’s touch
As they reach the peak, the climax, of their most intimate dance
Shivering with pleasure, flooding him with her sweet nectar, coating his flesh
While he offers his seed unto her, filling her to overflowing, the two come together
As one, the music of their lovemaking, echoing throughout the room softly

The intimate dance comes to end, leaving their hearts beating the same rhythm
Fate brought together their lives, guiding them with her most gentle touch
To softly seal the forbidden lover’s hearts to one another by joining their flesh.

©AC Elliott, 18-Sep-18 (originally written in 2014)

*Written using the Sestina poetry form, a repeating end word form.

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Writing in Bold

let me write on you
with a stylus-
my hard, taut phallus
pressed into your flesh
leaving a trail
of its milky ink
over your skin
marking on you
in bold
“MINE”
~~~~
©ÀC Elliott, 2016

Tickling Tongues of Blue

Flames rage, burning hot, tickling tongues of blue
Bodies caught in the heat of sinful desire
Sweat pouring out fast, soaking them through and through
Feeling the pain and pleasure of passion’s fire
They grip one another and grasping, hold tight
Fearing to let the other out of their sight
Though the desire may serve to drive them insane
Losing the other would bring about too much pain

~~~
©AC Elliott, 2014

*Written in Strambotto Romagnuolo poetry form

On Shaving and Compassion (Thinking Over Coffee #6)

I woke up this morning, and somehow managed to slide out of the bed. By sliding, I literally mean…sliding. I had done something to my back towards the end of last week and it hasn’t been forgiving to me in the least. Needless to say the muscle relaxers are long out of my system by the time I try to get up. Therefore, sliding is a necessary evil.

It’s not the age, it’s the mileage, I thought to myself (not for the first time). I can’t remember where I first heard that turn of phrase, but these days it’s more applicable than it used to be. Between the shoulder I’ve dislocated so many times that I’ve lost count, the bum knee from 20 years earlier, and my back…there’s a lot of mileage on my body.

Stumbling over to the vanity, I took a bath cloth and ran it under cold water. I was hoping that the cold, damp cloth would help to clear the fog in my brain from the muscle relaxer. It didn’t, but, at least I tried.

Damn, if that boy wasn’t right, I thought, looking at myself in the mirror. My youngest son had recently told me “the gray really shines through when the light hits your beard just right.” He was right, it did shine through, like shimmering stars on a cloudless night. In and of itself, that didn’t bother me in the least. After all, I know how old I am, and gray hair is par for the course as you age. Still, I decided to shave it off none-the-less, for no other reason than the fact that I hated how itchy it made me feel when working outside this past weekend.

Finally, ready for my day, I decided to make some coffee and think for a bit. I had recently been talking about my progress and evolution in writing/blogging. So, I thought I might continue down that line, but my brain had other ideas.

My coffee tasted bitter today. There was nothing different about it. I used the same coffee grounds, the same amount of creamer and nothing changed with the sweetener. So, there was nothing wrong with my coffee. I could only assume that the problem was with my own taste buds and the bitterness that clung to it.

I’m not sure where the bitter taste came from either. It was just there. I was in one of “those moods” today, and I couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried. It might have had something to do with the ominous feeling of change that I felt settle over my shoulders as soon as I woke up.

Those changes could have been work related. Last week I had a large meeting that lasted 2 to 3 days, where a lot of things were discussed, changes were made organizationally, and new tasks were handed out. Truth be told, I am still unsure of what is going to come from it.

Or, it could have been personally related. Especially since I have a lot going on there as well.

Regardless of the cause, the bitter taste was there, and I couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard I tried. One thing I do know, is that it has influenced the rest of my day and heavily impacted my thoughts.

For some reason, it brought to mind a discussion I had with my new director last week, about strengths and weaknesses.

The Conversation

“What do you feel is one of your strengths?” he had asked me, while we were getting to know one another.

“My compassion has always been a strength, because underneath this rough exterior, I really do care for my people.” (further expounding unneeded for this venue)

“And, your weakness?” He asked, and I smirked, knowing that question would come up next.

“My compassion, because underneath this rough exterior and loud bark, I really do give a shit about people.”

Further Thoughts

So, how can being compassionate be both a strength and a weakness? I asked myself, taking another sip of coffee. Is that even possible? Well, obviously it is, because I just stated it was both a strength and a weakness of mine. I’m still working on how to explain the how and why.

~~~~
© AC Elliott, 21-Aug-18