- Erotic Poetry
- The Tattooist
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"But, I want one," she'd said
To the large, quiet man
He'd just nodded his head
Yet, continued his plan.
"I do so like yours,"
She'd confessed, and then blushed
He'd just nodded, some more
As she squirmed, her mind rushed.
"May I touch them?" she'd asked.
He'd blinked silent approval
She'd not known, as she traced
She'd been marked. Sans removal!
She'd not been accustomed
Though he'd warned her, in time
His countenance, grand
She'd no clue...how sublime!
Her fingertips seared
She'd caressed his dark frame
She was eager, but wary
She'd known nothing the same.
She savored him, fully
His wild beasts, taboo inks
The insides of her eyelids
Now, bare image; his kinks.
She donned him, in mindset.
In carriage...respect.
No ink can depict
What he deems, she protects.
She remains willing canvas
Unmarred. Ever yielding.
It's desire he drew;
His best mark is the feeling.
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