Nikki Anne Schmutz writes

Black Holes

I’ve seen such horror,

and such love.

Juxtapositions of
rules and regulations,
precepts upon precepts.
I’ve watched from sidelines
wondering if God
divided up matters
as such – sterile and cold
rules to be followed.
Intent within souls
and hearts seeking light
should be valued above all.
In some men
black holes reside.
I’ve seen them fought.
I’ve seen men devoured.
And even still,
I’ve seen the rare soul
defy the odds
and reverse gravity itself.

Jeff Norris shoots

Hikone Castle

Mark Antony Rossi writes

Dark Horse Rider

Moving

at the speed of sight

cannot capture

the beasts of night

ravenous

for the righteous

pawns of light.

who among you

is ready for a fight?

 

Black horse of the apocalypse -- creative-drive

Peter Bollington writes

Lady With A Fan

Why is it I give you so much power,

gazing at me from the wall

where Rembrandt and I put you?

Twice I've taken you down

your eyes too calm and knowing,

I've been uneasy having you always there

seeing what I do.

I don't like your clothes,

too much gold and lace,

you're really nothing more than human;

in a moment

I caught my mouth on yours

our tongues exchanging promises

--you calmly watching--

but now I see your cheeks are young

your chin a little plump.

Your eyes bring me back inside myself,

make me stare away,

avoiding your look for hours.

Your eyes contain no fear,

they smile in love, they ask nothing but truth;

they offer themselves like the ears of trees

knowing and open and unafraid.

Lady with a Fan -- Rembrandt

Jennifer Sage writes

Rainy Day Kisses

The mischievous gleam in his sparkling eyes should have come as no surprise...
A growl erupted, from the sky or from her throat she doesn't know.
Had it really been seven days since she had tasted his impassioned kiss?
A needy purr deep down to her soul said ‘yes.’

Grey skies above promised rain and love in the aftermath of chaotic days not nearly sated,
Silently he stepped forward with determination in his gaze...seeing her little dress swaying with her hips as she tried not to run into his arms...
His blazing hands to trembling skin ensured she swooned completely unto him...
That fated, final moment before the world disappears as she fell helplessly against his chest.

Cold water dripped upon her boiling flesh,
One, two, three drops more....but decidedly unimportant as his tongue danced with hers...
Not close enough, too many layers between them as she pressed against his defined and chiseled form...
A moan into his skilled and perfect mouth, the world once again slipped away.

Lightning licked the sky, their lust brewing storms within the storm,
She hardly felt him lift her, or her legs wrap around his chiseled waist....
Didn’t feel the cement so hard against her back or the pelting rain...
Just his tongue, his teeth on her neck...the growing pleasure between her silky thighs.

Thunder rolled in the background, delicious friction, nails biting into flesh through shirts that should be, would be, shredded,
Asphalt sizzled with the earlier sun it had seen, now soaked by the desire of both heaven and earth...
Teeth sinking deep into her neck, eyes rolling back, any remaining resolve completely crumbled...
Skirt raised, fingers grazed, the swollen, begging folds of her sex.

Drip, drop...the pattern of the falling rain torture as it rolled off her thighs,
Head thrown back as one finger, two, then three pump inside...
His thumb flickering back and forth the little nub of sensation as she roared,
The first of many orgasms to come...clenching, contracting around his fingers so hard he couldn’t yet move them.

Wet hair stuck to her face as he gazed into her starlit, heavy lids...deftly popping the button on his pants,
As his delicious, hardened mass flew free, her back 
arched, awaiting the promised pleasure....

Once more she glanced into his eyes, surprised all over again with the desire that flooded him,
Unsurprised when quickly he sheathed himself to her core, cries from both their lips lost in the storm.

Shaking, shuddering, cursing in languages unknown they both lost control...
Over and over again he thrust, his hand upon her back shielding her from the brunt of his force against the cement,
Lips crushing hers in a delightful dance, her core pounded with unparalleled need...
Lost in the storm, both inside and out.

Her name on his lips, his hands on her hips, gripping and filling and drilling her with him...
Spiraling out of control the familiar warmth spread, fingertips to toes, moaning the only word she knew...
And as she began to fall over the edge, screaming the name on her tongue, milking his intrusion with wild, wet ease...
He released, his seed pumping hard and hot as she pleaded on the wind for more.

Labored breaths,
Shaking, aching, dripping with shared bliss...
Only a kiss in the rain, a release of pain as tears stained golden, glittering eyes....
Snuffed with love that could move heaven and earth, if it wished.

Then the world came back,
Onlookers blushing and staring and awed,
Hurrying back to their lovers...
To find rapture in a wet and rainy dawn.

Inspiration comes, in many forms.

  Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe (The Luncheon on the Grass) –  Édouard Manet

Mandalay shoots

                                                  Sala Keoku, Nong Khai, Thailand

Ra Sh writes

Baby dreams of milk

Baby smiles 

Baby croons 

Baby says eyayeeyaeyooyey 

In sleep.

In baby’s dream 

A pair 

Of boobs 

Swell. 

Twin springs 

Of milk  

Gush.

gums wet tongue wet mouth wet 

thick thick milk wet. 

gurgles baby. 

glob of cream slab of butter  

glands furiously turn 

blood to food in the factory of love 

desalting distilling reforming refining 

in centrifugal pumps pipes chutes taps.

In baby’s dream flow rivers of milk 

where swim milk fish 

sprout milk trees 

bathe milk mammas 

bloom hundred boobs like milk bubbles.

Milk baby dreams a booby trapped dream 

Where a milk bomb explodes 

Into white white stars.

Milk baby wakes up to 

the Three Dukhas.*

• Buddha’s concept of the three Dukhas (sufferings) in life– dukha of ordinary suffering, dukha of change and dukha of conditioned states.


 
River of Milk -- Helen Sargeant