creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Part One

It had just rained last night.
You called me twice
You came to my garden in that linen white shirt 2 in the night.
The ground was wet, will stones blooming and cursing our toes.
The plants were drenched in a smell of petrichor.
You should not have wore the white shirt
and shown me those breasts wet and erect.
Our lips drew wars for blood, the tongues wrestled for saliva and hands traced every inch.
We forgot the stones, as if pain was an asylum
those were not the leisurely moans, I felt the trembling back but you hands made me swallow.

A bite on the bosoms and you turned into an animal, taking my hands inside the shirt
Neighbours were asleep, they wish they wouldn’t.
My hands helped you with touch as you stroked me so well,the hands moving over the warm breasts, turned cold and wet from the rain
The touch moves as you let out a moan.

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creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Heartless

The tongue is heartless servant, it slithers on your neck and lips, like a snake devoid of warm flesh, I feel the warmth and the tremble in cleavage, but I am cursed as in Eden.

It smothers the bra slowly, peeking within with satanic eyes, the warmth is a thirst for a thing made of out flesh, it multiples while inside, caressing, pressing, Disappearing with eyes,
Your breath is a kiss of blaze burning and I was a winter worth nurturing with hands choking my existence

The breasts caressed slowly, into a tumultuous moment of touch, I trace the tips to its origin, feeling them erect and ready for to pleased, unhook now and lie down, let me taste the eden before being banished forever.

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creative-writing, dream, erotica, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Confetti

Confetti of romance showers over me;
The caress of silk arouses me as I lay in blooms of fantasy;
Clothed in robes of rose petals.

Blossoming lips of pink yearn to be kissed, to be watered by wanton lust, to feel the thorny tongue thrust,.
Trace the thorns down my neck, cause my stem to shiver with delight, grow the passion tonight.
Petals rest upon supple breast, smooth and yielding to feathered fingertips, sweet to hungry lips.

Confetti blanketing my nakedness
Blow them away to expose my womanliness
Unrobed of rose petals.

Panting and moaning in a state of bliss, under the command of your kiss, wildly in column as your tongue enters the heavenly abyss.
Pleasure overwhelmingly intense, as frolicsome body arched in suspense, legs tremble at as the lusting grow too immense.
“More, More” I scream and plead, of the aching, pining, perishing need. Satisfy my ravenous greed.

Confetti of wantonness scattered in disarray;
As I dance my intimate ballet, my sweat my new perfume, fresh bouquet;
Bereft of rose petals.

Petals strewed upon the bed, kaleidoscope of pink and red, as legs further spread.
Fingers grasp at your hair, pushing you ever near, melted into his sizzling affaire.
Taste the bittersweet of my sex, higher my breasts convex as I become closer, ever closer to my apex.
Pussy atingle so good it hurts, at talented tongues good work, I explode like a firework

– Shashank Bhardwaj

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Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Heartless

The tongue is heartless servant, it slithers on your neck and lips, like a snake devoid of warm flesh, I feel the warmth and the tremble in cleavage, but I am cursed as in Eden.

It smothers the bra slowly, peeking within with satanic eyes, the warmth is a thirst for a thing made of out flesh, it multiples while inside, caressing, pressing, Disappearing with eyes,
Your breath is a kiss of blaze burning and I was a winter worth nurturing with hands choking my existence

The breasts caressed slowly, into a tumultuous moment of touch, I trace the tips to its origin, feeling them erect and ready for to pleased, unhook now and lie down, let me taste the eden before being banished forever.

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Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Poems, poetry

Move on

Its the dead of the night,
3AM,6AM, it does not matter
I trace the cold drops of water
on your bare back, your subtle moans
subdue within, you turn and kiss me back,
My hands provide warmth to your cold breasts,
Cupping them till you break away
I continue on the neck, while you make the sound of rain go away,
I feel your hands caressing mine,
Taking it slowly between your legs.
We forget the thunders and lightning
and the dying earth.
We just move on.

SB

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beauty, creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Tempation

The hair is tied and fixed,
its an abyss spread by your tips,
Its a veil that dropped
over your neck and the shoulders,
One could trace the curves of neck
And the collarbone with bare eyes,
with a hope of a dream though.
The lips are poignant and colorless,
That tempts the tongue to unthinkable pursuits,
The curve slips off like a fine bottle of sun kissed glass.
The bosoms and waist are sculpted of desires
draped in black
An ice cube would melt and jump off the way
Of your curves, kindled by your warmth.
Just think, what it would to my words,
When they touch your lips.
Brewing temptation in my ink.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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beauty, creative-writing, Death, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Teach

The curves begin to melt,
Its astounding we remember
Everything we touch.
So your memory is a trace of fingertips,
From the callous neck, to the sculpted collar bones, you are a like a hidden lake in an island forgotten, where I dip to forget myself,
The curves extrapolate like rays of sunlight never knowing why,
From the breasts to the fine arch of the back,
Everything dissolves again and again,
My hands aren’t wet with your touch?
Are you really what they call as magic?

For my hands disappear within you,
Tracing every tips without whispering you,
Touching everywhere without telling you?
Making it a dream, with dreaming you,
Do you feel it all, or should I be dissolving you?
Not by touch, not by shyness
But by a pool of shyness and leaving you?
I never knew how to withdraw, so the dress is leaving you?
Maniacal? Sensuous? Are you mad?
All sound same. While your eyes teach you.

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