beauty, creative-writing, Desire, erotica, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Poems, Poetry

Black Warmness

Your hair floats
as a messy dark forest in wind,
Curled up like a serpent in a river
The eyes are chalices of sparkling wine
With lips drenched in deep untouched unknown colors.
A smile withers from you,
Tempting everyone bit by bit,
The neck is sculpted with intricate flesh,
an arch of collarbone is an icing on this cake
with a smell that can make you forget memories.

The curve moves its own way
Like breeze over rain
The bottoms round and soft
comforted within
the desirous coloring inners
thighs are melodies of your movement
with fair and soft toes
moving at the helm of tempting back.

The pink wet lips, drown my eyes, as my hands trace its origin slowly to your chin, tempting its way to below within the warm black dress

The bra unhooks from behind as my lips move ahead from your back to the shoulders and neck,
Close your eyes now and feel the touches in motion

creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry

Temptation

The collar bone is a mellow beauty
held by infallible black straps of the unknown
that leads to softer dominions of flesh below.
Your smile above is etched in the eye,
But my hands forget those after

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 breasts 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 wamth.
Just think, what it would to my words,
When they touch your lips.
Brewing temptation in my ink.

The unbuttoning continues,
The eyes are not shy of the sun now,
But of my eyes teasing every glance of your flesh,
The cleavage is an abyss molded within the bra
I trespaas them to the soft breasts held firmly within it.
Don’t whisper now, just moan.
Tell my fingers where to move now,
Should i unhook the way your eyes tell me to.

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Warm

Her whispers turned into subtle moans.
The breathe turned warmer and warmer.
Her nails dug deep into the back.
As each inch of the curve is felt by bare cold hands.
She just cannot wait for the climax now.
The lust will spread within her,
With every thrust.
This will be the end and beginning
of the wet warm climax she deserves.

Shashank Bhardwaj

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.

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.

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

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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