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
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.
To stop this yearning,
as it overflows,
I hold my moans,
in a room full of people.
It’s a meeting
people are bored,
and your tongue is unmoved
for I hold my moans.
Beneath the desk,
you keep swallowing,
quenching your thirst
licking at the tips
even the end of balls.
I feel your breasts
caressing it,
flowing with it.
The outpouring should be swallowed
unless and until
you can think of something else
that might be possible,
while you lay below my desk,
half-undressed
and totally wet.
© Shashank Bhardwaj.
With your laced clothing,
you resplend an aura
that smells of lust and raging whiskey,
the ice fed hands trace your fragile
and sensitive breasts, as you unhook your bra.
With my warm tongue, I lick the chocolate over your pointed nipples.
You caress your fingers with the water between your legs.
I tear away your black panties,
and I am sure you wished for the sooner of it.
I come inside you, inside us
as we tremble as terrified horses
riding in the storm, embracing and feasting
on one another.
Your hips turn warm,
The legs go tired,
we climax in each other arms
and wait to begin again,
in the sunlight, we escaped from.
Of wanting
and the reactions.
Of the tease
and the injunctions.
Of the touch
and the revulsions.
Of the kiss
and the deductions.
Of the stripping
and the seductions.
Of melting of naked bodies
and the inductions.
Of the aches and sweat
and the conclusions.
Of the slithering memories
and the destructions.
Of the possible repetition
and the needed constructions.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Quantum of quivers queue quintessentially,
the rancor from the relishes reverberates with rage.
serenity seeps slowly into the sleep of sensuality:
as I tickle the tenacious thighs and think of tricks.
the universality of the urges shall not be undone.
the vagrancy within myself will end vividly.
our acts are now xeroxed, the near x-mas forgotten
the youthful yumminess of the yesteryear revisited.
unhook your bra now,
and melt slowly in my arms
lets sleep till winter.
Writings to Heaven 