Poetry by PoetBo

© 2001 Robert Bo Golden

SHE IS BOUND,
BY SATIN AND LACE.
EYES ARE DARKENED BY SILK.
NO LEATHER OR CHAIN OF STEEL,
HAS TOUCHED HE TENDER SKIN.
NOT YET ANYWAY.
HER BODY, LIKE A FLOWER, OPENS,
IN FULL BLOOM, TURNING, TWISTING,
SEEKING HER SUN, THE LIGHT, THAT GIVES HER LIFE.
SHE HEARS MY BREATH, UPON HER EAR,
MY LIGHT TOUCH, UPON HER BREAST,
HER THROAT, HER STOMACH, HER GLISTENING LOINS.
THE SOFT TOUCH OF MY LIPS, TO HERS.
AND SHE ARCHES TO MEET ME,
AS I, STEALTHILY MOVE AWAY.
SHE TRIES TO ANTICIPATE,
BUT SHE CANNOT,
FOR I AM THE MASTER OF THIS PLAY.
AH, SUCH SWEET ANTICIPATION!
THE SMELL OF PHEROMONES, INFUSING OUR BODIES, OUR THOUGHTS.
I LOOK DOWN UPON HER,
AND SEE MY HEART BEATING INSIDE OF HER.
SHE DOES NOT KNOW,
HOW SHE ENSLAVES ME, WITH HER NEED,
HER LOVE, AND HER PASSION!
AND I WILL NEVER TELL HER.
WITH ICE, I COOL HER, UPON BREAST AND LOIN.
WITH WAX I BURN HER, THEN QUICKLY COOL WITH BREATH.
WITH OILS, STEEPED IN MYRRH,
I MASSAGE.
FROM BROW TO TOES AND BACK AGAIN.
ALL IS TOUCHED, ALL IS MADE MINE.
AND, SHE TREMBLES.
I BITE, THEN KISS, THEN COOL WITH BREATH.
NOT ONE PATCH OF TENDER FLESH UNTOUCHED.
EXQUISITE PAIN, WITHOUT THE WHIP.
IT IS A WHIP WITHIN ITSELF.
FOR I DO NOT INFLICT PAIN,
I INFLICT PLEASURE.
OH I TRY, TO PUSH HER BOUNDS, HER THRESHOLDS.
BUT SO SLOW, SO PAINFULLY SO.
AND IF SHE NEEDS, I GIVE HER THAT.
WHICH MOVES HER TO,
THAT OTHER PLANE, WHERE PAIN, AND PLEASURE,
BECOME THE SAME.
I WILL NOT RELEASE HER YET,
SHE MUST GO ON,
SO MANY MORE PLANES TO CONQUER,
SHE IS MY SLAVE, AS I, AM hers.
HER PLEASURE MY PAIN,
HER PAIN, MY PLEASURE.
TILL WE MELD AS ONE, AND WE CANNOT TELL,
THE DIFFERENCE.
I GIVE HER A GIFT, EACH TIME, SHE SURRENDERS,
COMPLETELY TO MY WILL.
AND SHE GIVES ME, THE BETTER GIFT,
HER LOVE, HER TRUST, HER ORGASM, AS I RELEASE HER,
INTO THAT TINY DEATH, THAT EXQUISITE DEATH.
I REMOVE HER DARKNESS, HER BONDS,
SO I MAY LAY UPON HER FULL,
AND SEEK INTO HER EYES,
THE LOVE I NEED TO SEE,
AS SHE SEES MIRRORED IN ME.
I LOVE HER SO.
AND WE ARE AT PEACE.

THE VOICE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY R.B.GOLDEN © 7/99

SHE LAYS UPON HER BED,
HER ROOM SO QUIET, ALMOST ETHEREAL.
A CANDLE BURNS, ENCASING HER IN ITS SOFT GLOW.
CASTING SHADOWS,
UPON BREASTS, HIPS, THIGHS, AND SERENE FACE.
HER RIGHT HAND SLOWLY MOVES.
AS SHE LISTENS,
A SOFT DEEP HYPNOTIC VOICE COMMANDS HER.
AND SHE OBEYS.
OBEYS WITHOUT THOUGHT.
FOR HIS VOICE IS HER MASTERS,
HER LOVER, HER HEARTS OWN BEAT.
AND HE ENSLAVES HER,
JUST AS HE, IS ENSLAVED,
BY HER LOVE, HER SUBMISSION.
HE SPEAKS INTO HER MIND,
AND SHE CAN FEEL HIM WITH HER.
HIS CALM PRESENCE,
HIS WARM BREATH,
HIS LIGHT TOUCH.
SO SURREAL,
YET SO REAL.
AND SHE REACHES OUT FOR HIM.
HE QUIETS HER WITH GENTLE VOICE.
AND SHE OBEYS.
SHE ALWAYS OBEYS.
HE BINDS HER IN BRAIDED LEATHER,
IN SILK,
AND IN STEEL.
HE COVERS HER EYES IN LACE.
HE WHISPERS IN HER EAR HIS LOVE, HIS INTENT.
AND SHE SIGHS.
HE TOUCHES HER MIND,
WITH WHIP,
WITH HOT BREATH AND TEETH UPON HARDENING NIPPLE.
HER HAND TOUCHES THAT PLACE,
BELIEVING IT HIM.
HE BINDS HER TIGHTER.
AND SHE RESPONDS, ARCHING, STRETCHING,
TOWARDS HIM.
SHE BELIEVES SO.
HIS VOICE COMMANDS,
AND SHE OBEYS.
THE SOFT LEATHER CAT,
LAYS ACROSS HER BREASTS,
AND SHE MOANS FROM ITS SLIGHT STING.
IN HER MIND.
IN HER MIND.
ON BELLY, AND THIGHS,
EACH STRIKE SO REAL...
SHE CAN HEAR THE SINGING WHIP.
THE LIGHT CRACK UPON HER SKIN.
SHE GROANS, SHE GASPS.
SHE FEELS HIS HEAT.
AND...AS HE SPEAKS, SHE FALLS EVEN MORE.
DEEP SO DEEP.
HE IS WITH HER,
AND SHE SMILES IN JOY,
AS HE KISSES, BITES, CARESSES ALL OF HER.
AND HER HAND MOVES TO TOUCH EACH PLACE,
WITHOUT VOLITION.
SHE IS WITH HIM,
AS HE IS WITH HER.
AND AFTER...
WHEN HE CUDDLES HER, HOLDS HER,
IN STRONG ARMS,
THEIR BREATH SLOWING, BREATHING AS ONE.
SHE FALLS INTO A DEEP, PEACEFUL SLUMBER,
CONTENT.
HER EAR STILL... RESTING ON THE PHONE.

Anticipation
Robert Bo Golden © 10/7/99

She is in the moment.
Her breath, coming slow and easy.
Her wrist bound by silk rope,
Stretched towards the ceiling,
As though she where reaching for her God.
Her eyes, covered in a silk and leather.
Her body draped in lose white satin.
And nothing else.

He moves about her slowly, softly.
She can hear the light sound of his movement.
His quiet breath.
His deep whispers of his intent,
His commands.
And she trembles,
In anticipation.

For he is her God, in this moment.
Nothing but he exists.
Nothing but him, matters.
And as he moves about her,
Touching lightly, gently.
Her nipples harden,
Skin glistens.
Breath comes shorter.
Clit becomes erect.
And she becomes wet,
In sweet anticipation.

He talks of his love.
His uncompromising devotion.
His honor, of her complete,
Submission.
In whispers.
And by his deft touch.
She trusts him,
Without question, pause, or fear.
For she knows his love is real,
As Is hers.
Unto him she gives up her soul,
Heart,
Body.
And she trembles,
In anticipation.

He touches her shoulder,
White satin, slithers to the floor,
A soft rustle.
And in the long silence,
A sound is heard,
By sensitive ears.
A kind of soft whistle.
That her body knows.
Her mind exalts.
And as her heart beats faster,
She smiles,
In sweet anticipation.

The soft leather cat,
Lays across breasts so precisely,
That only the slightest of stings is felt.
And no mark mars it's passing.
And then again.
And again.
She moans in pleasure.
Her love blossoms,
Like a flower in full bloom.
Body quivering,
As he moves about her,
Laying on the cat.
On breasts.
Stomach.
Back.
And buttocks.
And after each strike,
He kisses,
Where he once struck.
And she moans,
In anticipation,
Of his next one.

What is this kind of love?
How does one find its meaning?
Where pain and pleasure meet,
And become one.
Where a man controls,
Her every breath.
And she submits so willingly.
It is something,
No one can define.
No one answer suffices.
Except!
That in all ways,
It is the purest love.
The meaning of trust.
And the sweet anticipation.

Ashes
© 10/12/99 by Robert Bo Golden

I think of this fire deep inside.
Where the ashes pile high,
Mound by mound.
And I burn ever still.

There is no comfort from the heat.
No word to cool my brow.
I know that all I am
Can never be enough, to quench the fire.

Looking deep inside,
I see the pain of my youth.
The many mistakes.
The parents, who did not parent.
Made me less than alive.
Made me less in my own eyes.

Looking outward.
I see nothing real.
How do I heal, these scars?
How do I break from my legacy?.
The one that fuels this fire,
That still burns me so.
Leaving only ashes.

Mirrors

I see a reflection in the mirror.
And it is not me.
Face to old, to worn,
With so much pain, such misery.
Knows to many things.
Seen to many things.
And has cared to much.
Turn swiftly, look away!...another mirror,
Has a face, seems younger, still troubled.
But familiar.
Seem to know him...ah,yes the dreamer.
Dreaming dreams of castles in the sky.
Of a future full of promise,
Of ideals.
Of faith.
Of better things to come.
This face sometimes smiles.
I smile back in irony.
Knowing that at one time.
It was my face.
Turning slowly, yet again.
Is that another mirror?
Yes, and another face.
One so cynical, so out of place,
As though from another time.
Has no dreams.
No ideals.
No promise.
A face that has lost faith.
Knowing castles are only sand.
Suddenly seeing all these faces,
Reflecting back on each other.
Into infinity.
As though seeing,
Back into time.
So many lives.
So many tries.
They begin to meld.
Coalesce into one.
That face so worn.
That face so torn.
Scarred from to many lost dreams.
Lost loves.
Lost lives.
That face is me.

Flower

I came upon a flower,
full of petals, beautiful,
yet closed so tightly,
It could not receive the sun.
I tried to talk to this flower.
Tried to understand her fear.
But she would not open up to me.

So gently, I dug around her roots.
And moved her from her planting.
Her leaves began to shiver.
And her petals drew in even tighter.
Such a frightened, vulnerable thing.
What could I say, would could I do,
to make her open up to me?

I brought her to my garden,
Where the soil was rich, with fertile knowledge.
And gently encased her roots.
And watered her with love and songs,
every single day.
How, I wondered, has she survived,
so closed, without the gentle hands,
of the sun?
Will she ever see the light of the day?

I'd sneak a peek in the light of the moon.
And see her swaying their, her many petals wide.
Moving to a music, I could not hear.
Why was she so alone?
What made her close her self away,
from all the other flowers,
From the beauty of a blue sky,
a sunny bright day?
And what could I say, to reach her?

So, one day as I sat beside her.
Singing my sad songs.
Reading to her my poems.
Letting her feel my warm presence,
My gentle touch, upon stem, leaf, and petal.
one petal, the smallest of them all,
began to quiver, and then slowly open,
as though reaching out to me, with a tiny hand.
and as I gently touched, her with my finger,
she curled around it! and I began to cry.
my tears splashing on her one by one.
And as she felt each drop,
she squeezed me ever tighter.

So everyday, I sit and play,
my sad and lonely songs to her,
as she leans against my side.
And each day to my great joy,
another petal, opens to the sun.
Another petal touches me.
As she so gently sways to my strum.
I love this little many petaled flower so.
For in her I feel my heart.
For we are the same,
just two... lost souls.

All poems © 1999-2001 by Robert Bo Golden. All Rights Reserved. Used here by permission of the author. Do not reproduce or distribute without expressed written consent from the author. Background image provided by About's Web Clip Art.

Other ENE Features