#klausluvr poetry
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A Poem
This isn’t my usual… can I say content? But I wrote something that I wanted to share. It’s not Mikaelson related, but still, it’s erotic and per usual, way too flowery.
I likely won’t keep this up for too long. But I hope you like it.
Where does the siren come from? The burning prisons of hell, or is she placed upon our beaches from the Gods themselves?
Contemplation. Rest your starving gaze onto the palette of the oceans, the skies. The soft skin that offers herself before you, the hem of her lace, the bounce of the curls in her hair. Sink into the thick humming that seeps onto the air from her body, her small mouth. The heat of the water, the detrimental wanting in the air comes from me, darlin’.
Allow me to sink onto your beaches, onto these bedsheets, to stretch across the linen and make them my own. Allow me to grace your face with the touch of my hand and lift your chin because for this night you will be my own and I won’t accept less.
Allow me to dance, to swing by hips in your honour. To arch my back and grin. I ask myself, do I want to win, or do I just want to give in and watch you descend in between my thighs?
Stare and touch and gasp and to whine and writhe, I won’t demand you, I only know you want to. Now I ask myself, am I a gift from the Inferno, or am I just a girl?
Can a girl be so otherworldly, mythological, transported through the ages and still come up like nothin’ you’ve ever seen before?
I do not write to gift the world my intentions, I do not slip them into your needing ears, into the fruit of the wine we share. I don’t let you lower yourself into my deepest depths. Honey, bite into the body of christ, sink your tongue into me; it’s all the same, isn’t it?
I’m a gentle tiger, I’m a rageful swan. I’m a rambler but I’m damn good with my words, you know it, he knows it, they who still imagine me crawling to them on all fours, singing them goddamn Jessica Rabbit as they slip their hands in their jeans at night alone. Brows furrowed, always brows furrowed.
Ain’t I brilliant, honey? I watch you go lower as you stare at my body like it’s golden, grab at it like it’ll go back to hell after we’re done with it. And it may, I don’t tell.
Ain’t I soft, honey?
Ain’t I alluring like the cross is to the believer?
And you wonder why they toss them away. When the Gods lay down a gift for us it is tarnished. Brutalised, beat, and torn apart… I know this.
So, until they do that for the final time, I’m starving, too.
Let’s eat. Lay down gently and let me consume.
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