sensuality – Image & Verse

Love’s Summer Serenade / Seaside

These first written & published for NaPoWriMo 2010

Love’s Summer Serenade

sing to me my sweet sweet lover
songs as soft as silk and satin
sensual as a bare embrace
warm summer sun upon our face

promise me the world is ours
that this perfect moment’s endless
lift me up on rapture’s cloud
my racing heart is pounding loud

make melody set sail our souls
fill our hearts with passion’s fire
smother me in scorched sweet kisses
oh what a fiery bliss this is

come to me and take me timeless
sweep me off to ecstasy
enfold me in your deepest dreams
simmering under summer moonbeams

so hot we’re looking for some shade
aflame in love’s sensual serenade

Seaside

soft sand warms bare toes

senses stirred by surging surf

summer at seaside

love as fresh as ocean breeze

kisses hot as sizz’ling sun

*
rob kistner © 2010
revised © 2023

More poetry at: dVerse

Waltz of Youth

W ith the heft and smooth sheen
of the beautiful sculpted body
caressed lovingly
between her nubile legs
her excitement stirs
her anticipation grows

eager and confident
she lays tingling hands upon it

engaging the sure strength
of her lithe knowing essence
and the firm deft touch
of her pristine fingers
the brilliant young cellist
ignites the dance

strong slender legs
carry firm yearning bodies
perfumed and cologne’d
around and across
the crowded dance floor
pulses alive

budding passion
craving — yet hesitant
swept up in innocent bliss

the waltz of youth
rising and falling
to the rich give and take
of the cellist’s bow

she lifts the energy
coaxing the passion
of the beautiful dance

with her nimble sway
and precision movements
delicately she envisions
the flowing notes

lovely face
in rhythmic expression
eyes sometimes closed
she dreams the music

wholly consumed
by the seductive strains
the enlivened dancers
sweep round and round
bodies a’glisten
in smoldered embrace
bathed in the chandelier’s
golden glow

further fired by stolen kisses
and breathy whispers
of promised love
and naive forevers

dawning lives
in the tender grasp
of blooming desire
and the velvet touch
of mad magical
magnificent music
*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: Sunday Muse

…a little “out of this world” music…

My daughter and son surprised, I should say shocked me yesterday, revealing the name and photo of my actual birth father — and the name of my birth mother. This information was unknown to me for 74 years. In fact, I was unaware my kids were genealogy mining. I was stunned to look at the picture my son showed me of a man, heretofore unknown to me, and quite clearly and eerily see “myself” — and the unmistakable faces of my son and daughter. Joseph Lawrence Perrmann and Evelyn Tieke — my birth father and mother. I was utterly floored. Using De’s prompt, I’ve created an imagined romantic scenario of that day they met, and I was conceived as a post WWII bastard — later to be placed in a “sealed” adoption.

she is as bright as sunshine
and as beautiful as a summer day

what a most unususl place
to find such beauty
he muses to himself
as he paints her fondly
with his admiring eyes

“come here often miss”
he rolls off his lips
with a slow sly smile

“only when my laundry’s dirty”
she smiles back
with a perky snap

“what brought you in mister”
she banters jokingly

“like you, dirty laundry”
he emphasizes dirty

“you got a big load there”
she observes coyly
with a lingered downward glance

“you got a nice full basket too”
drawing ‘nice’ to a sly sssizzle
“what’s your name”
he asks, seductively

“Evelyn, what’s yours”
she flirts back

“Joe, but friends call me JL
you can just call me
whatever feels good to you, Evelyn”
he offers with an inviting smile
“can I call you Eve”

“sure, Eve is nice
what’s the L for, Joe”

“Lawrence — Joseph Lawrence Perrmann
purr, you know — like a cat”

“I’m Eve, Eve Tieke
you know, like the wood”
she says
“wa d’ya do JL,
rather, Joe”
she teasingly purrs

“I’m now a cop,
was Navy shore patrol,
I’m just back from war”

“where’s your gun officer”
she coaxs

“I keep it holstered
until I need t’use it”
he warns mockingly

“is it a big gun, Joe”
feigning wonder

“it’ll do the job Eve
you like guns”

“not usually
but I bet yours is nice”
she says breathily

they continued chatting
and flirting
while they laundered
growing more interested
and mutually attracted

just then
buzzzzz

“well, laundry’s dry Eve
wanna help each other fold”

she looks around
“these tables are awfully small”
she replies encouragingly
“I live just around the block Joe
and I have the perfect table”

“great Eve, let’s go there
and fold together
— how does that sound”
he asks suggestively

“purr-fect, Joe
I would love to fold with you”
she says directly into his eyes

“OK,
then let’s go
show me the way Eve”

they pause
their imaginations fully engaged
smiling deeply into each others eyes

“OK” Eve says warmly
body language relaxed
eyes willing

then JL turns
grabs both baskets
full of their warm laundry
and out the door they go

together

and into my history

Poetry at: dVerse

Ghosts

An old man remebering his days of young love.

— Summer of 1963 —

Author’s Note:
My inspiration for writing “Ghosts” was drawn from my youth, as represented by the images at the top. Also, strangely enough, from a wonderful novel by Peter Heller entitled “The Dog Stars”. It was reinforced by my awoken curiosity, which found me sampling the top 100 hits of 1963, which was the soundtrack for the summer of my 16th year. This was the summer of my ’57 Chevy Bel Air, of my ‘63 Triumph 650 Bonneville motorcycle, the summer of my first rock and roll band, and my first “girl”. This entire journey back in time was initially prompted by my stumbling upon an old picture of that Chevy.

Looking back at my early teen years, those years when I was waiting for my life to begin, I flashed on my memories of young love. The intensity of that tender pure unrealistic infatuation could perhaps have happened only then, in those times – in that summer of 1963. Before assasinations, collapsing economies, open social unrest, Viet Nam, before AIDS, COVID-19, rampant drugs, criminal presidents – the year of the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show, the Beach Boys took the world surfing, Annette Funicello playing beach blanket bingo, red Chevy ragtops, Triumph Bonnevilles, OpArt, and President Kennedy challenging us to go to the moon. This was a time, maybe the last time, when teens were truly naive and innocent.

I don’t know why that feels true. Perhaps it’s because we were so naive and so unsure as teens, in that post WWll, white-picket-fence, father-knows-best, american-dream, faux-utopia. We were tentative and waiting, wondering. It’s like love imagined that innocent needed that much room, that much “open” mental space, that much emotional “safety”, that much unbridled belief, for it to take root, and to bloom – even if but for a brief moment in time.

The not knowing anything really for certain, but hoping, with aching faith in the possibility of pure true love, was both thrilling and unsettling. It was a love full of passion and devotion, but scary. We were not completely certain how to navigate such an emotion, not really, so we left it alone, tried to let it unfold lightly, terrified we would lose it. And if it did manifest, it felt so big and beautiful, and unbelievable! It was most often short-lived, owing to our immaturity – but what intoxicating joy, such heady exhileration! Those were the times when the apparitional wings of young love did fly to the moon, and carried us along. Here is “Ghosts”…

Ghosts

strong slender legs
carry firm eager bodies
perfumed and cologne’d
around and across the dance floor
pulses racing

electrified — entwined — excited

young groping lust
craving
yet hesitant

swept up in innocent bliss
shadowed near the band shell
beyond the glow of incandescence

throbbing with the big beat
of scorching rock & roll

smoldering for some
longing for more
confusing for most

a pubescent play
beneath a high starry sky
sparking with carnal fantasies

humid as our urgent embraces
hot as our stolen kisses
as forever as our promised love
in that distant
sizzling
teenage midnight…

…sweet ghosts of my youth
haunt from long ago

~ ~ ~

— Me in 1963 —

— Like my car in 1963 —

That Velvet

Vote = Voice — Speak Up! 2CC45105-E580-4197-9120-35D724A74CF8

Sorry for this interruption. Feel free to ignore this section and move directly down to the poem, if you choose. The poem is much more sensual and dreamy. This first section is cold, no-filtered, stark reality — fully and sincerely expressed, as I see it. You see, I need to sum up my final, perhaps controversial thoughts, on the issue of protest, introduced here last Thursday. I have been slowly simmering since then: Love MUST win. My proud hippie soul tells me it can — it must for earth, and her human tribe to flourish. As naive and pollyanna as this may sound, I haven’t lived nearly 74 years believing that peace, love, and intelligence will find a way — to simply stand by and see these qualities of integrity snd dignity trampled beneath the feet of humankind’s baser instincts. Perhaps good people have turned the other cheek for too long. Maybe being passively resigned to the perpetraters of evil is not the way. Perhaps it requires an extreme natural culling of the tribe to remove the evil, the result of the arrogant stupidity of that group. Whether I should revel in that possibility is something my peaceful self has been truly struggling with the past few years — since the extinguishing of the Obama light. It goes against my nature. But the continuing greedy, destructive, and heartless ways must end, or perhaps be brought to an end. At my age and health, I, and most of my Aquarian generation, can’t, or won’t, effectively mount the resistance. We lack the stamina or money, or both. Too many among my generation, who may be capable, have lost the vision — turned during the mine-me-first Reagan 80’s, and the grab-fest in the years that followed. I feel we need responsible, strong young leaders to organize on a large scale, activate on a broad scale. It breaks my heart to say it — but me and my generation, we failed. Those who are coming after us, can’t afford to — or humankind and this great spaceship earth, truly are fucked! The power can belong to the young — take it, and wield it wisely! Sorry if I shocked or offended. Just the honest humble opinion of a tired old man. Not too tired to *** VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! ***

========================

And now {{{deep breath}}} time for the poetic entertainment:

***

…inspired by the Kate Bush video, “The Sensual World”…
This is a 2nd revision of my original 2012 version.

That Velvet

would I were that velvet
that she reaches for so fondly
strokes with delicate pure fingers
with soft silken hands she lingers

embraces to her bosom
wraps ’round her slender shoulders
tingles with excitement
as she surrenders to its touch

would I were that velvet
that drapes her lilting essence
that falls and folds and fondles
as she ascends the stairs each night

the plush and luscious fiber
that rises on her breasts
with each soft and subtle sigh
each deep impassioned breath

oh would I were that velvet
that glides her naked form
on those sunset autumn evenings
enwraps her perfect body warm

that chills and thrills in shivers
as she opens it ‘neath moonlight
and swoons hushed smouldered gasps
as she blooms forth firm and pleasured

oh would I were that velvet
would I were that velvet
oh sweet sensuous angel
would I were
would I were

~ ~ ~

Open Link Night #275

Time’s Window

“This is the 4th anniversary of my wife Kathleen and I moving to Seattle to be with our grandson Alex. I posted this new piece containing mindful reflections on leaving our home in Oregon, and our new Seattle home. The photos are of our Oregon yard in the Cascade Mountain foothills. That is my wife Kathy standing under, and peering up into our 2 giant banana palms. The poem is just below the photos.“

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Time’s Window~

we now have a wonderful
new Seattle home
shared with family
ruled by my little guy
my precious 6-year-old grandson
and I know sweet happiness

but there are moments
with eyes closed
I can gaze back
through time’s window

I see my beloved Oregon home
of 25 amazing years
vividly alive this morning
here in my memories…

through my window this day
I see the scurry of creatures
warmed by the Oregon summer

I hear nature
in splendid voice

the chuff
of a tree’d red squirrel

the song
chirp
and trill of birds

chickadee
goldfinch
western bluebird
and others

fly
flutter
and flit

in a flash of orange
a striking northern flicker
momentarily eschewing insects
is peck peck pecking
cracking black-oil sunflower seeds
that spill from our feeder

a red-tailed hawk
calls
from atop a Sitka spruce
swaying
in the crisp blue sky

the muffled belling of a deer
wandering the safety of old-growth
whispers
through the foothills

the distant bark
of a neighbor’s dog
echoing the basin
up along our stream
reminds me
we have friends nearby

my wife’s
gentle laughter
validates the friendship

her tender smile
validates our love

the rustle of leaves
stirred by the breeze
wafting through the valley

smartly punctuated
by the staccato
of conifer cones
that fall
from time to time
wrested free by chickaree
and chipmunk
chattering high in Douglas fir
busy with their forage

wap wap wap

they bounce off our roof
striking the ground

closely followed
by the scamper
of their liberators
crunching their way
to the heart-meat of the cone
the delicacy
that elicits this furious industry

drifting in the window
intoxicating fragrances

cedar
pine
fir

lily
rose
lilac

grasses
loam
and more

a rich
earthy bouquet

caught in my reverie
I breathe in
deeply
to suddenly remember

…I’m not in my Oregon home
I am in my new Seattle home
and it’s filled to overflowing
with family
and love

for a moment
I do not open my eyes
I linger a bit longer
in my beautiful dream
of my Oregon

my heart will forever be there
but we will likely never go back
not until my ashes are spread
high in the Cascade Mountains
on Mt. Hood
across breathtaking Lost Lake

but here
now
on this day
filled with memories
and joy
a solitary tear
falls

~ ~ ~

This new write was a remarkably mind purifying write for me. Click to see how others are purifying their minds on dVerse:
Poetics- Purifying the Mind

Click to check out the haps at Toads

The Gift

unworthy fool am I

to ignore it
to abuse it
to mistreat it
to misuse it
to mishandle it at every turn

no way am I deserving

yet over and over
you lay it at my feet
to protect each step
on life’s harsh road

time after time
you wrap it round me
as shelter
from sorrow’s storm

again and again
it nurtures and sustains me
on my journey through
the wastelands of the lonely

this light
this precious treasure

no way do I deserve
but forever will I cherish
your soul gift
of selfless love

would I could give you
such a gift in return
it would be my purest
my most unselfish gift

a gift golden as the sun
tied in a tinsel of stars
to nurture you always
to keep you radiant

my most precious gift
of a love supreme

~ ~ ~

DAY 7

And So

“sweet memories of my youth”

And So

and so
I think of her
and wonder

what was the fire
that burned so bright
and raged so fierce
as to consume complete

our essence
left embered char
smoldered ashen

that in its heat
and fury
could not sustain

back I drift
to fall upon
the tenderness of youth

the satin skin
the comely gaze
the velvet touch

a silken voice
rising
to lust and longing

to impatience

to immortality

its soulful siren
so seductive
the nectar of all forbidden

the breathless joy
of sweet innocence

when the wonder
stirs to every mystery
and the spirit lights
to every spark

igniting passion’s pyre

to leave one spent
in blissful ruin
at story’s end

tender memory
of the throaty whispers
of promised pleasures
sweetly secreted
in her virgin kiss

and so
I think of her

remembering
with no regret

savoring the subtle linger
harbored in my heart
of the taste
of her lips

long ago
at seventeen

~ ~

“lips lush as cognac
open softly to kisses
urgently linger”

~ ~ ~

________________

click here to read more poetry at dVerse

Hedone’s Daughter

WARNING! For adult readers only!

Hedone’s Daughter

radiant vision silken skinned
translucent alabaster blaze
torrid as a teen’s temptation
leaned low
here before me
yearning

straplened ankles fragile turned
stiletto’d rise
on carpet soft
emblazened vixen
forward bent
availed so boldly
flush with craving

graceful face
brazen aglow
comely raised and tilted back
my fingers tangled in your hair
lifting firm
yet luscious slow

swept away in lustful swoon
forearms rest on velvet sheets
eyes aflame in sapphire need
blatant in your fetched seduction

Hedone’s daughter lush with Spring
smouldering
in golden light
that folds upon you soft as satin
‘cross nape of neck
arched silk desire

down glistening back
that tempting tapers
to the tender
warm and sultry
wonderland for fingertips
to touch
and tease
and tantalize

to explore
your quivering body
soul-addictive
luscious
grand
divinely-pleasing sculpted vessel
brought forth by Aphrodite’s hand

virgin fruit swells full and ripe
flesh silhouette to hypnotize
enticing in the candle’s flicker
fondled by my hungry eyes

they stroke and tweak
the blossomed berries
that burst
engorged with passion’s heat

that taunt my tongue to twirl ’round
my teeth to nip in playful tug
draw to my lips
now lewdly moist
to take
and taste in eager suckle

willful hands
of pleasured probing
wrap slender waist
then slowly slide
‘cross pleading hips
of sensuous rise
to fall into erotic folds
molded from the charms of Venus

’round dual swells of burning myth
that writhe
atop two lathen’d stems
long and lithe
as liquid love
turned by pleasure’s gloried angels
tempered in a sacred fire

stretched taut
raised high on tips of toes
proud
defined
and goddess buff

enough to make one
want to stuff
to thrust and thrust
in randy lust
’til passion’s seed
has turned to dust

and wanton
carnal
flames
are snuffed

spring’s sweet madness
full rebuffed

~ ~ ~

_____________________

candle photo entitled “Lovers” by: Bolshevixen

photographer of couple embracing unknown

Touch of Love

Touch of Love

a quarter century ago
in the shadow of the tall ships
nestled inter-coastal
on the outer banks of Beaufort
our passion burst to flame

we bound that flashpoint moment
in a promise of forever
and a band of abalone
I found there in that sunset
on the Carolina sands

as ever-precious
as the diamond ring
that now encircles in its stead
that pearled bit of shell
immortalized our pledge

even to this day
it rests next to your heart
where it falls true and warm
on links of purest gold
my constant touch of love

~ ~ ~

Click below to read more poetry at dVerse:
Open Link Night #233

Yet

inspired by the first day I met my wife in 1987…

Yet

had she not appeared in that clearing
so lost

had she not crossed my threshold
on that september day

had not her voice
drifted like silk on a summer breeze
to wrap sheer and sweet
around my heart

had not I been drawn
like a bloom to the morning sun

had not I been captivated
as a hummingbird
by a drop of nectar
crystal on a velvet petal

had not my love come down
soft as a rolling mountain meadow

had not this dream been born

had not my life begun again

~ ~ ~

Arrested

Arrested

she’s left only her jacket on
unbuttoned
blousing open

the gold of her badge
glints fetchingly
in the glow of candlelight

her breasts
partially veiled
soft in the amber wash
gently rise and fall
with her heavy breath

helplessly
my eyes glide her length
fondled warmly
by the lush half-light
folding upon her
from the single flame

they pause
entranced by the velvet flower
sensuously shadowed
in the satin cleft
where supple limb
meets supple limb

intoxicated by this vision
I can only stare
and melt

utterly arrested

~ ~ ~

________________________

The “X” rated 2018 version

-=> RAW ADULT CONTENT <=-

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Arrested
~
unbuckling her regulation holster
she lays it neatly
on the sest of her cycle

she removes the rest of her wespons
and places them on the ground

she is now unarmed
but she is still packin’

unzipping
she lets her regulation uniform trousers
slide in a nylon rustle
down her thigh high lace tops
to fall
gathered at her sculpted ankles

leaving her regulation leather heels on
she steps over her slacks
abandoned at her feet

she walks toward me slowly
hips pivoting left then right
taut thighs mesh silken

swish swish swish

placing one foot
in front of the other
striding with authority
heels sounding

click click click

she approaches
backlit by the red and blue pulses
of the BMW’s frenzied lightbar

she stops
straddling over me
as I am handcuffed
sitting on the highway
leaning agaist the door
of my Audi R8
popping and snapping
as the 610 hp’s cool

she unbottons her regulation jacket
and drops it at my side
she’s left only her regulation shirt on
as she unbuttons
it blouses open

her body badge is revealed
the gold glints fetchingly
as it dangles
on a thick leather cord
from around her smooth firm neck
resting nestled
in the perfect cleavage
of her pert young
braless breasts

these are tits
perfect tits
right out of a teen’s temptation
aglow in amber warning lights

her nipples
proudly erect
partially veiled
soft in the amber wash
gently rise and fall
with her heavy breathing

leaning over
fixing me with her fiery eyes
she speaks
“you were driving recklessly – sir”
then rips away her black string thong

helplessly
looking up
my eyes glide slowly
lustfully down her length
fondled warmly
by the flashing golden-orange
folding and refolding
upon her luscious flesh

they pause in gentle decent
entranced by the velvet mons
shorn smooth and oiled
sensuously shadowed
in the satin cleft
where supple limb
meets supple limb

intoxicated by this vision
I can only stare
swelling rigid with excitement
and swoon
breathless

utterly arrested
eager for interrogation

~ ~ ~

Drowning

on the boulevard
outside
last night’s rain
puddles
midst the chaos of metro-clutter
as if abandoned
by the waters of earth

it shoulders its way
through the culverts
in search of mother sea

this day begins golden and crisp
bird songs echo empty sunrise streets

lovers and their beloved
sit by morning windows
with tea
and curiosity

they talk

in these moments
their souls spill
one into the other
entranced

somewhere
tender lips
are sculpting sweet words

but here in this quiet
I drown in your eyes
fallen into azure pools

~ ~ ~

Click for bonus pleasure…

Morning’s Pardon

Morning brings we fallen mortals forgiveness and hope…

Morning’s Pardon

fallen into night’s embrace
held down by dark shadows
I writhe in the arms of nightmare

would that I could rise
into the light of dawn’s nod
but I’m flesh, weak, consumed by flesh

purity laid raw entangled in my sin
skin to skin with my obsession
restrained to roil in my transgression

but soon the light of morne
will fold itself upon me pardoned
oh pray I not be too far drawn asunder

~ ~ ~

RÄgarÄjaâ€™s Daughter

â€¢

radiant vision silken skinned
translucent alabaster blaze
torrid as a teenâ€™s temptation
leaned low here before me yearning

on plush cloud so sensuous
sweet comely goddess forward bent
graceful face aglow with craving
you conjure ardor’s obsession

aâ€™bloom in beckoned fiery swoon
forearms rest on pillow soft
thoughts aflame in primal need
lips burning smile a fetched seduction

RÄgarÄjaâ€™s daughter lush with Spring
smoldering in golden light
that folds upon you satin supple
to bathe in warmth your arched desire

divinely-pleasing luscious morsel
served up by a masterâ€™s hand
passion bound to tantalize
to hypnotize my hungry eyes

lost in carnal fantasy
fired by this goddess buff
arises now my animal
in a beastly urgent lust

to wrap â€˜round
this maiden magic
flesh to flesh
to full consume
to thrust
and thrust
my randy lust
â€™til passionâ€™s seed
has turned to dust
and wanton
carnal flames
are snuffed

Springâ€™s sweet madness
at last
enough

â€¢ â€¢ â€¢

â€¢ linked at Magpie Tales

Category: sensuality

Love’s Summer Serenade / Seaside

Waltz of Youth

Folding Together

Ghosts

That Velvet

Time’s Window

The Gift

And So

Hedone’s Daughter

Touch of Love

Yet

Arrested

Drowning

Morning’s Pardon

RÄgarÄjaâ€™s Daughter