Pascal

Ma Chère Rose

© Sutekh Adamah

If I was to read for you, My Dear Rose.
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body.
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.

See her breast cupped; stretch the stitches of her blouse.
As if swollen with milk, my flame only her water could douse.
Lingers of secluded comfort, like a forest cottage house.
My fingers warm between her soft cleavage, like a hiding mouse.

Her nipples harden from my whispers in the air.
As her body heats up, her sweat gives off a scent so rare.
Undress her body, sounds of her clothes as they tear.
Like electric musical notes, rise from her body like hair.
No other woman has ever had a skin so fair.
Like a roses petals, no other flower could compare.
Taunting Eden's apple, as if to rival a pear.

See her sway her thighs and hips.
Like a rose in the wind, petals swell from the tips.
Softest leather feel, back arched like a crack from the whip.
Tall smooth legs, like a mast of a ship.
And the rain on her sails, taste of honey to lips.

Your arms like shields, rose's petal points lifted.
Touch of your fingers, ten angel pianists, heavenly gifted.
Easily make a man's emotions feel shifted.
Dancing in the mind of every dream he has drifted.

Those smooth long legs spread like the wings of a flyer.
Inner thighs speak a truth that would mute a liar.
And drip sweet smelling nectar that excites a man's desires.
Like an addictive drug, that makes him only want to get higher.

Her smooth bottled neck, over her soft shoulders
Holds a face of beauty, eyed in all beholders.
A rose lost in the forest, graceful, triumphant, and wild.
Enchanted mystic youth, pretty, majestic, like a fairy's child.

Beautiful arms even Hercules could not grace.
Like two pythons, leave a man breathless in embrace.
And the pressure they do impart,
Have the power to forever imprison your lover in your heart.

I could never forget her sweet smelling perfumed hair.
Blowing in the air as if God's winds, were trying to stare.
Her eyes which contact made you frozen,
Put you in a spell that made you swear that you were chosen.
Trapped in fleeting notions,
Her lips tasting of Love's potions.

If I was to read for you, My Dear Rose.
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body.
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy

Source: http://www.lovelifepoems.net/love-poem/ma-chere-rose-french-for-my-dear-rose

.Kissing King

 💗

Kissing King

she draws me in with
lips that’s
tender and succulent,
she keeps me glued
with the slow flow of
her honey flavors.

her kissing is celestial.

with every smack
of her lips
with every gentle kiss

she keeps me
wanting more
and more and more.

she has transformed me
into a kissing king.

💗💗Why did you write Lolita ?

 💗Why did you write Lolita ?

« It was an interesting thing to do. Why did I write any of my books, after all ? For the sake of the pleasure, for the sake of the difficulty. I have no social purpose, no moral message ; I've no general ideas to exploit, I just like composing riddles with elegant solutions. » What was the genesis of Lolita ? « She was born a long time ago, it must have been in 1939, in Paris ; the first little throb of Lolita went through me in Paris in '39, or perhaps early in '40, at a time when I was laid up with a fierce attack of intercostal neuralgia which is a very painful complaint—rather like the fabulous stitch in Adam's side. As far as I can recall the first shiver of inspiration was somehow prompted in a rather mysterious way by a newspaper story, I think it was in Paris Soir, about an ape in the Paris Zoo, who after months of coaxing by scientists produced finally the first drawing ever charcoaled by an animal, and this sketch, reproduced in the paper, showed the bars of the poor creature's cage. » Did Humbert Humbert, the middle-aged seducer, have any original ? « No. He's a man I devised, a man with an obsession, and I think many of my characters have sudden obsessions, different kinds of obsessions ; but he never existed. He did exist after I had written the book. While I was writing the book, here and there in a newspaper I would read all sorts of accounts about elderly gentlemen who pursued little girls : a kind of interesting coincidence but that's about all. » Did Lolita herself have an original ? « No, Lolita didn't have any original. She was born in my own mind. She never existed. As a matter of fact, I don't know little girls very well. When I consider this subject, I don't think I know a single little girl. I've met them socially now and then, but Lolita is a figment of my imagination. » —

Love is impossible

 

Lolita ya ya