Raadha, her child.

Her child watches from behind the curtain
As she holds her breath
As I enter her from the back,
Her head forced down on the pillow,
Hair tight in my grip.

His mouth is alarmed in wonder
Watching his mother in painful pleasure
As her unaccustomed sensation
Sinks in, like a dick.
He watches her from muscle to muscle, scans her tension,
Looks at me.

I tighten the grip and twist her loose hair
With her head, pulling her back
Making her full breasts open to him.
Twice I slap her ass and let that sound boom on the walls
And push in deeper and curt.
We watch each other as she wince.

7903-passion

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Raadha, having tea with

The urge is too real, Raadha,
To tell the world who you are —
To admit to you that it aches inside not to
Take you, to rip your clothes,
To meet your yearning eyes with mine and to
Slide it deep inside. And to push it an inch more,
To inhale your sigh.

While we sit taking our sugared tea,
The silences intervening.
Your eyes – there is a tension which I
Think is the half-hearted call of the
Desired, still wavering.

But, only if I could tell you,
That the only tea I need is brewed in you,
That is need not be sugared, that it
Need not be as thick as this: that
There’s only one plunge I have in mind

As we make the smallest talk
On irrelevancies and topics that
This tension cannot bear.

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