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At the Bidding of the Hours
Art Samarel | Erotic Poetry R. Paul Sardanas



Midnight
The night is infinite.
Each sensation a running, wildfire heat,
sting of crop on breasts,
the trembling energy that encases me
then sinks, deep into every nerve
until only the gag keeps me from screaming out
every last phoenix shred of my spirit, in pleasure.





1:00 AM
The day, with its pretense of being alive,
is long past.
All through those bright, shallow hours
I lean in leather chairs,
thrones of material success,
buying and selling, my mind a machine
of shrewd and profitable commerce.
Come the blessed night,
I can shuck out of my tailored clothes,
cast off the shell
that breeds power, and opulence;
give way to true power
that will come to me only bound, and on my knees.





2:00 AM
I don’t care
who you are at noon.
In this perfect night, you are simply the primal man.
You may possess me, bind me,
my hair is loose, and yearns for your harsh fingers
to move my head where you want.
Open me for your cock,
I am the vessel for your heat.
In submitting I ascend
to a red height which will obliterate your identity,
and leave you only pulsing blood
and hard flesh that owns me,
receptacle transcendent,
fucked into pure life.





3:00 AM
Tears sting in the corners of my eyes,
but I am not afraid,
and there isn’t an ounce of sadness or regret
in my crimson heart.
Punishing me is like pouring molten ore
into a crucible;
I will emerge as radiant metal, burnished by the lash.





4:00 AM
Books filled with laws and rules
should be ripped
from their dignified resting place on the shelf,
flung down,
and opened to spill out every restriction.
There are no words in me tonight.
Push me down, yank back the collar,
and spike me with your cock
until I hiss and spit with all the animal energy
that I hide on that shelf of formal veneers.





5:00 AM
Now comes the moment when we are stripped
of all adornment.
No jewelry, no sleek clothing to tantalize
and tease the eye,
or to hide us.
We are naked and morning is near.
Tell me where to bend,
my sex aches for you to plunge in,
so that even the illusion of my flesh
will fall away, flayed to a core of red and gold,
doorway to your release, and my exaltation.





6:00 AM
Dawn light turns my hair
into golden strands of energy.
We have purged out every clawmark
of falsehood and civilization.
There is nothing left in you that reasons.
Your face is melting heat,
your arms are scored with the symbols
of mystical abandon.
I would rather die than return to semi-life;
strangle my breath away,
impale me with your cock into unbleeding death,
let us fill each other
with the crackling blue auras
that will brand us forever as our true selves,
radiant with fierce, unending grace,
impervious to the hours, eternal at lust’s zenith.
The night is over.





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