Poetic Lechery, Part II

Dr. Limor Blockman is a renowned clinical sex counselor, educator, columnist, speaker and author. Born and raised in Haifa, Israel Dr. Limor religiously relates her creating and writing explorations and achievements to her origin and her Judaism.

Her explicit erotica, The Smut Diaries, published on many online outlets worldwide, bears a Jewish aspiration, where the heroines all carry a Jewish name and identity, as a big part of their adventurous nature. Dr. Limor’s Smut Diaries incorporates a ‘daily thought’ avenue titled ‘Debauched Pensiveness’ and now ‘Poetic Lechery’, exciting libidinous poems from Dr.Limor’s ‘Treasure Chest’. Dr. Limor holds a PhD in Human Sexuality, a Master’s in Public Health & Community Medicine and a Bachelor’s in Psychology & Behavioral Sciences.

Kindness

When you come ,
I shall embrace you warmly.
When you come,
I will whisper words of sweet endearment in your ear.
When you come,
my heart will start beating swiftly in your arousing quiddity.
When you come,
I will concede to the turmoil between my legs.
When you come,
I will ferry your large hand and submerge it in my wetness.
When you come,
I will dilate and beg for your exquisite paw.
When you come,
I will bite your lips and part them in fervor,
When you cum,
I shall bolt your fusillade in all apertures!

Apprehension

If you love me,
You may caress me to sleep.
If you love me,
You may roam your hands over my flushed skin.
If you love me,
You may gratify my innocent interstices with your insatiable bounty.
If you love me,
You may ravish my very core and exploit it to your fondness.
If you love me,
You may inhume your magic wand deep in my sultriness.
If you love me,
You may breach, invade and ravage my body.
If you love me,
You may aggrandize my expansion to your assail,
If I love you,
I may allow all your mischiefs in my sacred cradle!

Transient

She cogitated about his unfamiliar manhood.
The elixir of an uncharted stimulation,
Amplified her gap,
Emitting her evolving dampness,
To a torrid magnification.
She imagined coming close to him,
Positioning her small hand over his bounty.
It will feel abundant and rigid to her touch.
She would spiral around his zipper,
And enter the sanctity enshrined.
He would gasp and quiver,
Begging for her delicate caress.
She would grant him with her upper lips at first,
Then delight her nadir in his density,
Sating her pulsating oasis,
With his virile allotment!

Effigy

I let you dress me up
Color my lips red,
My eyes raven black.
You prepped my silken shins
And polished my toes
In velvety maroon,
So you can elevate and douse them
In your tongue.
I let you scour my interstices,
In your vigorous,craved handle
And brush my hair to perfection.
I let you dress me in leather and lace,
My bosoms clasped firmly,
In a tight bodice
To your fondness.
I let you denude it all,
In a ravishing flail
So you can subsist it to your liking,
Until I collapse bleary in your granted vertex.

La petite mort

She moved agilely, floating in her slide sandals.
Moving, forward, onward,upward
As a barraged bullet,
Never stopping.
She feared a pause would send her back
To her fears, her worries, her haunted mind.
The sultriness between her legs amplified with every step,
Her erect nipples threatened to tear the delicate fabric
Clasping her petite, yet ample figure,
To the publicly agreeable manner, she craved to captivate.
She could clearly discern the scent of her desire,crawling up from her gap
Crossing her navel, hugging her breasts, her neck, her lips.
She could taste her insatiable hankering,
Getting the best of her, sending her to an exigent ache.
She rushed into the lavatory,
Tearing off her tight attire swiftly.
She reclined calmly in the warm bath,
Surrendering to the feeling,spreading her thighs wide,
In hauling acceptance of the gratifying wetness.
Her fingers circling her sex, the forceful stream heeding her ravenous being,
Until she welcomed that glorious sensation, that ‘raison d’être’
La petite mort.