Excited Fire

They’re just words right?
As long as they stay on the page
What could possible go wrong?
She would surely be amazed
My words inspire desire
They are passion uncaged
Each letter a tactile experience
With every word pleasure remains

She couldn’t possibly know
She was soon to see
Her every movement was captured
Perfectly
Visually by me
I encased semantically
Her ever desire
Verbs romantically linked with adjectives
Nouns dipped in fire
Prepositions very existence
To close the short distance
From fantasy to reality
She offered no resistance

They were just words after all…

(more…)

In the bed between the sheets

Under the stars while the moon peeks

Our bodies like poetry

When they meet

Ecstasy

That which defines our release

Your touch

Which makes my heart beat

You want it, it’s yours

Come with me

To the place of dreams

Where wonders never cease

And thoughts turn to steam

As actions paint a passionate scene

You scream

I need

You speak

I believe

The pent up frustration

Is but an indentation

The paragraph is spoken

And all resistance is broken

Think of me and we shall be

Together forever

Or at least until sweet release

-Malcolm Lloyd

Hmm…so if I kissed you would you kiss me back?
Would you touch me back if my hands caressed the small of your back?
Would you look into my eyes and return my stare?
Would you allow me to lead, and then follow me somewhere?

Would you trust me to never touch you wrong?
Would you never doubt my fingers wherever they might roam?
Would you allow my mind to read yours and respond in kind?
Would you stay with me till the end of all time?

(more…)

Poetry is my passion, the erotic is just a gift. I combine words and terms and give them vision, it’s a gift. I’ve often been told I moonlight by day, compose by night and hold many hearts in sway. My words are erotic, yet still exude taste. My poetry is fire, yet the feeling never melts away. It’s a passion, one I hope never fades. I don’t write for me, I write for those I hope will read this some day. It’s my passion, one of many it seems. I love to act out my words, to taste their imagery. I love to dream up new things, distill the thoughts to words, insert the nouns and verbs and pray the meaning is undisturbed.

Passionate Expression, I call it my secret weapon. It allows you to hear my voice through the ink, my touch through the sheet, the sound when I speak and visualize that feeling is from me. It’s deep, but it’s erotic all the same. I don’t take you to the storm, I become the pouring rain. I don’t make you call my name, I make you sexually insane. All through words and phrases, all through the use of your brain. You’ve never seen me but you crave me still. You don’t know me yet I control your will. You want sex, I deliver it in excess, erotically, passionately, I allow you to submit to my requests.

This isn’t a stop, it’s the journey of your life. This isn’t just sex, it’s an erotic afterlight. Maybe I’m cocky, maybe a bit misunderstood, but of one thing I’m sure, you wouldn’t stop if you could.

-Malcolm Lloyd 

There are seven days in the week, what shall we do
Monday is the day we relax…just us two
You kick off your shoes, Ill massage your back
And we go with the flow of whatever may happen after that

Tuesday comes and I’m a bit excited
It’s the day you promised you’d be full of surprises
I never know what to expect, from morning to night
Tuesdays might be my favorites, yes they just might

Wednesday comes around, hump day is no longer just a word
Any and everywhere, we express our passions through our verbs
From the hallway in the apartment to the lunch ‘meetings’ that occur
Wednesdays are always tiring but damn are they good

Thursdays are next, simple not complex
After Tuesday and Wednesday, we’re needing some rest
A quiet dinner, a movie on the couch
Yet somehow they always end with us naked in the house

Friday is a party, it’s the end of the week
We celebrate always, we never sleep
From the club to the bar, tipsy to the back seat
Fucking like we’re teenagers, bodies moving to the bass beat

Saturday starts late, we’ve got to get some sleep
We wake up after noon, we head out into the streets
Grab something to eat, maybe take in a show
Back out to the bar, repeating Friday some mo’
Maybe if we’re stressed, we stay in for some rest
Which inevitably leads to excited, passionate sex

Sunday, we pray…nah I’m just kidding
Sunday is the day we treat like Thanksgiving
I put you on the table and spread your legs
Put my lips on yours while you guide my head
I touch you with my tongue until you finally succumb
The pleasure leaking from your body in rivers…I want some
Over and over till you’re out of breath
Yeah Sunday is the day where you cum till nothing’s left

-Malcolm Lloyd

Works better when it’s two
I can concentrate, tell her what I’d do
I can evoke emotions, give her memories
I can stroke her ego, respond to her pleas
I can make her quake, long to be near me
I can make her wake, spend her every hour thinking of me
And I have…
She wants me truly
And me, her,
Whenever I see her booty
Whenever I see her hips
The outline of her lips
The way her ass shakes
Causes my body to awake
We struggle to remain tame
Not participate
An illicit affair
Would cause so much despair
But so much pleasure
And I’m insanely jealous
I think about who she’s with
And I become overzealous

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