Jadedisland
A Kawaii Memoir

Poetry

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Posts tagged Hookups
ID’s Natural Market

Written 04/19/18

The affliction of lust, boils the blood intimately.  Driving skin to crave warm caresses, and dive in the decadence of soiled sheets.


The pleasure of innocence lost, and knowledge at the climax. Perhaps it’s a study session in climaxes. There is intricacy in connection at the apex of smooth thighs, or decibels of pleasure ridden cries.


Smut dripping smiles, that beckon the weary to experience a physical inquiry. One that rides, and dines in all the right places leaving sticky faces.


The mess of lust is a market of fine dining, and workouts that leave us all breathless. Riddled with intensity or laughter, or hushed words of love in the middle.


The things said during the dance of sweaty bodies, the ones that leave the mind curious if there’s more beyond the decadence of touches and thrusts. Unaware that even here there is no trust.


The sheets don’t hold promises, only the mess of quick orgasms and unsatisfaction. The pillow talk, mindless in its abandoned insertions of the faces never staying long. The truth of intimacy is not a place to belong when the soul is searching for love on the wrong tongue.

 

- Lost in you, Jade 🌵 

Like Tired Roses

 Written 02/26/18 

I am tired. All my roses have died, but I remember their petals and essence along my body. I remember the color like I remember their memories. The sensation of their heat on my worn hands lingers over my violin strings. The glass that held cupid's love, is filled with lukewarm attentions and murky messages. So you see,I am tired of love that comes in the form of dying flowers. I cling to their form, seeking the eternal. I cling to their form lusting for the immortal.

How I miss these roses, those delicate petals, the ones that carcassed like fairies on my skin and danced like sin in my bathwater. While I desire the truth, for why my love in you inspires. I would much rather feel that you love yourself more than you love a woman like me. I’m that woman who smiles at flowers, and kisses the thorns away, bleeding in loyalty, treating that soul like royalty. I am the garden, I am your home, one day you’ll realize the tears that built this place were not created alone. The tears that built who I am, came from the memories of tired blood-red roses. 

 

- Jade 🌹 

Embezzling my Heart it's gotta Stop (2017)

Written 09/04/17

This a moment where I’m pleading to a blurred crowd of potentials. In this crowd is the mirage of growth and love that presents itself as a friend or lover... actually call it a swipe. That’s what we do these days right? Swipe with this funny kindling of hope that maybe your value is worth someone’s gaze. Instead it’s a instant message maze. Wondering at 3 in the morning if things between you and them are beautiful or simply temporary gratifications and affections. At noon, when I’m glancing at my phone curious what happened to the attention at the witching hours I’m saddened. 

I don’t understand this part of the book. I liked our hands intertwined, and our blushing eroticism, and so I thought you did to. You said as much under moonlight, but wait only in moonlight. Oh. I see now. I’ve done it again. What do I do, when pieces of me get snatched from an anonymous heart. What do I do when I learn about false intimacy? I’ve been told I keep walking, and don’t look back but it’s hard when the best scammer smiled and said “I love you”

Practiced Woman (2016)

Written 12/03/16

On my knees I part lips that spoke

intelligence yet accepted intrusions 

from idiots, a practiced woman knows

"I had a good time"

"lets do this again"

her hands work with her wicked tongue

wait a little longer

a practiced woman knows

how to please and lie with ease

"yes"

"no it was great"

a practiced woman smiles

biting her tongue

when sex is tedious and no longer

spontaneous like she remembered