Berlin Wall

Even as our Berling Wall crumbles, a phantom takes its place. Years swallowed by a vacuum cannot be replaced and represents an unfulfilled history, that cannot be retraced. A face and voice familiar, yet foreign, at the same time underlies the change, and a battered trust wears scars like a badge of wisdom enlightened to the fact that there are things that may never change. © October 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey

Born Again

She’s embarked on a new life. She’s born again. But how nice it would be to meet the ghost of her former self And maybe even taste the foods she no longer keeps on the shelf. Alas, the hand I am dealt does little for my nourishment, But dignified, I accept the punishment every time she comes around, of knowing that she’ll probably never come around. © 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey

Centre of Attention

She’s the centre of attention. You can feel the tension in the air. There may just be a testosterone fuelled eruption to settle the affair. But she’s without a care. She relishes being the prize. To bathe in their covetous eyes is more intoxicating than one may realise. And this, may just be where the danger lies. © July 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey

Self Pleasure

If one is not against the idea of self pleasure then it’s a small leap to seek the assistance of another. In the grand scheme of things there is little difference between your fingers and mine except maybe a freer mind with which to absorb the sensation, the fuller, deeper penetrations and oral stimulation made possible by the availability of a wider array of instrumentation. If you’ve never thought of it this way, let me be the prophet to bring you this revelation! © July 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey

Black Hole

She absorbs my energy like a black hole, such that the internal reactions are unknown. She could be such a beacon of light, I know, If only she’d let herself glow And illuminate the scripts that her soul makes so that we could delight in the fruits conceived when souls mate. Maybe she thinks that these are tracks that only fools trace, But sometimes the distinction between folly and wisdom is just a matter of taste. © July 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey


She can’t be all spirit. She must have a human side. She can’t be unfeeling. She must have desires. She can’t be all seeing. There must be blind spots, in which one may hide. Or maybe she’s invincible, but one never knows, until one tries. © July 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey


Does love become difficult to pin down when it’s under contract? Do hearts crave fresh blood to keep their rhythms on track? Do they shackle their own feet to beat their wings into submission? Is it futile, such a mission? © June 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey


She’s my nutrition. Her scarcity stunts my growth; but there’s little chance of salvation for, to her, I am a malignant growth that gets under her skin then infects her brain and turns her body into an inferno of carnal fever. She refuses the antidote and, in exile, finds ways to cope while I waste away hanging from her murderous rope. © June 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey

Staking Claim

With a tongue like a match, don’t be surprised if I set you aflame. You can tell my kisses are unmatched the way they leave your lips inflamed. Your legs, vicious when they react leave my neck in chains. But let there be no doubt who’s staking claim. © June 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey


She’s a demon between the sheets. There’s an altar between her thighs. She lures him into her possession and with fingers, like knives, draws a blood sacrifice. @ May 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey