Category Archives: Oomph! ;D ;D

Lipstick stains on my mug

Sipping carefully
The tea is hot,
It may transfer,
and leave lipstick stains on my mug

Selfie upon selfie,
She knows the look is right
Moisturizer, liner, blot, lipstick, blot…
So leave lipstick stains on my mug.

Will they notice and compliment her,
Will they think it looks good, and remain silent,
Or think it looks bad, and remain silent,
about the lipstick stains on my mug.

For trying too hard for too little,
For worrying too much about everyone else
When she is gone; the lip will stay,
stamped by the lipstick stains on my mug


Good girl

I have but one goal,
Follow your lead,
To do as I’m told,
To sit silently and wait,
Or writhe wildly and call.
I promise I’ll be a good girl.

Please don’t deny me,
I’ll be a picture of discipline,
The training is never truly complete,
Appropriately presenting,
The scene is set.
I want to be a good girl.

With eyes closed,
Lips parted,
I’ll follow the growl beneath your orders,
Safe and secured
I’ll be bound here, afloat here.
Make me a good girl.

Open for you,
Arched to you,
After the glistening drop,
I will care for you,
You will care for me.
And I will be a good girl.

When life calls us back,
To obligatory necessities,
Call me at a random time.
Absently regarding these marks,
Trembling and unsettled.
Tell me I am a good girl.



Come to me, Mistress.
I am desperate.
To hell with composure,
There is no place for pride,
Speak to me again,
Hidden In plain sight.
I will share your words.
Please, come to me.

Come to me, Mistress.
Like you used to,
In the dead of night,
When I am naked,
Before the sunrise,
I will experience your ministrations,
As one consumed in spiritual ecstasy.
Please, Come to me.

Come to me, Mistress.
As a heady release of dew at sunrise,
My eyes will not close in pleasure,
My eyes will open in wonder,
My head will roll back,
And I will know truth,
I will know you.
Please, come to me.

Come to me, Mistress.
When there is no one home,
In the small afternoon hours
When the sun bathes us,
The wind dries us,
We will sit in the shade of an extravagant secret,
Bereft of the world and wealthy in hedonistic exploits,
Please, come to me

Come to me, Mistress
You are not my everything,
You are not my only,
You are not mine,
I shall not claim you. Again.
Give me the certainty in your arms embrace
The freedom of your body. Again.
Please, come to me



He took my hand softly,
whispered something to me,
So raw and instinctive my legs opened for him,
He took my lips,
Pulsing in red heat we hungered for more.

I laid back, to breathe deep,
Hesitated a moment,
Till he touched me again,
Then forgot my name,
And became a vixen, a wanton thing in the wake of his touch,

The feast begun,
And feast we did,
He with beastly intent,
Took all there was, and then some more,
I gave of my depth,
Gave of my self,
And offered… everything else!

The sun rose and fell,
While we remained tangled with each other,
Countless times he died between my thighs
And i upon his.
We left that place to share handshakes,

that bring us near climax till we meet again…



It is a rainy evening in Nairobi,
Long lines at the bus stop,
Muddy, exhausted and hurrying feet,
She is almost there.

Feet in sodden socks and sharp toed boots,
Are rushing to a rendezvous,
Looking for an umbrella with a company logo on it,
He crosses the puddled road.

Lips parted in hallo say, “At Last”,
A welcome embrace lingers much too long,
While muddy exhausted feet seek out,
Sodden socks in sharp toed boots.

The hours in traffic are more than long,
In the limited space of the noisy bus,
The heat from the engine is eclipsed,
By feet in sodden socks placed perilously close to muddy and exhausted feet.

In the warmth of a cramped flat in Eastlands,
A door is hastily locked,
While crowds below try to clean off their feet,
Sodden socks are trapped between muddy exhausted feet.

As the Nairobi rain clears in the night sky,
Sodden and muddy clothes are thrown in the basket,
A storm the likes of which Nairobi will never see,
Thunders, shudders and rains with endless abandon.



There is a concert you are playing,
your percussion, wind and string,
you command an attentive audience,
your orchestra is indeed accomplished,
and so indiscriminately exclusive,
that you play only to one that listens.

The low and steady time signature,
makes every note clear and unaccidental,
how is it you sound so familiar yet so new?
your orchestra is trully worthy of acclaim,
how effortless is the sound of your heart beat,
your percussion of choice.

In your musical arson lays your wind instrumental,
keeping to your specialty of resonance,
you carry off to distant places,
taking hostage, demanding only the ransom of an ear,
how calming, the sound of your breathing,
your wind instrument of choice.

Like any other orchestra you lack no crescendo,
though unlike any other,
it is your’s that haunts the heart and soul,
the tension is never stretched or pretentious,
that magical voice,
your string of choice.



There is nothing quite as great as good cocoa.

Just enough sugar, just enough cocoa.

I like my cocoa dark, and I mean real real dark.

A little colour is good,

That makes sure I can always spot my cocoa.

I’m not a fan of too many additives,

Marshmallows, sprinkles, whipped cream ain’t for me,

I like my cocoa to look like cocoa,

More importantly taste like cocoa,

My cocoa is simple, just right

And on a cold night, after a loooong day,

I come home to relax,

Kick off my heels and there is my cocoa,

Water is healthy, wine is interesting,

But nothing can quite replace some good cocoa

My cocoa comes in a really tall glass.

I never get to the bottom,

But am cool with that, after all,

Who wants cocoa you can actually finish?

There is no perfect cocoa, but you can have great cocoa.

Of course one thing you need to remember,

Your cocoa has to be the right temperature,

You don’t want to get scalded when you just needed something warm

So I like my cocoa warm on the weekdays,

And on the weekend hot and cool.

Some kinds of cocoa can leave a nasty stain,

If you are quick do your laundry you might get rid of it and find a new cup of cocoa,

But if you wait your clothes will be ruined and then grow to hate cocoa,

Other kinds of cocoa make you smile and warm you up inside

Making you feel giddy and all so special.

To all the good cocoa out there, We looooove us some good cocoa ;D

Amare Poeta