Skis try to dig, snow hard and unforgiving,
Hear the edges bite, metal on ice, a sharp clatter,
Every turn feels too quick, not precise, no time to think, just react.
The wind cuts like a knife, hurting the skin,
It’s biting, sharp, ice stinging the face,
Breathing is sucking on frozen air, cutting into the lungs.
The flogger cracks through the air, a whisper of leather before impact,
Each strike awakens the skin, sending a ripple through nerve endings,
A sharp breath drawn in, muscles tightening under the sudden heat,
The sting bites briefly, sharp yet invigorating, a spark of life,
Sensation spreads, first as fire, then softening to a steady glow,
Tension rises and falls, the body anticipating each touch,
A quiet rhythm builds, echoing in breath and heartbeat.
The lighthouse stands alone,
its light cutting through the stillness,
facing the frozen lake,
where waves have stopped,
quiet as forgotten dreams.
The ships are gone,
their paths erased by winter’s hand,
and only the keeper remains.
The Grip of January Read More »
Poetry
The soft, smooth curve of your flesh beneath my hand,
Each strike a rhythm, a pulse, a steady command.
A shiver travels up your spine, sweet and slow,
As the sound of skin meeting skin begins to grow.
Your breath catches, a whisper of pleasure, so near,
In the air, your soft moans, a song I long to hear.
A new dawn breaks, it is New Year’s Day,
The promise of twenty twenty-five is here to stay.
Raise a glass to the moments that shaped our past,
But do not dwell, for those days are gone fast.
With every challenge that lies in the way,
Embrace the unknown, come what may.
Each setback a lesson, each stumble a guide,
Let hope and ambition be your joyful stride.