Please turn down the daylight, please shut out the noise streaming through the blinds. A single lonely jet rolls by overhead in the sky which is obscured by heavy clouds, I hear it rumbling the glass of the window pane as I sit motionless. As the world stands still amid the tumult of crisis with voices mingled in between hospital beds. And all of its lonely people sit motionless. Few things are more sinister than an entire population sunk in their sinking seats. Mouths pursed. Wide eyes protruding into a blackness which has no end, no beginning, no intent. It is a silence veiled over a scream which is featureless. My mother used to tell me I was boy crazy. My mother used to tell me I was rude. My mother did not like that I was shy. Or pretty. But secretly she did. I found out later, much later toward the end. That for her I was a beginning of something she never got to finish, she never got control over. Grabbing my keys from the bowl on the side table, I’ve no where to go and finally everything is in its place. For a long time now, maybe, set in its place, as the dust sifts in through stripes of evening light. I watch my reflection, decide it is the age of the woman and I will be everything a woman needs. Soft. Supple. Willing. Are you afraid and looking for something to do with your trembling hands? Give them to me now. Feel the warmth of the beating of my chest. This is what we have in the darkness of days which have lodged themselves in time like logs in a dam in a river. What we have in the hallways of the minds we sit reverently trying our best not to take leave of. I curl my body behind a curtain like a snake. There is a small corner of the room where I hide when I cannot stomach the day. There is the smell of old coffee in semi cold rings, the hope of a tiny flowering seed. I keep track of the minutes as they tick around the face of the clock. I think of the man who liked to watch young girls at recess. I am reminded of the temptation I once was. And something inside me begins to ache.
Allison Marie Conway 
“Are you afraid and looking for something to do with your trembling hands?”
Okay, you got to love that. Your delivery is spot on. Even if or when it isn’t sensuous (not that that line isn’t) you make it sound so hot. You just have “the voice” I’m surprised you don’t have a 900 number but if you do please send it to me.
You might consider compiling these into an mp3 album on Amazon. They do have audio erotica that you can download on Amazon. But how would I know that?
Cheers. Wish you were here.
❤
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Thank you for all of your thoughts, Charles. I take them in and ponder them. I do think WordPress may not be the correct platform for all of my things. Meanwhile, we do what we can with what brings us joy. Please take good care. ❤
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I’m not a very good commenter. In truth, I went to college to be an editor so I often try not to comment at all because I’m a bit of a grammar Nazi. However, in peer editing, most all my professors told me that I would be a great creative writing editor or something because I seem to have an instinct for things.
Wordpres is a good a platform as any. I’ve been using it for over 10 years there’s a certain freedom here that you won’t get from other blogging sites much less poetry posts and such.
And of course, being legally blind–I listen to what you are writing. And most people, writers, never read out loud what they write and that is key.
I can hear it in your voice. You have a perfect delivery, your punctuation & annunciation are all spot on.
I have to tell you, it tickles me, because, no, I don’t read or listen to much sensual or erotic material. My friend wrote it all the time but it would just make me laugh. I can’t explain it. I probably just don’t take it seriously enough, but I do know a good thing when i hear/read it. I’ve considered writing it myself, but I fear my construction worker sense of humor always intervenes and I wind up shocking people more than not. I have a very dark sense of humor.
All the same, I think what you’re doing is very original, it’s very clever, the way you weave your words, it kind of sneaks up on you even though I know what you’re writing and you really do it so well because in the end it’s all about the tease, and that’s what makes sensual material so attractive, that is, unless, of course one goes completely hardcore and that’s when I start laughing because in my mind’s eye I can’t take it seriously.
But you’re right there with it. It’s actually a pleasure to read/listen to your material.
I just hope I never offend you.
‘
❤
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Grammar Nazi, this made me smile. I know just what you mean. Thank you for your gracious comment, so full of ideas which resonate with me. You did not offend me, but I thank you also for being sensitive to this. I treat everything I create as precious and I can tell that when you share with me you are doing the same. I find that so much in the world of erotica loses its humanity. I am so grateful that the sensuality in my creations speaks to you, that you can appreciate and take pleasure in its originality, this brings me much joy. ❤
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I write essays not emails. 🙂 I think the best compliment I ever got was when one of my professors told me he like the way I write because I treated everything I write like a living thing.
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Ah, that is beautiful. And it is the only way to treat writing, if you cherish it, you have to feel its pulse, its breath, its heartbeat. ❤
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Yes. You have to embody the material, just like you would a character. And always, always, write prose poetically. : )
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Oh god yes. You’re going to make my heart explode just from discussing it. 🥰
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I should be so lucky.
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I’m sorry please forgive me, it’s just that so few humans ever understand that poetry is actual blood. When someone acknowledges it I feel like I could die with joy. 🌹
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I know. I’ve read a lot of bad poetry online. However, I still try to be supportive of even bad poetry because beneath it all there is also some good to be found that should be encouraged. I think that’s what my Humanities professor saw in me. I loved peer editing. Most of these kids were half my age they needed encouragement. I’ve been on poetry posts where adults just tear apart young poets, iI always wonder if they treat their own children like that.
I always likened poetry to emotional masochism. You have to bleed, even in prose. We try to connect with that common sadness, or any emotion, you have to make the reader feel as though they wrote it.
You’re a very lovely & talented person. I’m so glad to have met you. I found you on Soul’s blog. I’ve known him for maybe ten years. We tend to have the similar taste in music and photography.
I hope you are safe & well, where ever you are.
❤
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To be supportive and encouraging is a very beautiful thing, you are very kind. And anyone who tears another apart is an arrogant coward. The bravest people I have ever met are the ones who dare to let themselves feel what they feel and express it. ❤ Poetry is masochism, I must agree. Which I think I may love most about it. Thank you ever so for your lovely, thoughtful comment here. I adore Soul's blog, and Soul of course. I am so very glad to have met you both out here. I am safe & well, and I do hope that you are, too. A pleasure to speak with you, Charles. ❤
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Have a excellent day❤️
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You do the same, dear Soul, thank you. Please be safe and take good care. ❤ ❤
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Your voice does something to me. In a good way, believe me. 😉 Thank you for your audios!
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That is so heartening to hear, Dave. I thank you so ever much. 🌹🙏🏻🌹
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Playing catch-up on your writings. I definitely enjoy the audio, Miss Allison. 🙂
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I’m so very glad to know this, Tom. Thank you so very much for taking the time, please do enjoy. 🙂
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