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The Perfumed Garden

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a pertinent poem [05 Mar 2003|06:20pm]

From whom emanate
My everything;
And life, and little death.
But bones cannot disseminate
Just anything:
They, too, must have their flesh.

So, fingers, over hillock glide;
Your charms and everything inside.
You needle-hold and scratch, caress,
Tapering off to tenderness.

-Homage to My Hands

I would love to see the erotically tinged poetry of other group members, posted as a reply to this if 't is most expedient.
1thorn| The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

Sorry darlings... [09 Feb 2003|07:00pm]
It's a good thing not too many people are applying for permission here Because it makes it that much easier to say that due to circumstances beyond my control I will be unable to process anyones applications... We might get you approved but who knows about posting...

I'm sorry for any inconvience.

Also sorry for any typos I'm having to type fast.
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

[02 Feb 2003|06:28pm]

Tender flesh worn raw
On the cruel black hide
Wound 'round the bedposts:
He's a suffering bride.

Ack! Moreporn.
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

inducive to laughter [18 Jan 2003|03:20pm]

.. so says kylefuetzvater, at least. Since this community is suffering from a wretched lack of attention, it's forced to become party to my refuse.
It's here. It's queer (in the orthodox definition of the word). It's Discworld porn!Collapse )
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

[20 Dec 2002|02:03am]

Lust drives one to distraction; it renders its victims unable to eat, sleep, or give any sort of attention to that which isn't its object. It winds with sinews whose deceptively smooth edges pinch the flesh between their lengths; it hangs by hairs and makes tongues leaden in their baths of buttery saliva.

I have neither eaten nor slept since your arrival. I've been rendered mad by your presence, so close to me, yet undeniably seperate. Come to me tonight; break through corpreal barriers and insinuate yourself into the tight weave of my snowdrift bed-coverings, down into the place where the delicate white blankets the peach of the earth.
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

For those of you watching at home... [07 Dec 2002|11:02pm]
another reminder
Only Two Members currently have persmission to post here.

Please, if you want to post Click Here and drop a message providing examples of your work and a link to your user info. It's really quite painless...Unless you want it to be otherwise...

I know I'm spent on what I can produce (appropriate to this location) and I believe the other member is too busy with real life...

All you are required to do is show us (the panel of judges) an example (or two) of your work and if we think it's good enough we'll let you post... really... it's not that difficult....

so... let's start getting some candidates...
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

Just a reminder... [14 Nov 2002|08:28pm]
Only Two Members currently have persmission to post here...

Please, if you want to post Click Here and drop a message providing examples of your work and a link to your user info. It's really quite painless...Unless you want it to be otherwise...
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

It's only a little thing [06 Nov 2002|11:58pm]

He Who Is In My Head is the most fabulous Muse I've yet been party to, save myworseself.

Wrapped in double-sided fur, laid down on a thick matress bounded by an elaborately-carved mahogany bedstead. The winter air would have crept in behind the heavy brocade curtains and would be milling about the feet of the bed, waiting to bite. It would longingly caress the thick leather of his riding boots, angling into the exadurated folds created at his ankles when he'd crouch to peel the fur coverlet away from my body, to run his cool, dark eyes over me, whetting me.
I can't see; it's too dark. I feel two large, smooth hands: one on my thigh and the other curled around my waist. The long fingers dig into my flesh, as tightly as icicles dropping anvil-like into the snow. Firm, creamily-textured lips materialize through the dark upon my own, as warm as the long, heavy body that drapes itself over me; silk and velvet on unadulterated skin. His mouth breaks off of my own with a tiny snapping sound. I strain after his face-
Lay back down, my heart.
Is the velvet of his jacket as deliscious as his deep, sonorous voice? His murmur burns my ear. Something's going to happen; precogniscent tremors run through me wherever he should brush. Something will happen. But I don't know what.
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

Some times I'd swear.... [05 Nov 2002|09:53pm]
[ mood | predatory ]

that more happens in thewoodshed than in the garden....

But what's in there now is definetely Not garden fodder....

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

the thesaurus [02 Nov 2002|10:01pm]

I'm sure that all of you will understand.

What dread hand... dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Click. Come on. I know (that) you want to Read more...Collapse )
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

contribution anyone? Sure! [25 Oct 2002|01:26am]
While on my way to admire the roses I found a strange envelope, and investigated it's contents.

Interesting what one will find on a garden pathCollapse )
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

overworked and undersexed.. [23 Oct 2002|11:27pm]

[ mood | prolific ]

I wrote my "Miss Loxley" series last New Years holiday. I was at my Aunt's cabin, deep in the eerily white woods of Northern Minnesota, being mercilessly goaded by my best friend. This story was completed in one train of thought, over a period of two days; it's one of my favorite pieces of erotic writing. Go on.ReadCollapse )

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

an abstract piece [23 Oct 2002|09:57pm]

[ mood | half-aroused ]

I wrote the first, roughest draft of this little thing about a year ago in my Thought Book.
Please, dear reader(s), comment as to the writing style (and whatever else you'd like) of this piece and tell me whether and why It Works or It Doesn't.

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

there's something nasty in the woodshed! [21 Oct 2002|11:22pm]

[ mood | childishly naughty ]

It appears as if something that closely resembles pornography has been left in yonder woodshed by the lovely University student in a way-too-short skirt.

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

For Giz.....*giggles and snorts* [20 Oct 2002|10:31pm]
a response to This

The lithe alabaster and crimson beauty lounged on the sofa in her favorite library indulging in some mortal literature. looking up only briefly from the pages as her attendants brought her tea that she'd requested. And though she and her king were once more happily under oneroof her thoughts were on another; the englishman with the french name.

Even if she had the first clue of where to find him...
well she had a clue but dare not think it here in her husbands house.
Besides her on again off again beloved Oberon it was rare to find a man who could tower over her, and it made him instantly attractive. Not to mention it was difficult to find such a well dressed mortal. as she tried to focus her shimmering eyes on the pages the chocolate of his, haunted her. She heard the velvet of his voice in her ear reciting the words on the page before her.
She slammed the book shut and stood up smoothing the red wool of her skirt, straightening the matching jacket with a few gentle tugs. Though a work of modern tailor her suit mimicked the lines of victorian america. Attendants appeared assuming their lady needed something. voices cooing they took over smoothing her suit and fixing her hair, within moments her hair that had been coiled in a romanesque bun now flowed down her back to the floor in sanguine rivulets. as her attendants finished their imagined duty she longed for his fingers, almost as pale as her own, to use that hair to steer her head to his pleasure. with a wave of her own lean hand she sent her grooms away,and stepped out in to the garden.

Her fingers caress one of Oberon's prized roses, and remembers how deceptively soft his lips were, but there was a definete power, a force in them as well. If anything she missed from youthful days with Oberon were the kisses they once shared.
torturous memory was driven from her mind as she saw oberon appear, bearing a ruby the size of a human eye. "My love, My lady." he wispered giving her a chaste kiss. And with a sigh she submitted to the embrace of her king.
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

The first offering [20 Oct 2002|12:45am]

[ mood | sleepysexy ]

An unhappily protracted scene by D. and myself.

kylefuetzvater as the Woman and vasilissa as the Man.

Not quite Shakespeare, is it?>

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

first post [19 Oct 2002|02:04am]

To those interested parties, the Perfumed Garden is a community for original erotic writing (exclusive of "porn"; the differentiation between the two is decided upon by the moderators). Anybody may read the entries herein, but posting is restricted.
To write notes in The Perfumed Garden, contact "kylefuetzvater" and be prepared to provide an example of what you'd typically like to post here (i.e., your writing), and proof of your age (owing to LJ propensity for shutting down certain communities in which minors are discovered). The inclusion of a birthdate in your profile counts as proof-of-age..
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

[19 Oct 2002|01:46am]
welcome to The Perfumed Garden
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn

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