"A Gentle Afternoon of Tea and Karaoke in Her Studio"

DaddyO's BDSM

by DaddyO


One must keep his voice in tune
So a hot drink one cold afternoon
Was exactly what I carnally craved
Then she opened the door in her negligee
And lead me to her backroom cafe
So aromatic I wanted to stay
For she soothed like muted oolong tea
So sexy and smooth going down I see
And hear and feel every sense
Of her body's mood so taught and tense
It drew me just below her waist
To drink the corporeal taste
She's fully steeped so I sipped real slow
All she exudes from down below
Yes it was I who crawled into her bed
Without further adieu she said
"Right here my dear where you belong"
I tuned the knob to sing our song
The choruses and instrumental breaks
Played through each flawless mistake
Belting out from underneath
Passing 'tween my tongue and teeth
I hummed and moaned and sang the verse
See this is how we best conversed
She turned and twitched at my rhythmic pace
Wide open to my smiling face
Our lips so wet my beard was soaking
Singing cunnalingus karaoke

Author's Notes/Comments: 

2017, for Kat

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Ginger Tea

Food & Drink



Ginger tea, how can it be
you warm my throat like alcohol!
and rejuvenate my tired eyes
that droop from lack of sleep.


Ginger tea, oh can you see
the quiet pleasure that you bring!
gold amber - spicy, slightly sweetened
to sooth my upset stomach.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

I just drank a cup of tea... and out of appreciation for its fine ingredients, this poem resulted.

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Tea and Sugar

I can't stop seeing my bittersweet fantasies
Seeing what I want but not really having it
I can feel my heart strings playing themselves and realizing their is no music coming out
Sometimes I wonder if it's better to not have dreamed at all
And not realizing what I can't have
But how can we not dream?
The day we live our dream is the day we can truly stop dreaming
I just want to live in a sunset, under all the perfect conditions and feel the waves crash against my feet over the boardwalk dock
All the while spilling my secrets to the someone beside me
And to hold it all still
Yet here I am awake, because I would much rather spend my time making my dreams come as close to possible,
Than to keep that bittersweet heartache
Than to keep dreaming

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Yes I dream, and my dreams are more prescious than any poem I can write. I hope you can see my poem just as a dream.

Songs From the End of the World

The End of the World
Is far, far away.

But believe you me,
The people there are just the same.
They laugh and cry, etcetera,
And yes, there is even tea,
Which you can drink to Byron’s memory
Opposite the blue armoury,
On tiled wooden tables lightly flowered,
Staring into American eyes.

You can walk through those lean streets,
Ride the ascensors;
A pair of rainbow eyes.
But I’d still rather look into my Watson’s.

At The End of the World,
Lie the Hills of Paradise.
Not that they are really Paradise,
It’s just that, to me, they seemed to be;
Walking through those lean streets,
At the house that Cochrane built,
Walking by the sea he mastered and commanded.

And in the Vineyard
Steel modernity rises high -
Don’t get me wrong, it’s impressive stuff,
But I get all that on the other side.
I prefer it when
Soft spirituality rises,
Cries of “¡Viva!”
And La Vida en Verde,
And Cueka in a kilt,
Downing beers and wagging our chins,
And talking about the end of the world.

The south of the End of the World
Is far away as well.
A land of rivers,
Kind of a breadbasket,
If breakbaskets were thin geographically
And mimicked my scrawny chest.
But these rivers run deep,

Mapuche force lies dormant,
No-one’s fault,
Just blind prejudice.

The land of the End of the World shakes,
In ways few here can feel.
5 point 5, 7 point 8,
2 point 1.
Trembles in the night,
Yawning cracks by day,
The end of the world
Can swallow your good selves.

That’s why, for those of the land,
You live on the edge.

The north of the End of the World
Is a tomb world to some ancient race –
Land no man should look upon,
A thirsty, thirsty,
Desert tongue.
To the east, the Horseshoe
And the Third Millenium Cross,
Erected to the God who made
The searchlight stars in whispy skies.

The end of the world is cold.
And hot.
And balmy. The waves crash
Into the mountains
And froze for my disposable.

Walk those lean streets,
See for yourself.
You’ll find
That the End of the World,
Works tremors in your heart.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Today is my last day in this land. This land at the End of the World.

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Hot And Cold


Another sweltering July day

I watch you work


Naked to the waist and sweating

From my rocker in the shade


Asking if you want a drink

I retreat inside for a while


Returning with tea and a blanket

To me it’s always been cold in Hades



Written on

May 5, 2009

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem wasn't written to anyone in particular just a thought I had in my head.

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