Love and War – Erotic Prose Poem

by Veronica Love

 

They did not want to die virgins – The outline of her nude body – There were no restraints in France – Her fleshy-white thighs – Sex and mortality – her black silk stockings – A reward – and garter – for surviving battle – came off – or a refuge from imminent death – Fingers on her soft-silken pussy – Young British officers had money to spend – Her gorging breasts – Knew they stood a good chance – nipples like young, pink raspberries – of being killed within a few weeks – The way she moaned and arched her back.
Fellow officers chose to visit the brothels of Paris – Several young women writhing and sucking each others’ breasts – A maison tolérée – The Madam – “blue lamp” – took him to an eight-sided room – a refined category of brothel – walls and ceilings entirely covered with mirrors – reserved by secret edict –

The only furniture a low divan – of the British army – luxurious – for the officer classes – on which this pretty little brunette displayed her charms – the misery of the trenches – opened her legs wide – A refuge cherished from the horrors of the first industrial war – She welcomed him most pleasantly – born in late Victorian Britain – her blue – tens of thousands – blue eyes – of young men – the scent of lilac – fear of imminent extinction – her honey tongue – dissolved sexual inhibition – She knew how to suck his cock and make him shudder.
The shelling – She buried his head in her pussy with her slender hands – the slaughter – She went wild when he handcuffed her – the Western Front – to a wrought-iron bed – He had performed – He could suck her breasts for hours – heroic deeds for England – The way she loved to fuck – but also felt the need for a little love – The way she moaned – a little laughter – He grabbed her ass and fucked her.
Outside the room – the heat – young British officers – the sweat – drinking – building his desire – smoking – The way she touched herself and orgasmed – playing a battered piano beneath sensuous drawings – half-singing – pinned on walls – half-lusting – of young women wearing – loving – or half-wearing – radiant and beautiful – provocative clothes – made his heart ripple across his chest – German shelling – as he restrained his hard cock from climaxing – intensely – sweating – dangerous – so he could fuck her more – underground – fuck her again – war – those tender fuchsia lips. Dear God.
Bridges – heat and heavy breath – a railway station – her passion – devastated – fucking her silken tender flesh – vast craters – fucking – her heat – too large to have been created by an artillery shell – her cunt – a tunneller – 1915 – wet – served in France until 1919 – thrusting – burrowing – faster – beneath – faster – No Man’s Land – fucking faster – to blow up the German trenches – He cried out as he came – The shuddering in revulsion from death – collapsing in each other’s arms – one turns instinctively – listening to heavy breathing and heart beats – to love as an act to affirm the completeness of being –

Rested they breakfasted on an omelette – melon – and champagne.
Memories – lost love – Her name was Yvette – her pictures kept hidden – she was his favorite – locked away in a biscuit tin – Her scent still lingers on his fingertips – He never talked about it all these years – A lock of her hair – All we know is that he fell in love with a young woman in France – her garter – and that his family apparently discouraged him from marrying – Memories – He never talked about the Great War – brief physical encounters – Romantic love – not so easily suppressed – Right at the end of his life – Amour – he would talk about the young woman he had known in France – Je t’aime – He would become very emotional – Yvette – while talking about her – Je t’aime – He would even – Embrassez-moi – lapse – Yvette – into French – Je t’aime – Je t’aime – Je t’aime.

 

© Copyright 2017 Veronica Love