Precious Cargo Volume 2

By Wolf Sherman

Contains adult content. A collection of poems on romance and erotica.
"Romance (love), love based on emotional attachment as portrayed as ideal in chivalric romance literature.
Erotica is any artistic work that deals substantively with subject matter that is erotically stimulating or sexually arousing but is not pornographic. Erotic art may use any artistic form to depict erotic content, including painting, sculpture, drama, film or music. Erotic literature and erotic photography have become genres in their own right."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wolf Sherman
• Release date: Mar 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463861592

Wolf Sherman

Biography - Wolf ShermanWolf was born in 1970, grew up in Pretoria and after school joined the South African Police in 1988. During 1993 he was transferred to Johannesburg. During his colourfully interesting police career he was attached to several specialist divisions that include the anti-vehicle theft unit, organised-crime-and-political-investigations unit, and the East-Rand Murder & Robbery unit. After his police career he successfully applied his experience in the corporate financial world as insurance investigator and financial planner.Wolf is 48-years of age, have been blessed with three daughters, and is an avid blood and blood platelet donor. He fills his time by weaving his unusual life experience and keen interest in religion, metaphysics, war and political research and that of his love for food and classical music - into his poetry, fictional short stories, and novels.“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, said Jojen. The man who never reads lives only one.” - George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons.I'm always curious to listen when people talk about which book - ever - they'd first read. For me it was “The Man Called Noon” that was published in 1970. I suppose that it goes without saying the 1973 film directed by Peter Collinson - of the same name - as the 1970 Louis L'Amour novel, was quite a hit in the day.I was always in love with the books in which storytellers extended an invitation right from the word go, and pulled me in into a different world. The next early love for me growing up were bookshops and libraries. But I'd consider libraries had the first place. My love for both novels and short stories grew over the years, but somehow short stories found me more often. In part, I think because one can sponge it up in a single sitting, and move on to the next world, so to speak.On the topic of short stories, the storytellers in this instance tell how they see it - but being forced far quicker to relay that. I have no doubt that any short story can be stretched out and pinned down to become a novel - if one wanted to. Obviously there is no set length that a short story has to subscribe to, but I'd imagine anything from five-thousand to twenty-five-or-so-thousand words is adequate to save someone, murder a few people, get some revenge, use most of the rope in your boot, discard the spade when you're done, and go in hiding till the whole thing blows over. Of course, if there's a body to begin with... Which really stems from poor planning - I have always thought - in a story. Naturally. Of course, we also need to fall in love at some point and give our whole heart to someone special. It makes for a more balanced killer. In a story. Naturally.Look me up on:Pinterest @ Wolf Sherman BooksInstagram: @Wolf_ShermanTwitter: @WolfSherman2

Book preview

Foreword

Just when things fell apart I found a muse. Not that my muse had a say in it. Understand that not everyone needs sex to function at an optimal level, but like or not, if at the outset, if a relationship is based on healthy frequent intimate moments - and this wanes... Someone once put it crudely. Life is much like poker. If you don't have a good partner, you'd better have a good hand. But that's too simple and I always feel that we're too complicated life forms to be reduced to a single page front-and-back printed questionnaire about relationship rules.

So this updated version; for March 2019, is for my muse. Thank you keeping me sane-ish. Isn't it the most alien of things to think that the healing effect derived from pills and psychology can be replaced by poetry and mediation?

Contains adult content. A collection of poems on romance and erotica.

"Romance (love), love based on emotional attachment as portrayed as ideal in chivalric romance literature.

Erotica is any artistic work that deals substantively with subject matter that is erotically stimulating or sexually arousing but is not pornographic. Erotic art may use any artistic form to depict erotic content, including painting, sculpture, drama, film or music. Erotic literature and erotic photography have become genres in their own right."

Me.

By now you'd - maybe - in - some way - got to know the - me - that I'd let you have. And granted from the angle that I'd held the canvass of - me - out to you, you'd have maybe many opinions on who I am. Maybe you even think that I'm a - what. So let's survey, shall we?

This picture of - me - that you'd spied so far - say the words, I'm on pause, hearing what it is that you'd choose to voice.

Don't bother about the progressive - a-z - way of doing things. Don't. Just, let your sweet tongue wrap around the topics. Then roll them from your tongue and spit them out in the order that you choose.

Sadist: My Lovely, the only joy in pain that I'd come to know - is when you're off-line, and I have to swallow my words again. But it - does - seem to teach me that you too have a life.

Dominating: The only dominating I - for now - enjoy - is to design some dreams for you. Many, actually. I can - however not promise a future - where you're - not - tied to whatever's near. But, my Lovely, you won't struggle - much, or starve. I'll kiss you right through and beyond a climax - till you sleep. But, when you wake - still tied, I shall feed you many-many small sweet treats that I'd baked, while you were resting - for later - or that night.

Voyeur: OK. You've got me with this one. Half the time I'll tell you that the shops need my warm on hands on their breads and buns. But I get up at 4 am, so the many dozens in the oven? All of them, are waiting just for you - to count them. Now please bend over to watch them rise - I'm over in our garden. With my camera. Taking snapshots. Of you. For later. When I'm alone.

Lover of restriction and of self-pain: That too, you beautiful soul - you hit the nail right on its head. It's who I am. I'll never let you suffer pain. But on two things I need your oath. We'll make a pact. You, will just be. I'll be the one to cook and clean, bake and fry, steam, vacuum, iron... But you will have to watch me - in the nude, doing all these things. And when I say to stop hitting the nail - with a belt - please do. Should I pass out, I won't be able to massage your feet - to tell you, THANK YOU!

Crooked: I promise you it's not. You cannot draw a line more straight. I thank God for this - every day. I often make sure our love letters are - straight-forward - with...

Thick skinned: On the contrary. As much as I love myself, and my skin, I think I'll love yours even more. My tender side's not from this world. I hide it on a sharp hook - in a bat cave - on the far side of a black abyss. No woman is worthy of it, or had been taught the guts - to go fetch it there. Maybe you. We'll see about that.

Short-tempered: On account of the former part of your - allegation - you could not be more wrong. The temper part, yes. Like a bezirk Viking - who had not had a brew cured by the virgins from his frigid mountain birthplace - for nine years - but, with a toothache. In each cheek. But that - I'll let stand over for someone who brings dishonour to your good name.

Mad: I think you're right. But with time I'll turn you just as mad. The world will think we're crazy, but we'll know it's love, my Lovely. I'd like nothing more to argue still, but since this is not leading to making love with you - I really miss the point of talking more. So, I'll kiss you on your head now, then go. Hell, there must be - something - that'll get you quite upset?

- Wolf Sherman

The Climate Of Needs.

In a world; maybe two deep kisses far; and a snapping bite - well placed - to the pager; and a wink that says in a whisper, ...now...

You'll discover invisible healing touches - reaching into your tortured soul, and manifests as a swell, only, more,

A selfless kindness; sharing a thing of beauty - butterfly-ing oe'r your chest - morphing into persistent throbs; getting stuck, at the base - around your throat,

Of course it's more than that; like all things considered rare; the possessor cannot know its rare - but it is - rare. Painfully so.

I think that's the main difference between the moist heart-shaped intent art of needs - and the selfish art we refer to as good fuck.

Anyone can perform the latter. Even animals. But the former, not so much. It's rare, like perfect breasts. All wear them - but it's an art to time their presentation.

- Wolf Sherman

The Problem With A Touch

If my wanting for a woman's skin was somehow a longing for a spiritual connexion, that women want -

I need be more considerate whom I touch, and where... Since that, is how this all started...

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As it evolved to the point of wrapping my soul in it, still remaining the eager animal, that women need -

I need be more considerate whom I touch, and where... Since that, is how this all started...

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And then my lust morphed and changed its name to committed caring, that women deserve -

I need be more considerate whom I touch, and where... Since that, is how this all started.

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And later evolved to a longing to share her journey, long past our first deep kisses, that women are entitled to