Guest Blogger: Chris W. Parker
Chris W Parker was born and raised in the north of England in 1974. In his 20s he travelled around Europe, and entertained such occupations as builder, barman, chef, DJ, roadie, sound engineer, salesman, and photographer. Now in his 40s, photography has been his career for the past ten years. Poetry became another outlet for his often frustrated creativity, but has remained firmly as a hobby, and is more often fuelled by whiskey, passion, and lust, and a desire to express himself in ways that would be difficult with his photography.
He now lives in the city of Manchester, UK, pursuing his photography career and passions, cultivating his beard, dreaming of one day owning another motorbike, and still denies that he might actually be a hipster. He would describe himself as a “Gentleman, whiskey and beard enthusiast, poet, miserablist, hopeless romantic, carnivore, and magnificent bastard.”
Website: http://www.chriswparker.co.uk
Tumblr:
She came to him, With eyes so bright, A dirty smile,
But virgin tight.
Innocent and experienced, Here to teach and here to learn. To show what she knew,
And to find what she yearned.
He wasn’t old,
But far from a child.
His mind seemed calm, His eyes were wild.
He had a hunger,
That he couldn’t quench, For a hungry girl,
A wanton wench.
She took his hand,
And showed him where, She needed his touch, He felt her, there.
He found her mouth With his own.
He felt her melt. He felt her moan.
She used her mouth, She used her fingers,
Her scent was in his beard, And there it lingers.
He used his mouth, He used his tongue,
Sweet tastes, and sour, Thrilled him on and on.
They fed on each other, They fed on lust,
They fed on sweat, They fed as they must.
They collapsed, exhausted, And just as anticipated,
For now they were full, Their hunger sated.
