Author Archives: babylon crashing

funk

15 Saturday Dec 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on funk

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

The air is getting thick and you won’t come
here. Ah, you cum but not here. You female

presenting nipples you. One day that dumb
joke will be a headscratcher. With fox-tail

anal beads, with zest and tongue baths, the thatch
of my snatch shaved to rubble. Your people

are not my people. They still farm. They still scratch
the earth and make it bloom. Mine are brutal

the way that I’m brutal. The way I’ve sunk
my hands in your hair, guided myself down

your throat, heard you moan and then felt you choke
on air thick as sin. No more hardcore punk

funk, you said. Freedom, I said, is to drown
in cum is the first step in getting woke.

faith

14 Friday Dec 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on faith

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Glutton, your mom warns. Good girls do not dare
to breathe or move or listen when the moon

calls out. Each night you kneel and beg in prayer,
luna-lune, for toe-curling fucks: typhoon

in strength, cosmic in scope, untold power
in your clit. You kneel by your dark window,

foreplay, leaning into the witching hour.
Foreplay as in what moons discard: their glow

fit to be worn by unicorn-tamers.
Don’t call this smut, call it faith: that someone

somewhere craves you as much as the moon craves
you. Faith that one day soon all your lovers

will come home. If that makes you a glutton,
so be it. It’s your faith that keeps you brave.

askew

13 Thursday Dec 2018

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on askew

Tags

, , , , , ,

We pulled off the road to a shack with no
glitter on the porch, just the rancid ghost

of your father, a lost hungry Ego,
damaged Id. Fingernail scratches that boast

the things you do scare other kids. Scared stiff
but not scared straight. Love is always askew

in this curved earth, bent sky, the lush whiff
of kink under our nails. I feel for you

as I unzip your fly, ease short-shorts off
wide hips, kissing each dark stretch-mark. I feel

you, go down on you, pressed against the wall
of your childhood home. Your dead dad still scoffs

at your needs. What we do now is love: heal
all his ill work, free the ghosts in your skull.

all-wants

13 Thursday Dec 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on all-wants

Tags

, , , , , ,

There was just one shop in all Yerevan
that sold thongs so you took your mom. She knew

that you’d come over, sit on the divan,
show off your steal. Fabric almost see-through,

crusted and curled from spliffs and sex that wrecks
each day after school. The only English

you knew were the words to Khia’s, “My Neck,
My Back,” which were enough. You said you wished

you had friends who would play this rough. Neighbors
gossiped: they heard your glee, biting the sheets,

shaking like fever. Once that was enough.
Once you were all-wants and I all-pleasures,

breaking free from a world that still mistreats
lovers, shames daughters, calls our love mischief.

pot, porn and boo

12 Wednesday Dec 2018

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on pot, porn and boo

Tags

, , , , , ,

Three girls shooting hoop with unbound laughter
the time boys weren’t around. One joked about

missed shots. One twirled the ball on her finger.
One talked about art and love and burn-out.

When I consider how my art was spent
it would never be like you and your boo,

your quick-trice slam-dunks, never a moment
all mine though I was the one you went to

when boys return, games end, your friends depart.
Even with the windows shut, pot and porn

cranked to 10, we could still hear your boyfriend
bragging down on the court. That was my art.

Not a lover, but in a world of scorn
the one who loved you, almost to the end.

curs

12 Wednesday Dec 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on curs

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Foul and depraved. Some might say, bestial.
A hint of skull-duggery. A slap dash

of skull-fuckery. That nightmare: jackal-
headed ghast with a touch of cock, a splash

of cum, one who makes your nipples pucker
pushing six– ten– twelve inches down your throat.

Haven’t thought of that fiend with a swagger
in years. Yesterday your sister’s buck-goat

eyed you with lust. Today it was the curs
next door. Awake or asleep you’re crudely

used. Some say that we do this on purpose,
so that naughty thoughts might make us monsters.

Grace comes when we admit that we’re horny.
Denying that is what’s monstrous.

choke cherries

11 Tuesday Dec 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on choke cherries

Tags

, , , , , ,

Deluge of wasps swarm. Their storm sound is huge.
When I feel hot, I flip a lid. It stops.

Complicit in your own misuse I rouge
your twinge, cum-cake your ache. I have the top’s

need for chaos in love. Though wasps flock
when touched I derange, let love bludgeon

me to confess: like witches and warlocks
my art comes from dark flame. In a garden

always in decay, where bile-born insects
swarm, go find choke-cherries. In the temper

and the tantrum find what gets you off bent,
flips your Id, fills you with buzz. All infects

are good, all wounds holy. Our vast sound. Slur
as I acquiesce. Slur as you consent.

bedazzle

09 Sunday Dec 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on bedazzle

Tags

, , , , , , ,

When I said I’d go all Old Testament
on your round asses I didn’t mean Lot

and his drunk daughters and lack of consent
I meant the time when the Nephilim begot

(archangels rutting like beasts) with daughters
of Eve, sons of Adam. Fallen angels

of lore were always gore-crazed cock-suckers.
I’ve leaped balls-deep. I’ve pounded your entrails.

Back and forth between you weeping siblings
with acts that bedazzled even odd gods.

Did I say: cry? I meant: vulgar, hard-boiled
O-lipped fucking frenzy. These scars where wings

once stood, I lost them proudly loving all
that can be corrupted, tempted, despoiled.

][][

Note: In folklore the Nephilim were fallen angels that took “daughters of men” as lovers before the Deluge, according to Genesis 6:1-4.

pauper

09 Sunday Dec 2018

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on pauper

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

First comes the anger, then disappointment
unbridled. Adults with their needs. “Promise

me I’ll never be that,” I begged. Tyrant
in bed, all spit and grit. One more callous

lover in a world of blood, indifference —
You said, “this time no lube,” and pressed in hard.

You said, “don’t tighten up.” What’s the science
deep at work here? No one wants to be scarred

but your dark art always wins. I break quick
since pain is straightforward, behooved to none.

It just is. I’m, though, messy. What I craved
paupered me down. Greed leaves me in a sick

panic so that I’ll return — in ruin,
in fear, in need, like that, once more depraved.

cram

08 Saturday Dec 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on cram

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Puberty was rough though I am rougher
still. You mumble, “gotta pee,” half way through

being fucked senseless. Strapped in place, collar,
blindfold, clit clamp. The wind in the bamboo

moans low. You’re low, too. You’re stretched. You take it.
Why are parents blind to children’s despair?

This urge, overflowing. First: “Will it fit
inside me?” Then: “Sooo deep!” Lastly: “Right there!”

and, “More!” Homework, after-school clubs, cram class:
all that can wait. You sit on the toilet,

dazed from bliss. It’s the one moment today
when you’re not heartsick. It takes sick love, crass

and raw, to touch you, make you mine, moppet.
Roll you chronic, thick. Fuck you like doomsday.