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memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Author Archives: babylon crashing

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quote unquote

18 Wednesday Apr 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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demon lover, Kubla Khan, poem, Poetry, quote unquote, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

woman wailing for her demon lover

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from Kubla Khan

snog

06 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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chaos, ecstasy, erotic poetry, sea wind, snog, sonnet

Susurrus: “a soughing of the waves;
murmur of flow.” Kissing you in the fog,

under stunted myrtle. When the flesh craves
more than just fingers and tongues, when a snog

goes on for too long – your jeans unbuttoned,
dew drops in your pubes, mica-flakes under

your nails – you make that lechery-moistened
groan. The sea cries in want and you answer

with your own cum-soaked sob, estuary
soaking your jeans. In those fifteen minutes

during recess – with dune grass, pear cactus,
with wet panting in us and susurrus

around us – we become the wind’s secrets
to the surf; children of chaos and glee.

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28 Sunday Jan 2018

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drunken sleep, French translation, quote unquote, rimbaud

Le meilleur, c’est un sommeil bien ivre, sur la grève/ The best is a drunken sleep on the beach

Arthur Rimbaud

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23 Tuesday Jan 2018

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cunnilingus, for willyce, Humor, Pat Parker, Poetry, reblog

When i make love to you
i try
with each stroke of my tongue
to say i love you
to tease i love you
to hammer i love you
to melt i love you
& your sounds drift down
oh god!
oh jesus!
and i think—
here it is, some dude’s
getting credit for what
a woman
has done,
again.

Pat Parker, 
“For Willyce”

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23 Tuesday Jan 2018

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bizarre sex, Humor, perverts and others, quote unquote

Psychologists have stated that the virgin may be the only sexual pervert in our society. The virgin’s abstinence from sexual activity is an unnatural response to a basic human emotional drive.

from, BIZARRE SEX #6 (october, 1977)

mad sea

23 Tuesday Jan 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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chaotic fluid, crushed chrysanthemum, erotic poetry, gothic chronic, mad sea, sex is, sonnet

There is always more to love. For you love
is a koi gliding through water: content,

at peace, blest. For me it is the clawed glove
piercing fish-flesh, feeling you wriggle, bent

double. Come, cum, pray: intense, phrenetic,
like a pretty piece of flesh — or a crushed

chrysanthemum — or the gothic chronic
that I roll for you. You have blushed and blushed,

swimming in circles. I do not love pools.
I love the mad sea. I love the forces

that no soul can control. Pierced and hoisted
high, fish, you crash back down. Seas have no rules.

Gape and gasp as all inside you gushes,
geysers, squirts such thick chaotic fluid.

scratch

10 Wednesday Jan 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Buddha save me from your followers, erotic poetry, Four Noble Truths, root of suffering, rough sex, shag carpet, sonnet, Why I'm Not A Buddhist

I’ll give you the, “root of suffering.” That
and the damn shag carpet will leave fresh rug burns

on your chin, your ass, over each knee, brat.
Sure, they’ll fade soon, from tart’s rosette to slattern’s

brown. The scabs will follow, crusty as lace.
And all around your precious throat, bruises,

both blue and yellow, will mark an embrace
that’ll match my fingertips. There aren’t sutras

for such love; but since all flesh aches, which leads
to such base urges, Buddha will know the itch

that we scratch. Under the shower steam flows
up our backs, soothing our cocaine nosebleeds,

letting heat soak into each scar, each stitch,
burning away all remorse, all sorrows.

Notes:
The basis of Buddhism is a doctrine known as the Four Noble Truths. A loose interpretation of the First Truth is that all life is suffering, pain, and misery. The Second says that the root of this suffering is caused by cravings and desire … at that point I stopped reading.

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03 Wednesday Jan 2018

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hotep, perverse pleasures, quote unquote, satisfaction

perverse hotep/ perverse satisfaction.

where it was

03 Wednesday Jan 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, German, Poetry, sonnet, Translation

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anal sex, erotic poetry, falling on my head like a memory, German translation, memory, puckered again, rim job, sonnet, where it was, wo es war

“Wo es war,” where it was leads us to it.
There were days as if it were not hunkered

in the distance; from gangrened to frostbit
to flesh in the cold. Where it was. Absurd

to think of it: beastly, feral, depraved.
Absurd to follow. “Wo es war,” and yet,

I do. There be dragons; all that it craved,
ravings. I crave for you: take the blade, whet

stone, carve such German words on my neither.
Twist me this where it was hunkered. Our tryst

begged. I follow. I rave. May memory
be my only brood; the past such future.

You lay with your ass in the air — I kissed,
you clenched; puckered again, I thought, briefly.

memphis levee

20 Wednesday Dec 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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erotic poetry, flood, let the pressure build, memphis levee, rough fuck, sonnet, stones gone crack, tender be tide

Of course this is tenderness. Of course, this
shall hurt — tenderly. Memphis’ levee

cracked, as levees do. From pressure. The hiss
of sea, two fingers just so, that achy

need to let go. Let those fingers in. Deep.
But you said no. No. Let the pressure build.

Then, not yet. Then, fuck me. Let waters seep
around stones gone cracked, stone left unfulfilled.

Sea is passage yet you’ll find it a vast,
rough fuck. You, precious stone, go splinter-splish

this way and this. Tender be tide, we’re told,
all which sucks feeds, all which flows needs, aghast

that such levee broke. Old sea was brutish,
nothing rose from the depth, child, nothing rolled.

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