Tags
flooding in and out
your cunt is the river’s mouth
my tongue the long tide
cunnilingus haiku
16 Wednesday Apr 2014
Category Archives: Erotic
you say
13 Sunday Apr 2014
Not all housewives are hungry, but you are.
Not all home-schooling parents develop
crushes on their sons, but you did. Bizarre
as that seems, many dwell in and worship
at the house of incest. Lot’s daughters did.
The French have a whole genre devoted
to son-and-mother love. What we forbid
always becomes tempting. You are naked,
you say, going mad with need. It’s not right
that no one wants you, you say. But I do.
I don’t care who your lovers are, what dumb
dreams and fancies get you to sleep each night.
I’ve spent my whole life looking for one who
can be honest about what makes her cum.
xenomorph, darling
09 Wednesday Apr 2014
Quench your thirst — I want to feel your heavy
cold breasts on my back when you mount me; scrape
your claws across my skull as you hold me
down with one hand, exposing the soft nape
of my neck to your teeth. My dull, mammal
blood — I’ve never let anyone do this
before. Love is so had to find. People
say that they’ll work for it, work for this bliss,
but how many really do? The perverse
shall soon inherit. Those who have tasted
strangeness are set free from all the world’s shame.
We few, we lucky few. Love has no curse.
Love is our birthright. Love, lap up my blood;
lick my lips, nothing else will taste the same.
body, remember
24 Monday Mar 2014
Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds on which you lay,
but also those desires for you
that glowed plainly in the eyes,
and trembled in the voice—and some
chance obstacle made futile.
Now that all of them belong to the past,
it almost seems as if you had yielded
to those desires—how they glowed,
remember, in the eyes gazing at you;
how they trembled in the voice, for you, remember, body.
— Constantine Cavafy (translation by Rae Dalven)
dead thing
19 Wednesday Mar 2014
The boy, at least as I drew him, was blind,
translucent, in gray oil against a pout;
more like a slash than frown, the bitter kind.
The girl, in my sketch, faded in and out,
pulled hair, and kicked my ass for suggesting
the things my pencil drew. What can I say?
Under full moon I’ve watched the dead kissing
and things that were only shadows, dim, gray,
made the beast with two backs, took shape down here.
Am I to blame for showing you what I
saw? Yes, perhaps. Of course. Tonight, the clouds
will hang just so. Dead thing; I’ll kiss that smear
from your lips. Second coming, indeed. Die
once more. I’ll leave you in cum-sticky shrouds.
sex without fear
18 Tuesday Mar 2014
Tags
Mother and son listened to the muffled
voices from the room next door. The babel
of vice in a love hotel. The ribald
grunt of bed-springs breaking. The carnal
sob that comes from a job well done. He played
with her hard nipple, toyed with her swollen
lips. She held his head until he obeyed,
her long curved fingers making a fountain
for him to drown in. Her mouth at his ear,
sliding down his naked skin, cupping him,
her mouth taking in his engorged boy-cock
down to its root. What is sex without fear?
Later, they sighed, sticky with their jism
and bliss. This is what we call “pillow talk.”
queimando, ardendo, incendiando
17 Monday Mar 2014
Posted in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
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Tags
ardendo, art, incendiando, poem, Portuguese translation, queimando, spliff
Pretty and pink, I want to sleep.
Waiting for a touch, I forget you until daybreak.
I am the full moon, if I smoke a joint and excite my libido.
Burning, burning, burning, and then … ashes.
][][
Linda e rosada, quero dormir.
À espera de um toque, quero esquecer até o dia clarear.
Eu sou o lua cheia, se eu fumar um charro, e libido a excitam.
Queimando, ardendo, incendiando, e … cinza.
minha língua
16 Sunday Mar 2014
Posted in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
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Drinking angels.
Saliva. My tongue.
My language. My words.
Lick my wings with your verb.
Until you feel the orgasm flower within my shoulders.
Slowly lick my clit, said the angel.
The pulse of your tongue touches it.
You devil, the angel said.
You leave me nearly dead horny.
][][
Bebem os anjos.
A saliva. Minha língua.
Minha lingua. Meus palavras.
Lambe-me as asas com a teu verbo.
Até que você sente a flor orgasmo dentro da meus ombros.
Devagar lambesse o meu clitóris, disse o anjo.
O dos teus pulsos isso língua toca.
Você diabo, disse o anjo.
Você me deixa de tesão quase morto.
do gosto da vida libidinosa
14 Friday Mar 2014
Posted in Erotic, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
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Tags
do gosto da vida libidinosa, erotic, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation, taste of libidinous life
My skin and the wind
sings your verses
to the moon. Your body
on mine. Your willingness
to taste. Desire
to do crazy things before,
during and after. Your
tongue to know me.
My mouth to suck you.
Under the influence
of the moon
Under the taste of
libidinous life.
][][
Minha pele e o vento
canta teus versos
para a Lua. Teu corpo
no meu. Teu vontade
de sentir o gosto. Desejo
de fazer loucuras antes,
durante e depois. Da tua
língua a me conhecer.
Minha boca a te sugar.
Sob a influência
da Lua.
Sob a do gosto da
vida libidinosa.
epigrams xi.99
23 Sunday Feb 2014
Posted in Erotic, hentai, Illustration and art, Poetry
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Tags
art, artist unknown, Epigrams XI.99, erotic, hentai, Martial, poem, Poetry, Roman poetry
De cathedra quotiens surgis — jam saepe notavi — pedicant miserae, Lesbia, te tunicae … sic constringuntur gemina Symplegade culi et nimias intrant Cyaneasque natis.
“I’ve noticed when you get up from the couch you’ve been assfucked, Lesbia, by your wretched skirts. Your skirts are caught between your massive cheeks as big as two Gibraltars — it’ll be a tight fit.”
— Martial, «Epigrams XI.99»
memories of my ghost sista 