25 Sunday Aug 2013
Tags
cunnilingus, devil's root, erotic, god's bane, peyote, poem, Poetry
peyote the dream
witch a fire
storm inside
my head this is
more than a tongue
in forget-me-nots
crystal nectar is oozing
from the flower and just
like devil’s root and god’s
bane the moment
I sucked your button in
to my mouth I could
talk to the gods
25 Sunday Aug 2013
Tags
acid, debasement, LSD, MMF, naughty boys, poem, Poetry, threesome, twins called trouble
and debasement
and acid were running
folly she yearned to
be their mother fed
elixirs wandering
in dark alleys
looking for the sons
of trouble twins
25 Sunday Aug 2013
Tags
age difference, blow job, erotic, fellatio, mature-young, milf, poem, Poetry
once I overshot from the drunk
that she siphoned off pleasure
from base to tip perhaps
she just liked the word dunce
as if all her students weren’t
young and dumb and full
of cum I sucked her lime
sodden lips tasting queer
tequila, salty, on her rim
and too young to know
what the hell did she
just put in her mouth
20 Tuesday Aug 2013
20 Tuesday Aug 2013
Posted in Erotic, Humor, Illustration and art
≈ Comments Off on sister goat
Tags
artist unknown, cold, happy, outdoors, reblog, sister goat, winter
… I don’t know why this makes me happy, but it just does.
20 Tuesday Aug 2013
Posted in Erotic, haiku, Illustration and art, Poetry
≈ Comments Off on 501 jeans
20 Tuesday Aug 2013
Tags
1970s erotica, Brigit, Celtic mythology, Macha, poem, Poetry, threefold, threesome
20 Tuesday Aug 2013
The ghost of Frank O’Hara leaves early
huge with desire. He sees through you, ogles
your ass while on the Metro; this fleshy
world! It’s what the living do that dazzles!
Only in poetry are ghosts obsessed
about panties. In novels it is briefs.
Plays call for jockeys. Textbooks might suggest
underwear. This language, ghosts claim, motifs
about buttocks and thongs. “We died before
thongs!” If you see a ghost gaping at you
in the changing room, say: “Bad Ghost!” I’m sure
it’s tough being behind the times, tattoos
and rings and whatnot being in right now
except for Frank who is always hip somehow.
18 Sunday Aug 2013
Tags
cunnilingus, erotic, orgasm, poem, Poetry, sister vagabond, sonnet, speaking in tongues, The Big O
Who made this big O? Who milked all this cream
then got off? Which shaman brought the secret
of the orgasm back? Who brought the dream
of how to speak to the gods home? Read smut,
those hoarse orgasmic screams make this worship
look like child’s play. But I’ve been down on you
all night and you’ve yet to fling yourself back-
forth in the tall duffled grass. Sure, I knew
that not all prayers are heard. Between loadstones
and ghost loads both point to something beyond
grasp, but only one causes you to touch
the true divine. After gushing cum moans,
return and tell me, sister vagabond,
about what you once laughed off as nonsense.
16 Friday Aug 2013
Posted in Erotic, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
≈ Comments Off on 2 hours
Tonight. Nightly. Husbands penetrate their wives with boredom and cock. This is the same boredom in every city. In every countries. Tonight, from your hips to your feet, I want to make that long trip. With wet fingers with saliva. For two hours I will banish your husband. For two hours I’ll make your rose of fire damp. I’ll make your volcano erupt, and drown inside your goldmine. Tonight. Nightly. Husbands snore face down while wives in the dark dream about fucking.
.
Esta noite. Todas as noites. Os maridos penetram suas esposas com tédio e pênis. O mesmo tédio em cada cidade. Em todos os países. Esta noite, das tuas ancas aos teus pés, quero fazer uma longa viagem. Com dedos molhados de saliva. Por duas horas eu vou banir o seu marido. Por duas horas eu vou fazer tua rosa de fogo humedecido. Eu vou fazer tua irromper vulcão, e afogar dentro de sua mina de ouro. Esta noite. Todas as noites. Os maridos ressonam de borco enquanto as esposas no escuro sonham com o fucking.
memories of my ghost sista 