mino’s bull

05 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on mino’s bull

Tags

Asterion, bisexual, cyclone orgasm, Greek myth, homorerotic, Mino's Bull, minotaur, mythology, Theseus, yaoi, zipless fuck

And then, lying deep inside you, I wait
to be kissed. But your face is pressed into
the wet grass, fast asleep. You are deadweight
under me. Is twenty minutes all you
have to offer? I was just warming up.
Tsk. I was born in Crete, far to the east.
A beast-like child. “They will fear you, worship
you,” father said. But he wasn’t a beast,
only a fiend. I was Mino’s Bull.
My real name is Asterion. Theseus,
wake up. You are seeping and flooded, full
of my love; fagged and shagged, fashed and lifeless.
Child of clay, I want another tumble.
I want to make the ground scream and rumble.

hinterland

03 Sunday Mar 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

a girl named death, bridge to nowhere, crossing over, death personified, home as metaphor, long hair, pearl diver, sonnet, storm soothsayer

Muzzy, a rope support bridge. Rain blurring
in this hinterland mist. A thing air born,
apart. Tonight I am leaving. Leaving
for its other side. This is a well-worn
path; still, I’m lost. Muzzy, up by the rocks
on the east side of the harbor I asked
a pearl diver the way. Her long dreadlocks,
hanging down, gave her a death-head, face masked.
I have been following rain all day long.
A storm soothsayer. Rain led me out here.
Led me to a bridge I crossed over once,
mother. When Death picked me up in her strong
arms I knew a once nameless fear. A fear
named by seeing home off in the distance.

nothing’s shocking

03 Sunday Mar 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on nothing’s shocking

Tags

drunk, homoerotica, Jane's Addiction, Nothing's Shocking, sober, sonnet, survival

i’m gonna kick tomorrow
— Jane’s Addiction

I put on powder blue socks this morning.
The snow is melting. The puddles, rosy
with the sheen of gasoline, are calling
me to come on out. My final empty
cup leaves me well-caffeinated. First wine
and then tea; I’m giving up my vices.
Perhaps my discomfort at such benign
temperance shocks me? No. When the muses
whispered to me: that was shocking. College
shocked me too. Today, inexorable
as it seems, my hands do not shake. The gods
seem far away. Pictures, a quick montage
of words, make me drunk, fill my head, baffle
me that I somehow survived all these odds.

a friend who will stay

03 Sunday Mar 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on a friend who will stay

Tags

Chinese, drowned trying to embrace the moon, Li Bai, Li Bai dreams of the moon, mythology, poet, sonnet, Tang dynasty, The Golden Age of Chinese poetry

I pour myself a drink;
no friends for company
— Li Bai, “drinking
alone with the moon.”

A thief has been drinking my wine. I think
it is Li Bai. I thought drowning after
falling overboard stone drunk would make drink
somehow less bewitching, but a lover
of the moon and wine will always love moons
and wines. My poor Li Bai found you cannot
hold the moon’s reflection or a typhoon’s
fury while on the water. Once I caught
him in my cup, offered him sex instead
but he’s a cold-eyed and dispassionate
ghost at the best of times and turned away.
So I’ll remain sober and old deadhead
here will remain dead drunk. Such is our fate.
At least now he has a friend who will stay.

* * *

Note:

Li Bai is regarded as one of the greatest poets of the China’s golden age of poetry during the Tang Dynasty. Legend has it he drowned when he fell over board trying the embrace the moon.

parry and thrust

01 Friday Mar 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

13th century, Armenia, Batu Khan, Golden Horde, Hayastan, Hayk’s soldiers, Mongols, Razmouhi, sonnet, The Way Of The Sword

Put out and lonely, Razmouhi wandered
the halls of her mother’s house. Day after
day, in the courtyard, training, still awkward
in her body. Her name meant, “girl fighter.”
“Mother teaches me the way of the sword;
but I want to be down at the lake shore,
lost in the dunes.” Batu Khan’s Golden Horde
had laid waste to her town the year before.
It was why she was taught how to parry,
thrust; so that she would not have to witness
Hayk’s soldiers trampled in Tartar dust.
“Enough dreaming, my daughter.” Razmouhi
blinked, sighed. “What girl,” her mother, all grimness,
asked, “is worth spit who can’t parry and thrust?”

* * *

Notes:

The ancient name of Armenia was Hayastan and they called themselves the Hayer, after one of Noah’s sons, Hayk, who is suppose to have founded their kingdom after his father’s ark settled upon the tip of Mt. Ararat.

Batu Khan was a in the 13th century Mongolian warlord who led his horsemen in an army historians have dubbed The Golden Horde, which lay siege to kingdoms and cities along the Black Sea and up through the Caucasus mountains.

varghonans

27 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

female wolf, poverty, secret love, sonnet, taboo, varghonans, winter

... varghonans is swedish for female wolf

… varghonans is swedish for female wolf

* * *

It has turned bitter. The mountains look scarred
and blue in this light. Up from my village
is a waterfall; last night it froze hard.
Ice scares me. Far out in the dark savage
spaces I can hear wolf calls and other
voices, too. The rays of the setting sun,
ghostly, shines through our cooking smoke. Lover,
you are with your pack. Your clan that you run
with, that would kill me for blood sport. I hear
your song that hovers up in the cold air.
A song of the wild hunt warming my hut.
No one knows that you love me, for you fear
for my life. It’s why you keep our affair
from your Varghonans sisters a secret.

bride of the yellow river

27 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

a drowning child, China, cunnilingus, human sacrifice, mythology, orgasmo divino, sonnet, Wu, Yangtze river

This is a way of telling a story.
Wash it down your throat.
— Wong Amy, Narration

* * *

I knew a girl once, a farmer’s daughter
from Wu, who was married to the Great King
Yangtze. Yeah, that’s what they said to her,

as their sole explanation for drowning
her, one more sacrifice to the Yellow
River. One more River King’s Bride. Soggy,

I could taste in her kisses marsh gas, woe
and weeds. “There was no king,” she once told me.
“So I’m no bride.” On her face a smile brimmed,
swollen and in flood until I too drowned

as I went down between her thighs, her trimmed
black curls, her mons pubis, her venus mound

that made her rain cloud burst. I thank Eros
we met for death made these passions endless.

* * *

Notes:

Wu is a region of China near the mouth of the Yangtze river.

Historical records tell of the custom of sacrificing a young girl each year to the spirit of the Yangtze, a “bride” to the god of the Yellow river.

gou and mao

26 Tuesday Feb 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on gou and mao

Tags

double penetration, ghost twins, love in a blur, MMF, sex on the other side of the mirror, sonnet, threesome, through a glass darkly

Tonight I am alone in the mirror,
which is odd, since dark glass is where I met
you both, twins, as if you came to answer
that one question about when a duet
becomes a trio or when a couple
becomes a threesome. Two peony buds
on a branch with your dead eyes and soulful
Yangtze flexion. You taught me new methods
to cum the night both Gǒu and I slid deep
inside Māo. Inside the mirror we pinned
you to the bed, feeling Gǒu’s cock throbbing
a mere breath away from my own. I weep
now in the glass alone as the night wind
tells me love is not meant for the living.

ghost milk

25 Monday Feb 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, sonnet

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

ghost lover, ghost milk, grave dust, Mama Ghost, sonnet

It is not needed, Mama Ghost, for me
to bleat, “Mama Ghost! Mama Ghost! Mama

Ghost!” each time we meet. Unlike the fruit tree

you will not bloom. I know that in Ghana
ghosts of mothers weep blood while their breasts ache
with milk never to be tasted. Come here,

little mother, I’ll do it for your sake.

I don’t need to call out your name to hear
heartache. I’ll drink you dry. Make your chill-blue
bones flame into wild honey. Suck so hard

even the dead will gasp in pure delight.

Mama Ghost, give me ectoplasmic goo,
the ghost milk, in you. Feed me on graveyard

dust from your nipples as I suck and bite.

the tastiest of organs

24 Sunday Feb 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, sonnet

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

brains, sex demon, sonnet, the tastiest of organs

The whole world sleeps, foolish world, while I creep
through the shadows, wearing only anklet
bell-chains and a grin. In your room, you sleep
as well, glasses cockeyed, all your chocolate
hues gone aubergine. I adore a bed
strewn with book. A bedroom in disarray
from long writing. You are a creature dead
to my dark world. I brush your hair away
slice your skull open with thumb, forefinger.
You praise our cunts and cocks. But I confess
the brain is the tastiest of organs.
Yours smells of Bengal and Sanskrit. Lover,
I scoop your skull clean; then leave you, scarless,
vexed in sleep by the love of a demon’s.