Category Archives: Erotic

sticky trinity

26 Monday Nov 2012

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I have gone down on Christ of the Phallus.
I have sucked dry the Lord of Divine Hosts.
Let men brag about conquests. When Jesus
came he filled my mouth with the Holy Ghost’s
jizm. When he dribbled absinthe across
his god-like cock I prayed to the wild green
fire in its crystal shrine, Fairy-fuck sauce,
as I licked each massive ball squeaky clean.
Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder. Hashish
and bath house gangbangs made for great threesomes,
sticky trinity. We were stoned, puckish,
immaculate. We were smutty pilgrims.
We found, between a prophet’s cock and ass,
all of faith sleeping in an absinthe glass.

doggy-style means nothing

26 Monday Nov 2012

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Down in the sunless depths of clay she sank.
Shocked and flushed as a star for a bridal
dress. Now shrouded. A chain across her blank
breast. The dead have forgotten sex. Babel
Tower Tongue-Fuck Doggy-style means nothing.
The noise they make sounds like weeping waters.
Aghast, she was at the point of cumming
when Death took her, still tasting of reefers
and gin. Cunnilingus interruptus;
Limbo by any other name. How low
would you go? Who would school you in lewdness
if your soul depended on it? I know
all souls do. How low? Today you shall learn
all the ways I make sure that you don’t burn.

your witching spot

20 Tuesday Nov 2012

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your witching spot

your witching spot

Yesterday
I salted
your mouth.
Today there is
a warm, briny
sea
between your legs
as you float,
soothed
by the kiss
of ripples
across
upturned nipples.
Your thatch
of hair a bed
of kelp.
Skinny dipping
near Santa Cruz,
the sea
shimmering
through you,
waves lapping
at your clit
just like I did.
And at each silk-
like stroke
you thrust
your ass up,
heave your hips
out of the water,
as if I were still
with you,
guiding
my tongue
to your witching
spot, as if
you were a sea witch
and all the ocean
your lover.

lo que me conecte a ti

16 Friday Nov 2012

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lo que me conecte a ti

lo que me conecte a ti

Against my pale
shoulder your dark
hand rests.
Against your dark
breast my pale
fingers pull
and tease.

I pray
to Ramses
and Taurus,
the bull.
You sing
songs about love
juice and other
squeezables
“work, boy,
put your tongue
into it.”

Now you
are above
me, lowering
yourself down
onto that simple
swollen link
that connects
me to you,
down until our
pubes touch,
down until our
bones rub
together.

Freud said men
fear the moment
of entry,
the disappearance
of the self
into the other,
the annihilation
of the ego.

Please, Freud
never got fucked
like this.

swampland floods

15 Thursday Nov 2012

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I can draw out the rainy
season that sleeps
inside you.
I know ju ju.
When I found you,
you were dry earth
cracked, you were
rising August dust.
Not all soil is fertile.
Not all soft flesh panics.
The rain does not care
if it evaporates
or sinks deep inside you,
it just keeps on falling.
But I am not the rain.
I want you wet.
I want you soaked.
Like an old-time prophet
I’m going to run wild
in your wild bush.
I’m going to speak
in tongues until
your swampland floods.

consume me

14 Wednesday Nov 2012

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contemplation

contemplation

I am
not yours,
though you are
still living
inside me.
Hiding.
Like grief.
There is no
healing
from grief.
It’s not
a gunshot wound,
leaving behind
tell-tale scars.
It’s not
a cancer,
though I have
been carrying you
around long enough.
No doctor
can cut it
out of me.
No knife
can find it,
though one day
you will consume
me. You are
consuming me.
Because
like all good cancers
you simply confirm
what is worst
in me and
how poor
I am
in making
choices.

un santo italiano hueso del muslo

24 Monday Sep 2012

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Yo soy

un objeto

vulgar que desea

consumir

a cualquier precio.

Un santo italiano

hueso del muslo.

Yo soy lleno

de cosas nuevas,

pero no para usted.

Hay estrellas

en mi boca .

(I am a vulgar object you want to consume at any cost. An Italian saint’s thighbone. I am full of new things, but not for you. There are stars in my mouth)

barcos en el mar

19 Wednesday Sep 2012

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Que todos tenemos

nuestros barcos en el mar.

Nosotros les enviamos

a través de las profundidades.

Como el deseo.

Algunos han cruzado la marea.

Algunos son desmanteladas.

Otros están perdidos

en una noche sin estrellas.

Érase una vez, usted navegó

a tierras extranjeras.

Yo odio tu indiferencia.

No hay cartas que ha enviado

desde cualquier puerto.

¿Cree que es inteligente?

Soy una bruja que puede

superar el viento.

 

(We all have our ships at sea. We send them across the depths. Like desire. Some have crossed the tide. Some are dismantled. Others are lost in a starless night. Once upon a time you sailed to foreign lands. I hate your indifference. No letters sent from any port. Do you think that’s clever? I’m a witch who can overcome the wind.)