Tag Archives: erotic poetry

bene faction

08 Friday Dec 2017

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on bene faction

Tags

, , , , , ,

We are unnerved by pleasure; it frightens
us when it comes. It comes. I call. I’m out

side your door. I come with waif’s weed, urchin’s
greed. I hunger the way that the devout

hunger for a balm to their holy mess.
Call us a holy fuck. Blunts shared between

two: alms, bene-faction. To kiss. To bless.
To claim. I’ve driven far. I want obscene

things. I want to ruin you. Now re-frame;
I meet you at the door, children on their

way to school. We smile. We are familiars.
Familiar is good. It’s still the same blessed flame,

chaotic nerves, fire. I will take either:
as fuck-friends or as curious strangers.

ruin us

04 Monday Dec 2017

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on ruin us

Tags

, , , , , , ,

“Once more, but with gore.” For two weeks after
I kept my shirt on, changed the bandages,

daubed the stains. “Abuse me,” we say. “Yes, sir,”
we say. I’m more than besmirched. My glasses,

knocked all ahoo, cracked. My scabs, when I stretched,
peeled. “Sour me,” is more than a dare. “Ruin

us,” gets used a lot. Love, what is far-fetched
that one day I’ll just burn? What bursts molten

cannot be put right as it flows, as it flames.
What you demand just now leaves me distraught.

You know better. But this ends with my squeals,
shouts, pleading to the gods. The healer claims,

“troubled water, troubled soul.” But it’s not
soul that your nails cut, just flesh and flesh heals.

fat palm

27 Monday Nov 2017

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on fat palm

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Night wind in the trees; though I never heard
that din back then. Just your mewling quim qualm

cries with each flushed thrust while your lips puckered
and dripped. To pull back. To mark with fat palm,

the smack, the sting. Onto days; felt your burn
on my fingertips, melted deep in my hair —

I walked for days glazed in a world of stern
scorn, ghast hush, torn crush. You’re all of despair.

I of need. How do you say? High maintenance?
High greed? Come back, love. Return like clockwork.

Or, soul, don’t. Gods do not love indulgence,
just the noise that you give when your hips jerk.

We are nights with wind and trees and ozone.
We are the low crackle that breaks the stone.

cockspur

27 Monday Nov 2017

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on cockspur

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

With my left hand automatic writing.
Three taps and the spirit begins, hungry

for my attention. We’re all hungering
with need. Bring me my water pipe, my tea,

chaos. What is a ghost but compulsion
personified? I am as compulsive

as it comes. You quote Shelley, I Byron.
Cockspur; we still quote men who don’t forgive,

forget or learn from their mistakes. Spirit,
mayhem, bring your mouth low. I have dead aunts,

mothers, sisters that only you recall.
Tap out my love to them. Be the poet

that I’ll never be; mumbling in trance,
just more wet clay with a lisp and a drawl.

bastard’s freak

18 Saturday Nov 2017

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on bastard’s freak

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Arse’s trickster; Lather maker; Rude root.
You say cocks are symbols of devotion,

godhood, rebirth; like you’re the first to put
the “erection” back in resurrection.

Knacker bone; Billy-me-nag; Love’s horsewhip.
First strip away myths, all the begetting,

its use as a weapon, male ego; strip
it bare and what’s there? 8-inches … pulsing.

Leather stretcher; Jockey’s pride; Bastard’s freak.
Some days I can say, “Brother, your beauty

haunts me.” Give me those days without bullshit
crafted to glory in this queer physique —

days where I can leave your face soaked, splotchy,
cum-streaked, where you hold out your palm and spit.

hood

16 Thursday Nov 2017

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on hood

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Perhaps it was the flavor — the essence —
the smell. Perhaps it was the study hall

after school — meant for our math and science
homework. With doors locked the sunlight would crawl

out from the windows. It strayed, meandered,
returned back to the spot where you straddled

my face, grinding, while you sang out the slurred
glories of my tongue. You convulsed, bejeweled

my cheeks, chin, lip until I swallowed you,
hodge-podge, all the while your clitoral hood

rubbed me raw. Perhaps it was in that zone
before we went home, cum-dazed, stuck like glue,

peeling yourself back that I understood,
dear friend, I could live on your cum alone.

whimper low

10 Friday Nov 2017

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on whimper low

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Gray day; snow with crows outside. With snogging
on the broken-down sofa. With whiskey

in bone-blue mugs and blue-bone smoke twisting
from the blunt between fingers. With curry

take-out. We let an amaranthine
mist fog the windows. We let the record

skip while we bucked. We let the sofa’s spine
whimper low. All semester we were bored

with our classes. All holiday the gale
blew. In one day we’ll be back to classes;

sleet-stained and cum-blind. I can hear the crows
cawing even as you gasp and exhale.

Let this day be this: nothing surpasses
simply kissing and grinding in our clothes.

ravenous

03 Friday Nov 2017

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on ravenous

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

The Book of Misfits mentions you. So does
The Book of Mama Clit and the Gospels

of Cunnilingus. Love, you have itches
never scratched. You’re shy and call them scruples

when it comes to exploring the carnal
parts of knowledge. But here you are, your soul

incandescent, finger at work, knuckle
buried. Let the, “petite mort,” makes us whole;

it’s a little death then resurrection.
Only the most ravenous are welcome

in these books and you, love, are copious,
dripping, some would claim, with needs that no one

has met. Do not say that it’s strange to cum
for me, just embrace this divine strangeness.

colossus

02 Thursday Nov 2017

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on colossus

Tags

, , , , , ,

First I took clay, breathed over it. In my mouth:
sand, storm, burning sky. Then I fashioned it,

beloved, into you and everywhere — south,
north, down, up — paused, listened to this misfit

magic. The breeze listened. The bread listened.
The knot listened. The dawn listened. Sun dawned.

I woke you up; painted your lips, crimsoned
your eye-holes. You blinked twice, sat up and yawned.

This is before the Bengal cat tail-plug
that you loved. Before you learned desire

and walked through this world like a colossus.
You were famished. You ate drug after drug;

all I had. That first trip you simply were,
beloved, all naked, divine, monstrous.

bewitchingly

31 Tuesday Oct 2017

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on bewitchingly

Tags

, , , , , , ,

I am naked all day to match my mood —
The French must have a word meaning, “almost

euphorically horny.” It’s why I’m nude
writing this to you now, little sad ghost

that no one wants. Come over, I want you.
We can preen, paint our nails, slurp tea, snuggle

or do that one thing that the living do
to feel better. That one obscene, shameful,

sublimely fun act that you have not done
in ages. We will be naked chums, bosom

pals, wild playmates. Little sad ghost, lover,
delight is contagious, and so is fun.

Life is too short for sorrow and boredom.
Come here. Get undressed. I miss your laughter.