Tag Archives: fellatio

caught

24 Friday Apr 2020

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on caught

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Fucking perversely, whoever she was,
close to home. Each noon the splintered windscreen

on your camper van fogged up. True, the flaws
in this affair were that you had to clean

the shag carpet each time; stench of vodka
and sperm and rocking Volkswagens don’t fool

people, even with Three Dog Night’s, “Mama
told me not to cum,” cranked high. Middle school

flashbacks, even now, are of your panic
at the thought of getting caught. “I can’t stop,”

you’d gag, my balls pressed fat against your chin.
We all cry out; even an ex-hippy chick

getting licked clean, acid in each teardrop,
heartache that you kept calling a love-in.

godhead

03 Monday Feb 2020

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on godhead

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Cant (noun) 1) phraseology peculiar to a particular class or profession; 2) the private language of the underworld.

Slowly this language fills in the distance
between us. Once your clit was all the Braille

that I needed, a queer kind of bone. Once
I had no words for the suction cup gale

of your mouth: resting on your tongue love drips
down your chin. Feel how I swell full fathom

like hearts and tempests swell? Now place your lips
around my crown. Yes, suckle me down. Cum

translates into endless ways to love. Those
who drown in love live. Those who live can speak

the words only heard by shamans and bawds —
a queer kind of tongue. Will you spit what flows

in your mouth out or swallow? Let this freak
godhead fly: cunt’s cant of rent boys and gods.

night piece

01 Friday Feb 2019

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on night piece

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Your eye and Lesbia’s gaze. Where my spirit
and flesh fused, jizz oozed down your face, your clothes,

scraped knees. All this night piece boy grease this strut
of one who sucks godheads. The tomcat knows.

Cats love ruin. Spray-paint’s “fuck grief/ give head”
scrawled with carrion’s love of beef behind

you in glitter pink. “Skull fuck me,” you said,
mouth full of soul. Rasp of tongue on lust, blind

and big like charnel. Scumsuck. Shum ticky.
Ravished gaze. Bloodshot: cum in your lashes

gives you pink eye. I measure this not in
virtue but itches. Choose my salt-honey.

Choose smut. Choose my love. It’s slow. It oozes
into your twilit clit, my godhead’s skin.

NOTE:
“Lesbia’s gaze” comes from a poem by Edith Wharton. “Shum ticky” is a song-title by the fabulous Laura Love.

ooze

28 Monday Jan 2019

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on ooze

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Tender? I make a poor first fruit. Green shoots
scarred to buggerclaw. You fret with kissing.

I with the bruise left when you knelt, peach fruit’s
spread. I gripped your hair in a knot, basting

down your throat. You tell of picnics, fat bees
droning, spring-time’s fete. I of back seats parked

in vile parking lots; two beasts of pain, grease,
cum, while a cop taps on the hood. I’m marked

to be broken. You’ll break me. Not ribald,
not curt, but tender. If redemption comes

in a kiss, in nothing more, then we’re doomed
since I ruined your faith, your bee-dazzled

glade. — You bit down on what felt like spasms
that burst inside: love that oozed, that mushroomed.

perked

24 Thursday Jan 2019

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on perked

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

I taste of mud, pert meat, the moon’s eclipse;
being born still and cold until Lilith

breathed life into me, wrote the word, “Emeth,”
on a stone and placed it between my lips.

I still shimmer as I pass through heated air,
though my lisp anchors me here. One day soon

you’ll kiss me and taste the wasteland’s dark moon
while on your knees, while tonguing my curled hair.

Lockjaw and spittle. “Lilith’s Pet,” you said,
staring as your nipples perked. Like footprints

trampled in red mud, in blood, my kiss shall
leave its mark, tell you that I was born dead

in dearth and plague. I want to see you wince
taking me in, like sin’s gin, raw’s mescal.

][][

NOTE:
According to Jewish folklore, Judah Loew ben Bezalel (a 16th-century rabbi of Prague) created the automatonic Golem by shaping it from river mud and writing the word, “Emeth,” meaning truth, on its forehead.

off the lost coast headlands

17 Thursday Jan 2019

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on off the lost coast headlands

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Strong winds, then squalls. Rain scooting over sea
while fog swallows me up, leaves me lagooned,

warped in wild-haired gray. The split-plank jetty
groans in the storm. I mean to be marooned

here, too. Waves, billow daughters, have promised
to have me one last time. They care nothing

for man-made gods, tedious laws. Their lust
is the sea’s — pure as fucking and drowning,

rough faith. You should be here. The sea has no
use for cum, not like you — streaks splashed hardcore

on your cheeks. What waves want is warmth, the spark
that moves love, moves my flesh like tide, lust’s flow.

I’ve been swallowed by you just once before —
now I’ll leave my heat mixed with rain-stained dark.

4-sight

28 Friday Dec 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on 4-sight

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

There was no ark, no broken seal. The dead
clock this world but not like how I was taught.

“Oi git overstrung, freaked oyt, too,” I zed.
“Oi’m fired up. Oi’m fucked up. Oi’m overwrought.

But Oi’m perfect, otherwise.” Other … wise.
4-sight. Savoir faire. It’s there: that finite

tense that we both sensed. That manic demise
that no laws, lit or holy writ can right.

We don’t know and the dead don’t claim the truth.
The dead just are — absurd as negative

numbers, absurd as love. Call their wisdom
the same when my knees bend, cheeks bulge, uncouth

jaw pops with your climax, with what you give;
no arks, no laws, no writ. Just soul. Just cum.

curs

12 Wednesday Dec 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on curs

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Foul and depraved. Some might say, bestial.
A hint of skull-duggery. A slap dash

of skull-fuckery. That nightmare: jackal-
headed ghast with a touch of cock, a splash

of cum, one who makes your nipples pucker
pushing six– ten– twelve inches down your throat.

Haven’t thought of that fiend with a swagger
in years. Yesterday your sister’s buck-goat

eyed you with lust. Today it was the curs
next door. Awake or asleep you’re crudely

used. Some say that we do this on purpose,
so that naughty thoughts might make us monsters.

Grace comes when we admit that we’re horny.
Denying that is what’s monstrous.

evermore

08 Monday Oct 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on evermore

Tags

, , , , , , ,

So much repetition. You think I’m crass
what I do to your ass, each time I come

over. “That’s frowned on?” If I can’t trespass
why show up? You’ve been wearing my cum,

like cheap mascara, all day. — Now I frown:
“Not foul enough?” If your child could see you

right now, would she die of shame? Your nightgown
has. Each time puddles form and that funk-zoo

fuck-beast spice fills the room. How to explain
away this bruise? Those nail marks? That hickey?

Here I am, once more, knocking on your door,
“to fuck your shit up.” To spoil you with pain,

that drug of unnatural potency,
always in bad taste. Evermore hardcore.

thickset

23 Thursday Aug 2018

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on thickset

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Not that bent field stone, slick with dew, jasmine,

chicory — there are gods of those fields, scant

 

hairy things who watch you squat and piss in

the green flax. I wish to know what the ant

 

and the bee see in such jewel-weed. Not

that plush spot plump between your collar bones.

 

Not bone or field stone, not odd god, fleshpot

or urge (there is always an urge) that groans

 

thickset, clover seed to plant root in you.

Open your mouth. Root seed and suck, inhale.

 

Simple as not gagging. The way you pass

through a pallid field turned bronze. What shall spew

 

from me shall dribble down your chin, a pale

trail, a craving, splash, dew-dropping the grass.