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memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Tag Archives: ghostsista

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THREE VARIATIONS ON DESIRE’S ALPHABET

04 Saturday Feb 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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ghostsista, poem, reblog, three variations on desire’s alphabet

inanotherdirection:

“How many licks” – Lil Kim

I need a new word. The ancient mothers had tongue,

but I’ve lost how to read. The Chinese call it, “Tian yin.”

The Greeks, “Aidoioleixia.” The Welsh, “Gweinlyfu.”

The Tamil, “Vay neṟikkoṇam.” The Nepali,

“Yoni mukhamaithuna.” But for the rest of the world

it is simply “Cunnilingus,” or “Kunilengus,” or

“Cunnilingio.” It sounds like a medical term. The fruit from

the Tree of Diana would never taste like how that word sounds.

The Mystery is there, on the tip of our tongues, I can

almost hear the proper words, like trying to decipher

the chaos as the Goddess of the Hunt brings down the old boar;

at the climax we all make noise that sounds like sacrament.

][

“… how summer learns to end.” – etherlighter

Mother Lilith, progenitor, what breeds

deeper disquiet in the human heart

than this celibacy that only bleeds

the soul of ecstasy, sets us apart

from the Divine? Debauchery, speaking

in tongues, music: they hold truths and secrets

that the piety of silence, lacking

epiphany, can’t find. When you say, “sluts

and whores,” you speak of prophets. We all die,

Lilith, but not all of us have to numb

our souls first. First Mother, First Wife;

let the world burn, even Augustine’s lie.

Orgasm: it’s the closest that we’ll come

to the Divine in this short, little life.

][

Babylon, man-child,

grow up, there is

more to riding off

on a foamy white

horse, a jism of

release, never to

return, the patriarch

will fall for he is

blind, somewhere

in Rome hidden

from view rests

Saint Hripsime’s chemise,

made of sackcloth,

which rubbed her

right there when

she walked, for even

martyrs are full

of desire, much

like in Boccaccio’s

Decameron, in

the first story of the

third day when Masetto

becomes a gardener,

who “tills the soil

and makes barren

plots fertile,” discreet

easing of the pangs of

lust among the bold

sisters and abbess

and though Hripsime

was a virgin Pier

Paolo Pasolini showed

us how Christ treats

those who put horns

on his crown, they are

the true

children of heaven.

[submitted by ghostsista]

Quote

slices [haiku]

18 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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erotic haiku, ghostsista, poem, Poetry, sheismadeinpiland, spilled ink

ghostsista:

fruit left uneaten
pulpy slices juice-curled hair
burden of wanting

Quote

implement

18 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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doog, erotic poetry, ghostsista, implement, reblog, sheismadeinpiland, sonnet, torment

ghostsista:

The tiles were so cold — You wanted torment,
like how god-dogs do it. Your muscles clenched

under your jeans. You’ve walked around, hellbent
that none of your friends would notice the drenched

little patch, the buzz of your discipline
implemented deep between your cheeks. You

peel down your jeans like you peel skin
down bone, down muscle. At each corkscrew

twist lick squeeze the silicon hammer’s head
spreads you wider. We two lay on the floor

of your mom’s bathroom — The acid hitting
just then. “Yeah, leck it. Me clit is blood-red.

Me arse — O! ahm a god! ahm a doog! Mooar!”
Torment, you had called it. Your toes, curling.

Quote

gosto [taste]

18 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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ghostsista, gosto, italian translation, poem, Poetry, reblog, sheismadeinpiland, taste

ghostsista:

TASTE

Full of the mystery of taste.
Reckless with my mouth.

Throbbing fruit
fresh. My mouth

on your skin. A light kiss
with the touch

of the tongue.
Suck your

fruit; with a grip,
howling, and hair

pulling. Strange
fruit.

][][

GOSTO

Plena do gosto da mistério.
Afoita com minha boca.

Latejando de fruta
fresca. Minha boca

na teu pele. Um leve beijo
com o toque

da língua.
Chupo teu

fruto; com um aperto,
um urro, e puxão

de cabelo. Fruto
estranho.

Quote

orpheus [after midnight]

18 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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Tags

erotic haiku, erotica, ghostsista, haiku, Orpheus, Poetry, reblog, sheismadeinpiland

ghostsista:

desire: words, fire.
I’ll show you how the hills burn
if we both survive

age difference Alejandra Pizarnik anal sex Armenia Armenian Genocide Armenian translation art artist unknown Babylon Crashing bisexual blow job cum cunnilingus divine drama drowning erotic erotica erotic poem erotic poetry Federico Garcia Lorca fellatio feminism finger fucking free verse ghost ghost girl ghost lover gif Greek myth Gyumri haiku homoerotic homoerotica Humor incest Japan Japanese mythology katana lesbians Lilith Lord Byron masturbation mythology nude Onna bugeisha orgasm Peace Corps photo poem Poetry Portuguese Portuguese translation prose psychedelic quote unquote reblog Rumi Sappho sheismadeinpoland sin sonnet sorrow Spanish Spanish translation story Tarot thank you threesome translation video Walt Whitman war woman warrior Yerevan

erotica [links]

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  • the pearl (a magazine of facetiae and volupous reading, 1879-1880)
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  • armenian erotica and news

electric mayhem [links]

  • clara smith
  • discos bizarros argentinos
  • ida cox
  • cyndi lauper
  • aimee mann
  • Severus & the Deatheaters [myspace]
  • sandra bernhard
  • Poetic K [myspace]

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