27 Sunday Jul 2014
Posted in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry
≈ Comments Off on lapping thistledown
wet as a swamp/ drowning between her thighs/ lapping thistledown
heat shimmers/ in the shade of her bedroom/ the widow goes down
two virgin boys/ all that defines me/ endless hunger, she said
he-she-he/ their teacher showed them how/ to enter together
my heroes are always/ undersexed with/ with the most vivid of imaginations …
13 Sunday Apr 2014
Not all housewives are hungry, but you are.
Not all home-schooling parents develop
crushes on their sons, but you did. Bizarre
as that seems, many dwell in and worship
at the house of incest. Lot’s daughters did.
The French have a whole genre devoted
to son-and-mother love. What we forbid
always becomes tempting. You are naked,
you say, going mad with need. It’s not right
that no one wants you, you say. But I do.
I don’t care who your lovers are, what dumb
dreams and fancies get you to sleep each night.
I’ve spent my whole life looking for one who
can be honest about what makes her cum.
09 Sunday Feb 2014
Tags
art, auntie and my mother, coffee interrupted, do you want to touch me there?, incest, mother-child, threesome
Posted by ch3mical r3nt boy | Filed under Erotic, Illustration and art
≈ Comments Off on coffee interrupted
26 Sunday Jan 2014
Tags
art, erotic, hentai, hookah, incest, mother-son, oui! mon fils!, pokadot soul, spots are cool
Posted by ch3mical r3nt boy | Filed under Erotic, hentai, Illustration and art
≈ Comments Off on now i feel now i feel now i feel
02 Thursday Jan 2014
Tags
“child of my heart and my sister’s loins”
Posted by ch3mical r3nt boy | Filed under Erotic, Illustration and art
≈ Comments Off on never believe that something are better left unsaid
17 Tuesday Sep 2013
And she touched boyish lips and felt his fierce
need so she rubbed his childish heat. Bending
over, she raised her skirt, letting him pierce
her. A son’s love. Belly down, back curving,
she felt him slip between her cheeks, debauched
as all goddesses are. He was possessed,
a beast, creaming deep in her guts. She watched
him half-emerge, gleaming. Prince said incest
was all “it’s said to be.” She squeezed him, dull
and soft in her muscles, blushing, childish.
He called her “mom,” and, with a slurping sigh,
withdrew. Then he too was gone, a middle-
schooler home for lunch. She stood, his boyish
gift for some blessed rite dripping down her thigh.
19 Wednesday Jun 2013
Posted in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
≈ Comments Off on my sister [irmã minha]
Irmã morta minha dentro de mim está.
Você entende os mortos?
Se a minha irmã era uma montanha eu era um cactus em chamas, aquecendo sangue dela.
Os mortos não têm casa, e nada pode acalmar seus medo.
É por isso que irmã morta minha dentro está de mim.
Porque eu amo ela.
.
My dead sister is inside me.
Do you understand the dead?
If my sister was a mountain then I was a burning cactus warming her blood.
The dead have no home and nothing can calm their fear.
That is why my dead sister is inside of me.
Because I love her.
19 Tuesday Feb 2013
Posted by ch3mical r3nt boy | Filed under Erotic, Illustration and art
18 Monday Feb 2013
Posted in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet
≈ Comments Off on what i saw
Tags
age difference, aunt, blood, clit ring, hand job, hothouse gore, incest, missing toe, nephew, sonnet, tattoo
Was there blood. I didn’t know what I saw.
My breath gurgled down deep inside my chest.
I saw — what. First time you unclasped your bra
for me, your nephew, I saw your right breast,
upturned, beads of sweat dripping down. First time
you pulled your jeans around your knees I saw
your tight parted curls that tasted of thyme,
amber and lust under my tongue. Cat’s paw
tattoo, clit ring, missing toe. I saw all
of this. But now blood. Everywhere on me.
My blood. “What happened?” I whispered. But you
silenced me with your lips. My breath: a small
rusty gasp. “I am here to set you free,
naughty boy,” she said. “My foolish nephew.”
22 Tuesday Jan 2013
Posted in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet
≈ Comments Off on witch-mouse
Tags
bath house, Bedouin, incest, mother-son, sonnet, Witch-Mouse
Note: In Egyptian Arabic “Ibni” or “Ebni” means “my son” and “Ommy” translates as “my mother.”
I called her Witch-Mouse, for the dawn-glimmer
hung on her heels and the keen-eared, sassy
bat knew her by name. “Call me your mother,”
she said, parting her robes. “Call me Ommy.”
Her dark legs straddled me, guiding myself
inside; so deep that our pubes touched. Witch-Mouse
raised her hips and thrust down. She was part-elf
and part-prophetess. In the tiled bathhouse
all that she told me then came true. Outside
her small Bedouin daughter kneaded bread
dough by the wood-fired stove. But Witch-Mouse cried
and grabbed my ass and bit me until red
mixed with our cum. “Ibni,” she moaned, “my son.
I love you even more for what we’ve done.”
