• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Tag Archives: Love shall make us a threesome

mixed

14 Sunday Nov 2021

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, sonnet

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Tags

Chava, cunnilingus, erotic poetry, Love shall make us a threesome, mixed, niqabi, poem, Poetry, sonnet

Did your mother-in-law ever once guess

that your best friend, Chava, sat in the front

seat while you and I made an unholy mess

under your niqab in the back? “My cunt

needs this,” you shivered and Chava giggled.

Love is so hard to grasp. It’s all taboo

and shame until your friends arrive. Cuckold,

they call it … though what that is in Hebrew,

I don’t know; just that under your niqab

you are flood-warning wet. Later, back home,

Chava will tongue-fuck you in the bathroom,

tasting my cum mixed with yours while you grab

the sink and quake at the touch of a tongue

so long it feels she’s licking out your womb.

resolve

19 Saturday Dec 2020

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

erotic poetry, grief, loss, Love shall make us a threesome, pain, poem, resolve, sonnet, you can't see ghosts

It’s not like we’re puppet and puppeteer;

I’m balls deep in yet you grimly retain

 

control. The sheath of your ass. The severe

gape left behind in your behind like pain

 

each time I nearly pull out. Each time you

grip the sheets so that your daughter, drawn by

 

your cries, crouches in the grove of bamboo

to watch the living play. We could still ply

 

her with love, let her sleep between us, but

you can’t see ghosts. Your world is her gravestone

 

and grim resolve; rough sex won’t return her,

or burn this pain out of you, meat puppet.

 

There’s no strings for that. When you cum you moan

out something like, “daughter, daughter, daughter.”

saints

14 Wednesday Oct 2020

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

age difference, Beaver Island, cunnilingus, erotic poetry, Love shall make us a threesome, Mount Pisgah, poem, sonnet

“¡Ay! ¡Dámelo duro, papi!” your kid

sister said as she sank down, swallowing

 

me whole. All that your crank father forbid

we’ve done. “¡Papito!” you sang out, hanging

 

out near Daddy Frank’s. “Wanna babysit?”

With bong hits in the sauna. With frost’s hoar,

 

winter’s ire. With my mouth glued to your clit

as your sister’s toes curled. I’m thirty-four,

 

renting a cabin near Mount Pisgah. Gales

on the island last for days. Your father’s

 

rage paled before the haze of our chronic

cuddles and cum. He fears, “sinful females.”

 

Fear? This is our faith, our church, our scriptures.

¡Ay! this is what the saints would call epic.

][][

notes:

The poem takes places on Beaver Island, located in northern Lake Michigan. Daddy Frank’s is an ice cream shop in St. James (the island’s only town). When the Mormon migrated to Utah way back when a break-away sect, led by a man named Jesse Strang, settled instead on Beaver. Strang declared himself king and island a kingdom separate from America. This did not end well and in 1856 he was assassinated. Very little of the Mormon community remains except for a couple of biblical names found on the map; for example, Mount Pisgah, the highest point on the island, is a 150 foot tall sand dune. In Spanish, “¡Ay! ¡Dámelo duro!” translates into, “O! Give it to me hard!” Papito and papi are different ways of saying Daddy.

bratz

12 Saturday Sep 2020

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

bratz bra, erotic poetry, Hello Kitty panties, lilith now and forever, Love shall make us a threesome, mot hyt be, poem, sonnet, Y-fronts

Sister, tease me with a, “mot hyt be,” please.
Brother, now you, “amen.” I’ll take you both.

Plump, ripe fruit. Plowed fields. Prelude to orgies,
to feasts, to harvest. A hint of the oath

that I took to befoul Chosen Ones, lead
the Star Children to sin; which, for you two,

will be in my bedroom stoned while we read
Byron’s Manfred, snog and giggle. This, too,

is an After School special. These misfit
pleasures. This wolfish love of ewes and rams.

Come. I’ll guide you through cum-fueled odysseys.
There’s a far shore where you’ll learn to submit.

I’ll fill you with myth: Eve’s Bratz bra, Adam’s
Y-fronts, Lilith’s Hello Kitty panties.

][][

Notes:
I’ve never understood why Neopagans began using the Freemason’s, “So mote it be,” to end their prayers with, but they do. “Mot hyt be,” is the original spelling, taken from the Regius Manuscript. Snog is British slang for sloppy kissing. According to Sigmund Freud, out of all the underwear in the world, the diaper-rash whitey-tighty Y-fronts symbolize discomfort and awkwardness in the male psyche. Of course Adam wore them.

stranger

20 Thursday Aug 2020

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

erotic poetry, heal thyself, hellbent, her finger on your clit, Love shall make us a threesome, more than spilled ink, poem, sonnet, stranger danger

They say, “any port in a storm.” Yes. You
both came home with me for spliffs of righteous

bush, bi-boy porn, sauna’s wet heat. Who knew
stranger danger could be fun? A scrumptious

orgy while we play Witches and Warlock.
Now, all aglow, your best friend asks how it

feels while rubbing the tip of my cock
against your lips, her finger on your clit.

Life in a small town; you two craved to feel
depraved. Your dad said I’m a foreigner,

hellbent on trouble. All true. We love storm;
chronic thunder and rain. It’s how we’ll heal

from a world that hates pleasure and laughter.
Ecstasy is the key. Watch us transform.

melt

12 Wednesday Aug 2020

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

ay papi, erotic poetry, Love shall make us a threesome, melt, more than just spilled ink, poem, sonnet, threesome between friends

You are luscious. So what if your friend lurks
near by? Lust makes us all wack. For weeks you

hinted at clit-smacks, bong-hits, circle-jerks,
love-bites. Your panties and hijab cast to

the floor, thighs around my head. “I’ll rewire
her,”
you joked, as she moved closer to watch

you melt. For weeks you’ve told her how desire
makes you melt, flood the bed with each: “¡debauch

me, ay papi!” One day you’ll lay between
Zhaleh’s knees, lapping the way I do now,

while I slide deep inside her, then pull out
so you can lick my blood-splattered cock clean.

“Leh’s ours,” you said, making her flood. A vow?
Of course. We’ve all survived chastity’s drought.

][][

notes:
Leh is short for Zhaleh, a Persian girl’s name meaning heavy rain. A hijab is a veil worn by some Muslim women.

stranglings

08 Wednesday Jul 2020

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

Edgar Allan Poe, erotic poetry, Love shall make us a threesome, poem, sonnet, stranglings, Tottenham sheet, unnerves strings

Once there was three. “I don’t want to hear that,”
you said. Now there’s two. Lucy’s “Karen’s dead,”

gave me pause. For a year we shared a flat
and I slept betwixt them in our big bed …

except when Karen stayed out at the pub
or the club. Lucy from Leeds. Karen from

Kingston. A year full of big beat and dub
and, “Tottenham sheet.” Sex was the maelstrom

that Poe warned us of. Lust that, “unnerves strings.”
Love drug’s thrall. But you didn’t want to fuck

stranglings. You weren’t bi. You just left. You said
I think about kink too much … and fuckings …

and cum. True. Sex is chaos. Love amok.
Holy fuck with three now two, with one dead.

fuckathon

19 Thursday Dec 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

erotic poetry, fuckathon, heal thyself, Love shall make us a threesome, sonnet, your pretty face is going to hell

“Look how hairy she is.” With more laughing
and more vodka, with more snogging you dragged

your best friend’s skirt up, her dark pubes framing
the wet spot in her panties. You have gagged

on me often enough, pressed me deeper
until my balls tickled your chin and you

grinned, throat full. Which gods does a worshiper
turn to if she desires a three-split screw?

We don’t know. We’re damaged. We try to heal
in our own way. Others use prayer. For us

it’s cum in the pubes of your friend, motel
bed sheets and frenzy. It’s kissing with zeal

with the radio on, pure fuckathon, plus
our pretty faces are going to hell.

sick new trick

13 Friday Dec 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

almost a virgin, erotic poetry, Love shall make us a threesome, sick new trick, sodomy, sonnet, thirteen shamanic acts, threesome

Squeezed in, gently, with clit, with faith, with drum.
“Almost a virgin,” you called her as you caressed

her as my cock vanished in her rectum —
of all the thirteen shamanic acts blessed

by the gods this is your favorite. “If two
can cum as one then so can three,”
you said.

Let the drum match each time I half withdrew
then pushed back in harder. We are well-read,

eager, the ones who consume taboos, fugue states,
cum and souls. “Want to learn a sick new trick?”

you’d asked after school. You made her floodgates
slick her 3rd eye with sodomy’s magic —

impaled, blessed by what others vilified,
by what was baffling until we tried.

drubbing

14 Tuesday May 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenian, Erotic, Poetry, sonnet, Translation

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Tags

Armenian translation, dirty mind, erotic poetry, keghtot mitk’y, Love shall make us a threesome, sonnet, tribadic drubbing, violent priapism

No. You loathed his want instead. His drab wants:
dull and ulcerous. Cankered cock outside.

Cankerous soul in. — In the restaurant’s
restroom, in stall five, she ground down astride

your face ‘tween tribadic drubbing, violent
priapism, the long slow insertion —

“I’ll frig ‘er,” she said, slapping your splayed cunt.
“Put yer randiness ‘ere. Soon yer semen

an’ mah spit shaa slosh frae deep in ‘er arse.”
Blessed be all dirty minds, “keghtot mitk’y.”

Blessed be all grandmothers, daughters and wives
who find love once marriage becomes a farce,

once their menfolk bloat with hate and vodka.
Blessed be all love that still somehow survives.

NOTE:
A dirty mind, as Prince would say, is, “keghtot mitk’y” (կեղտոտ միտքը), in Armenian; as in, “dirty minded friends are so attractive,” “keghtot sirvats ynkernery aynk’an gravich’ yen” (կեղտոտ սիրված ընկերները այնքան գրավիչ են) … because we are and so are you.

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