• 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

defleeced

26 Wednesday Dec 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

bratty Little, catawampus, cunnilingus, erotic poetry, Love shall make us a threesome, sisters not sisters, sluiced, sonnet

In the bathroom you lather her snatch-thatch
until the hair hangs, soaked in suds. Mirror

ready. Razor in hand you kiss the scratch
and bruise you’d left. You play rough, big sister.

You break toys and crow when you taste her ass
on my cock face flushed while gagging me right

down your throat. You called her up after class,
told her that she would be spending the night

in your dorm-room. Now amuse me, you tease.
Show her what happens to bratty Littles

who go all catawampus. Shave her smooth.
With her girl-curls sluiced to the floor you squeeze

defleeced flesh letting drawn-out cum-tendrils
tie you to the clit that you suck and soothe.

bedazzle

09 Sunday Dec 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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bedazzle, daughters of eve, erotic poetry, fallen angel, Love shall make us a threesome, nephilim, sonnet, sons of adam

When I said I’d go all Old Testament
on your round asses I didn’t mean Lot

and his drunk daughters and lack of consent
I meant the time when the Nephilim begot

(archangels rutting like beasts) with daughters
of Eve, sons of Adam. Fallen angels

of lore were always gore-crazed cock-suckers.
I’ve leaped balls-deep. I’ve pounded your entrails.

Back and forth between you weeping siblings
with acts that bedazzled even odd gods.

Did I say: cry? I meant: vulgar, hard-boiled
O-lipped fucking frenzy. These scars where wings

once stood, I lost them proudly loving all
that can be corrupted, tempted, despoiled.

][][

Note: In folklore the Nephilim were fallen angels that took “daughters of men” as lovers before the Deluge, according to Genesis 6:1-4.

foxfire

02 Sunday Dec 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

erotic poetry, foxfire, gross indecency, hardcore, incest, Love shall make us a threesome, sonnet, spermatic fizz, we're the ire in desire

Your mum loves anal, too, you know. Request
for your breast as you undressed met with morose

pause, flushed flesh. Your whole soul I’ve loosened, pressed
your yaw to my maw, lubed in acts of gross

indecency. She stands outside your door
watching, you know. Once she walked in on me.

“You are hopeless. It can’t be helped.” Hardcore
spermatic fizz, jazz jizz, dribbled as she

swayed. Tonight is the hour to baste your mum’s
flower, that gape that devours girls and boys

up whole. Adorned with sex flecks, cum crumbs,
call her, tell her that tonight you’ll share toys.

Tonight we’ll get off on rage, blue foxfire.
Tonight we’ll all put the ire in desire.

dead-eye

27 Tuesday Nov 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

cool kink is endless, drink her dry, erotic poetry, Love shall make us a threesome, sonnet, you me and her

Felt your throat close around my flesh, potent
and deep. You rolled her, drunk her dry. To flare

up in you, drive your mouth against her cunt
with each thrust. I grabbed a hank of your hair.

You grabbed her thighs. She grabbed her breasts and cried,
“There! Fuck yes! There!” I could taste her on you,

cupping and sucking your face. We baptized
the bed in splattered red and blew. Virtue

lies in bluntness. “My tongue. Your clit. Your cock.
My ass.
” Is cool kink endless when slung low?

What’s changed? I still love words more than others.
You’re still forfeit in a Detroit cell block.

She’s still dead. All of this was long ago.
Intolerable. Dead-eye. Lost as lovers.

between us

20 Tuesday Nov 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

ale wife, deep throat, erotic poetry, face fuck, Love shall make us a threesome, rough sex, sonnet

In death haiku old soldier must ponder
frost and moonlit stubbled field to find life

fleeting. There are other types of slaughter,
though. In the bar’s bathroom you’re all ale-wife

groaning glee as your husband fucks your throat
harder, my cock pressed against your tightest

cleft. It’s pain and need all at once. You float
on bliss as your ass is forced wide. One thrust

I’m balls-deep, too. In rhythm. Spit-roasted
between us two. Perhaps one day I’ll think

back on this the way the poet appraised
frost fields but without woe. Yes, we squirted.

We came. I praise not death but godly kink.
I praise all that leaves us cum-rough and glazed.

honey-suckled

27 Thursday Sep 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

anal sex, cunnilingus, erotic poetry, honey-suckled, Love shall make us a threesome, poem, sonnet

Bent like so — her wet, bushy cunt is just
beyond the reach of your mouth. My tongue swirls

against your hard bud. Swirl, twirl then a thrust,
sucking your skin in. You grind. You cowgirl

my chin. With two fingers quaver you spread
her, run them back and forth, sink them in, twist,

curl. I’m cock-slapping your clit. Your forehead
is slick from where she rested as you kissed,

honey-suckled her, tempest in your throat.
Honey-blossom, passion is so fragile

in our loneliness. Cashed out blunt, wineglass,
a line of poetry that you misquote —

It’s all good. You smile as you make her mewl.
I smile as I grind away in your ass.

soft boys

13 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

cock-suckers, erotic poetry, fellatio, gluteus divinus, i love the femme in you, It's Beltane, Love shall make us a threesome, red wind, soft boys, sonnet, threesome

Over the roofs there soon came the red wind

of late June, the one that twists, raises skirts,

 

shirts, my love for all the things that have sinned.

You cup his plump rump. “You spurt how perverts

 

squirt,” you sniff your fingers, slouched on the curb.

It’s odd how the hot air perturbs you more

 

than his sweat stains, my unzipped jeans. Perturbed.

Aroused. Whatever. There are few hardcore

 

soft boys — gluteus divinus — left

and you’ve taken us both, despite the daft

 

dry heat, weighing the sinew, brawn and heft

of each of our cocks while we spurt and laughed.

 

“It’s Beltane, cock-suckers!” Wind in your hair

as you toy with my lips, his derriere.

untended

11 Thursday Sep 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

celibacy is a myth, hibiscus demon, Love shall make us a threesome, poem, Poetry, sonnet, untended hedgerow

Somewhere within your untended hedgerow,
somewhere tufted and leafy, sleeps curled up

a small hibiscus demon, all aglow
with need, like a drunk on rot-gut julep.

Aren’t we like demons; our souls are stingy
with love but underneath we weep for not

being touched, kissed, possessed. Celibacy
is a myth, darling. I know what you thought

that you could live – or at least love – alone.
I shall part your hedge like Moses, go down

into your bower, find that plum-blossom
brute, kiss it awake, watch it gasp and groan,

watch it purr; soothe your pain, smooth your frown.
Love shall make us a threesome.

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