Tag Archives: P-Funk

ease

27 Thursday Aug 2026

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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All that is cupped. All that is pumped, gushing,

from the faucet — across your open palm.

Scant damp lacquer. Love enough dribbling

drown my lip in honey-soaked, big-bone mom

folds. Tongue of needle. Mire of mollusk. Bog

rich. Rime and lilies but not hoar frost. Glee

burgling between thighs. Glee like sweat. My dog

debt to you. “Nothing but the dog in me.”

Stop. “Crone zone”? No. But clit lit leaves a stain.

Disco’s bane? P-funk’s kismet. How whet works

across your plump lump. Let the ease of sleaze

leave your sighs split, thighs jelly. Leave my brain

broken? Your stoned crone boned. Where bedlam lurks?

From the pump. Across the palm? Gushing. Please.

sweet-bottom grass

04 Monday Feb 2013

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There is enough sweet bottom-grass around
this, your pleasant fountain, to keep me drunk

all day. Some eat to excess. I have drowned
in my own swampy needs, in others’ spunk,
as if cum were a rare commodity.

When I’m in collar and chains I will lick
it all up. When you show me your country
life, I delight in your porn and chronic.

I get grave stone in your sweet bottom-grass.
I stay down for days. But what sort of seed
does one need to plant where wild sassafras
grows wild on your clit? — all goo and honeyed.

There’s no seed. Just tongue up on the downstroke,
drowning, swallowing you until I choke.

testify

29 Tuesday Jun 2010

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tonight the bass blares: We’re up for the down
stroke. Your cunt dimly gleams, lighting the room
with wet girl glare, half cinder and half smoke.
I is not I. Jah flies into the air.
What love is this? Our queer love. This affair
of ours let’s us get down for the upstroke.
There is no bad rhythm. We just resume
our mad fucking. Cumming. Drowning. We drown
 
in each others’ cum. I can dig it, star
child. I wanna call this love, testify
funkadelic, CC. Let the guitar
glare. We dig. We’re astral and moon pagan,
waiting for the Mothership Connection.