• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Tag Archives: poem

noon’s high

02 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

alien abduction, noon's high, poem, Poetry, sonnet

There once was a girl, much like you, only
less so. She fell from the sky. The sky fell

from her. They say that she was forged, that she
clanged and clanked as she walked. White static-hell

was her voice. An ambient engine purred
in her skull. When she kissed all the streetlights

of Prague would go mad. She was a queer bird,
as they say, an odd duck. She was twilight’s

gloaming. Sun’s rise. Noon’s high. She was— but wait.
That’s not what I want to tell you. She came

down to me, this Star child. This fairy tale
about hate. Because others always hate

the one thing that they can’t break, own or shame.
It’s what she is: lewd, alien, female.

rip

01 Tuesday Apr 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

homoerotic, let it rip, poem, Poetry, sonnet, you handsome devil

My spine twists as I roll beneath your nails.
I’m so awkward, but you taste like Spirit.

I’ll roll you up, let you run through my veins
in a cab; if I could paint I’d paint smut,

I’d paint your future: two fingers deep in
until you grab my wrist and hiss: “not here.”

So you’re sixteen and deadlier than sin,
I just had to ask, tell me if it’s real;

as the radio says; as the boom box
commands. Everything I’ve said has been told

by far better souls than mine. I still drip
like blood, like snot, like love. When all the cocks

and cunts are revealed — like these center fold
gods — we the divine will say, “let it rip.”

body, remember

24 Monday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry

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Body Remember, Constantine Cavafy, erotic, poem

 

 

 

 

Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds on which you lay,
but also those desires for you
that glowed plainly in the eyes,
and trembled in the voice—and some
chance obstacle made futile.
Now that all of them belong to the past,
it almost seems as if you had yielded
to those desires—how they glowed,
remember, in the eyes gazing at you;
how they trembled in the voice, for you, remember, body.

— Constantine Cavafy (translation by Rae Dalven)

dreaming in saline solution

21 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

dreaming in saline solution, edit, man's ideal monster, poem, Poetry, remix, sonnet

Soon when you’re good I’ll show you my Y, gray
shaped scar that cut my chest and clavicles,

sternum and heart, all in half. That which lay
in me was once on display. My devils

made no attempt to be subtle. The art
of the cross-stitch hurt but kept my ugly

bosom together. My guts, pulled apart,
slept on the dissection table. To be

as anatomically correct as this
was a horror-show. Man’s ideal monster

can’t be built, but we try. My Pygmalion
lover saw to that. Listen to the hiss-

whir of dark science that made me neither
god nor demon. I’m not even human.

onna bugeisha: daughter mine

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Disaster –- Pain –- Sorrow, Feminism, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

art, daughter of love, Onna bugeisha, poem, Poetry, sonnet

March 19, 2014 (12)

March 19, 2014 (11)

March 19, 2014 (13)

Around the body, puddled, as you breathe,
I feel your heart beating softer, slower,

drying begins from heated bodies. We
play in puddles, this sweet-scented moisture

that glows, cools, as the friction-induced beads
of sweat evaporates. Sunlight slavers

upon hard muscles, what falls, slashed through, bleeds
through these dappled down drapes —- gypsum lovers,

soft, lithe —- our aftermath. The story we’re
leaving for new generations. Daughter,

learn the sword, battle plans, the dialect
of war, for then you’ll protect the queer,

daft and fabulous. A godling savior
no man has ever been: divine, perfect.

dead thing

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

cum-sticky shrouds, dead thing, erotic horror, poem, Poetry, sonnet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The boy, at least as I drew him, was blind,
translucent, in gray oil against a pout;

more like a slash than frown, the bitter kind.
The girl, in my sketch, faded in and out,

pulled hair, and kicked my ass for suggesting
the things my pencil drew. What can I say?

Under full moon I’ve watched the dead kissing
and things that were only shadows, dim, gray,

made the beast with two backs, took shape down here.
Am I to blame for showing you what I

saw? Yes, perhaps. Of course. Tonight, the clouds
will hang just so. Dead thing; I’ll kiss that smear

from your lips. Second coming, indeed. Die
once more. I’ll leave you in cum-sticky shrouds.

sex without fear

18 Tuesday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

erotic obscura, poem, Poetry, sex without fear, sonnet

 

Mother and son listened to the muffled
voices from the room next door. The babel

of vice in a love hotel. The ribald
grunt of bed-springs breaking. The carnal

sob that comes from a job well done. He played
with her hard nipple, toyed with her swollen

lips. She held his head until he obeyed,
her long curved fingers making a fountain

for him to drown in. Her mouth at his ear,
sliding down his naked skin, cupping him,

her mouth taking in his engorged boy-cock
down to its root. What is sex without fear?

Later, they sighed, sticky with their jism
and bliss. This is what we call “pillow talk.”

queimando, ardendo, incendiando

17 Monday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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Tags

ardendo, art, incendiando, poem, Portuguese translation, queimando, spliff

tumblr_m7mewlvhvg1rspimto1_250

Pretty and pink, I want to sleep.
Waiting for a touch, I forget you until daybreak.
I am the full moon, if I smoke a joint and excite my libido.
Burning, burning, burning, and then … ashes.

][][

Linda e rosada, quero dormir.
À espera de um toque, quero esquecer até o dia clarear.
Eu sou o lua cheia, se eu fumar um charro, e libido a excitam.
Queimando, ardendo, incendiando, e … cinza.

minha língua

16 Sunday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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Tags

art, cunnilingus, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation

March 16, 2014 (2)

Drinking angels.
Saliva. My tongue.
My language. My words.

Lick my wings with your verb.
Until you feel the orgasm flower within my shoulders.

Slowly lick my clit, said the angel.
The pulse of your tongue touches it.
You devil, the angel said.
You leave me nearly dead horny.

][][

Bebem os anjos.
A saliva. Minha língua.
Minha lingua. Meus palavras.

Lambe-me as asas com a teu verbo.
Até que você sente a flor orgasmo dentro da meus ombros.

Devagar lambesse o meu clitóris, disse o anjo.
O dos teus pulsos isso língua toca.
Você diabo, disse o anjo.
Você me deixa de tesão quase morto.

do gosto da vida libidinosa

14 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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Tags

do gosto da vida libidinosa, erotic, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation, taste of libidinous life

 

My skin and the wind
sings your verses
to the moon. Your body
on mine. Your willingness
to taste. Desire
to do crazy things before,
during and after. Your
tongue to know me.
My mouth to suck you.
Under the influence
of the moon
Under the taste of
libidinous life.

][][

Minha pele e o vento
canta teus versos
para a Lua. Teu corpo
no meu. Teu vontade
de sentir o gosto. Desejo
de fazer loucuras antes,
durante e depois. Da tua
língua a me conhecer.
Minha boca a te sugar.
Sob a influência
da Lua.
Sob a do gosto da
vida libidinosa.

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