Forgotten Tongue

erotic poetry

I knew you would forget your tongue beneath the lace of my panties,

Tangled in those iridescent angel wings made damp by your fluttering whispers and dripping words,

As your wave lapped at my saline shore

On a morning when tears out-salt the sea.

The beach was strewn with drift wood and pockets beneath the sand of captured sunlight

And secrets scrawled on ancient parchment

As you ached your way into that drenched bloody muscle of mine

In silence, in sighs, in salacious symphony

And cut through my flesh and my pounding soul with piercing inky fingers and hungry teeth.

~~~

👽❤

~~~

*** This is the final poem in my ‘Drafts’ folder. If I publish any more today, then they were one-offed lol But sometimes those are the best poems. Can’t wait to see what 2021 holds in store, and I am not being sarcastic. Sarcasm is for people not smart enough to be funny, and I am hilarious! But yes… cheers to art and words and creativity and love and new beginnings. Down with the ‘rona and racism and anger and all that stupid shit that ruins everything. Let’s just not be assholes for a little bit… that goes for everyone.. especially those consarned virtue-signalling types… there are so many of those wet blankets around… ugh. Wow… that was a lot…. You’re welcome or sorry… take whichever fits best. 🤣🤣🤣👍 ***

Gifted

erotic poetry

Sometimes I wonder

What it would be like

To be gifted to you

Wearing a big red bow

And your tender bite marks.

I wonder

What it would be like

To lie beneath your fever kisses

And feel the tracks of broken skin (that you gifted right back to me) down my back

From your nails

And your insatiable pangs of thirsty.

I want the heaving of your chest against my own,

And the lick of your sweet honey suckle mouth on my chewed up lips.

I know you equally want

(Don’t deny it… you want it bad…)

My aching love-punched heart

Pulsating through my crazing skin —

And yours —

As you crush your teeth into my ripe flesh

And make all of my parts yours to swallow.

I wonder (I wonder so so much)

What it would be like

To exhale your moans through my own red parted lips

As my hands travel beneath the elastic band at my waist —

Then

I exhale

And the breath and sensual sounds that exit me

Are not only my own…

Not anymore.

~~~

❤👽

~~~

*** Well, hopefully whoever it is whose breath you are exhaling doesn’t have halitosis, Angel Eyes…. ***

*** Yeah… I totally didn’t think of that…. Ew. ***

Cloud Book

erotic poetry, Weird Poetry

We penned and painted entire h’oevres

In the full deep dome-unencumbered sky

With our mingled precipitation

And fingers wrapped in strands of diluted ochre and white titanium cloud.

We did this in split seconds and exhaled eternities,

Then we scrawled red sunsets

Into the virgin sheets blanketing the peaks and valleys below us —

And onto that one lonely little (enormous) mountain top —

As our restless legs and curling/uncurling toes

Twisted verse and vision into each other’s flesh.

~~~

❤👽

~~~

Photo cred: Goooooooooooooooooogle

At Least 31 Flavours

erotic poetry, Weird Poetry

Drag your tongue across my exhalations

And taste the way you agitate me —

I have a different flavour for every time I’ve writhed —

At least 31 of them…

And counting.

I’m basically an ice cream parlour

But with more nuanced flavour profiles

And toppings that always spill and drip and tumble onto the floor.

Sometimes you have to accept a sunk cost just to watch things fall and splatter on the linoleum. It’s worth it just for the upsplashing fudge alone.

~~~

❤👽

~~~

*** You’re literally writing a poem along to Rick Astley’s [eternal ] “Never Gonna Give You Up”. Have you no shame, woman?!?! ***

***

Or

***

*** Poem-writing companion song completely unintentional… but somehow… just right. ***

~•~•~•~

Photo cred: Google-ramalamadingdong

Lip Tattoo

erotic poetry

I had your name

Tattooed on the slippery skin

Inside my lower lip

So it would never fade

(Because if I can taste you by name, I will remember you…)

Or be seen by a single soul…

Including my own

(Should I choose to forget you… and the arrangement of letters that construct that shortening word that everyone else calls you).

Then I had your secrets and silent dirges

Tattooed in scarred-white in columns

(And pearlescent crescent moon teeth marks)

On the silken skin of my inner thighs

So no other soul could read them —

Or know them —

Save for me

And my creeping fingers,

And you,

And your bitten ruby tongue.

~~~

❤👽

~~~

*** You know what they say about tattoos, Toots? Getting names tattooed on your face, even the inside of your face, is a really bad idea…. ***

*** I have so many names and words tattooed under my skin that I have more ink than blood running in my veins. ***

I can still taste you

erotic poetry

I can still taste

The brine of your lust on the insides of my cheeks,

And between my flesh-biting teeth.

I can still feel your dampness on my mane of fire-flecked ebony,

And your spurts of moonsheen between my scratched thighs,

And across my neck,

Like a choker of muted starlight.

I can still smell my petaled love on your honeysweet breath,

And on your wet yielding mouth.

I can still hear your laboured rhythmic whispers beating on my eardrums

As I writhe

And pant

Through every step of my day.

~~~

❤👽

~~~

*** Woke up horny again, Sugar Tits? ***

*** I haven’t even woken up yet…. I’m still making love to my dreams. ***

Voyeur

erotic poetry

I’m gonna be magic,

And you —

You’re just gonna fucking watch.

~~~

❤👽

~~~

*** Whoa Nelly! Are we on our high-horse this chilled morn? ***

*** Should I be on a low-horse? Also… sometimes I don’t want hands and words. Just eyes and a gaping mouth with no-words escaping on the drool. ***

*** Sometimes modesty feels inauthentic. ***

Rewriting Poems #5: Sweetness/Bittersweetness

erotic poetry

Original “Sweetness(02/26/2019):

I feel sweet this morning,

Like damp candy floss.

Making my fingers sticky,

And my teeth hum.

~•~•~•~
Rewrite: “Bittersweetness”

The bittersweet feels me this morning,

As little trails of damp curl from the dark apex of my sticky thighs.

Grapefruit nectar freshly squeezed

From between salted lips,

Sweet, juicy and astrigent,

Choking bitter like fingers curled around my throat

But laced with kisses and licking,

Like me on a complicated day.

Sinking your bite into my gauzy fleshy rind

Will make your teeth hum

And fingers claw from the bittersweet

Curling in tongued pathways across my lovedampened thighs.

~~~

❤👽

~~~

*** What if I’m on blood pressure medication? Isn’t grapefruit a contraindication? You could be dangerous for some people’s health, Tootsie Pop! ***

*** I’m counting on it…. ***

*** I don’t know why I identify with grapefruit nectar; it’s kinda my thing. Maybe because I’m not that sweet even though I look like I am. I have bitters and throat chokes to me. ***

My Tree Lover

erotic poetry, Weird Poetry

My tree lover speaks to me through the sensual susurrus of his branches,

Rustling my dark curly-locked head.

I press my lips into his bark to let his sweet sappy mossy scent enter me

As he closes my eyes.

He gives them to me,

His spent sun-filled leaves,

Letting them fall and gather at my feet

So I can collect them

And keep them under my nightgown

Against my dewdrop skin

Until the full moon’s reflected light fills the sky

And the hollow places in my heart.

They remain there,

His leaves,

Until we can spend our dreams together,

And they disintegrate back into my flesh.

He embraces me with an amber passion

That hangs from my limbs in liquid suspension,

As he caresses me with the deep ridges and roughness of his bark

Which he imprints upon my yielding frame like a lingering kiss —

My softness succumbing to his hardness,

My velvet parts wearing his marks like lace.

When I am far from him,

Floundering in steeled cemented labyrinths,

The breeze carries his fallen leaves back to me.

They land in my nest of hair,

In my mooning wanting thoughts of him.

The wind carries parts of him

Back to me

On the waxy surface of redpinkorange leaves

Pocked with holes, spots, cracks and crazing.

He is no less perfect when he is falling

Than when he is splendouring

In endful summer.

~~~

❤👽

~~~

*** Well then… making out with trees…. That takes the cake, Sweet Cheeks. And… admit it… you found ‘susurrus’ in the Thesaurus. ***

*** If you peeled a layer of my skin from my bones, you would see that I have bark instead of muscle fibre. ***

*** Yes. I discovered it when thesaurusing ‘rustle’… and managed to fit both of them in. ***

*** … Show-off… ***

Self-Reverence

erotic poetry

When I’m alone (like youandmeandjustme alone and not really alone alone)

My hands want my hips (fingers curling, nails trying not to break silver moonly skin)

My hands want (with desperation that pleads through my pores, that pleads from deep muscular machinations that fly my hand to my tenderness)

Their soft round (like the curve of your heart, like the curve of your cheek resting on the crest of my skull)

Their gentle flare (like I am spilling beyond my lines for you, and my body has to show you somehow)

Their slow figure 8s (the torturous tortion of ocean-swelled desire as the glow in the night sky bounces off of the sea salt crytals embedded in my you-licked skin)

That weave infinity into my waves and undulations (my waves and your moonpulling splendour rolling about the stars in my eyes)

But we both know that my reverence (and the way I whisper my fingers across my gleaming boneframe)

Is really (profoundly and without doubt)

Yours (Ours)

~~~

👽❤

~~~

*** So basically you masturbated like you were two people… and wrote about it…. ***

*** Sure… if you say so…. **

Rewriting Poems #4: Ghostly Red/Red Ghost Touch

erotic poetry, Weird Poetry

I wrote this poem about a little less than 2 years ago. Totally forgot about it, but I remember what inspired it.

I’ll never tell….

Anyhoo, just reimagining it in different words and word arrangements.

~•~•~•~

Original “Ghostly Red” – (01/26/2019):

Spectral sensuality.

Red hot touch.

Scintillation on the cold hard floor.

Unseen hands and slippery fingers find their way inside,

Pulling me through the floor into a velvety void of moans and gasps.

Join me in the aether for an eternal moment.

~•~•~•~

Rewrite: “Red Ghost Touch”

A scarlet spectre stands silent in the corner

As I sizzle like ants on the mid-July pavement

Under the seething glare of a magnifying glass,

All contortion and arching back,

And shuddering from your invisible red ghost touch

That I can sense in my own grovelling and grasping hands.

I can feel you watching,

Willing my own fingers into slippery parts of me

That drip love and aether.

I didn’t even feel the floor fall out from under me

When you thrusted your eternal moment into mine.

~~~

❤👽

~~~

*** Do you see dead people, Sweet Cheeks? Sounds like you see dead people…. Just sayin’…. ***

*** I don’t know what I see or feel sometimes, but whatever it is, it sure as fuck isn’t dead. ***

I can still taste you on my teeth

erotic poetry

I can still taste the crescent moons on your shoulders,

In my honey mouth,

And my teeth are humming from all of

My sticky sweet

And

Your salty sin —

Sin that was tongue and bite and your whispers crashing into my silken limbs.

I can still taste the look on your face as your eyes pushed your colour into mine,

And we created a pigment only we can see

And name;

It is the colour of writhing in the gloam

And paying no notice to the clouds.

It is the colour of entanglement in the tall sweeping grasses

To the sensuous sounds of the succulent sea

Between my shivering thighs,

And it sounds like utter breathloss.

I can still taste my finger nails digging into your flesh,

And I can’t remember my name, or how we even got here, and… when did the day even break? And I think I feel it mounting, and I think I feel it coming, and oh god why can’t I imagine you outside of me anymore?

I can still taste my cry and your joy on our laced fingers,

And I am intimately aware of the flavour of the beating sun

In your chest.

~~~

❤👽

~~~

*** …[awkward throat clearing noise]…. ***

*** TJ – 1 ; Peanut Gallery – 0 ***

Onomatopoeia… or… “UNF”

erotic poetry

i love it when our words fuck each other

when our words break down into glottal stops, gutteral howls, and sharp inhaled breaths

for days and days and days and days, with no end in sight

just one juice-soaked word after another out of you and thrusted into me

pushing my limits and extracting my filthiest fucking phrases

like shimmering strings of salacious secrets that you can wrap at first delicately… then forcefully… around my throat

yeah… you already knew i liked that

i’m sure you could tell from the bruising i wear like necklaces

and the way my eyes follow anyone with strong masculine hands

your slippery tongue and dirty lip-licking mouth lubricate my own

as you rasp your need into my ear, into the bowl of lust overflowing from my insides

jesus fuuuhhh… you always know how to take my words and feed them back to me,

my own utterings dripping out onto my tongue in phonemic moans and end-punctuated groans

if you keep wording me like this

i might drown you in wholly capitalized sentences and an obnoxious array of exclamation points

right before the denouement of our climax

and with our smut-soaked sentence-making we will redefine

onomatopoeia

with sounds that just can’t be spelled

~~~

❤👽xoxox👽❤

~~~

***Feeling animal today….***

Eternity Dances (Whispers)

erotic poetry

Eternity dances (the undulations and ululations of our bodies and vocal resonance in the aether, helixed in dampening bedsheets at moonset)

Across the tip of my tongue (your hips like ocean waves above me and I am drowning in you)

Atop the domes of my sky-misted eyes (you are all I can see save for the gods clawing for me with your hands)

Like my wanton lips (my lips swollen red with your lust)

Across the peachy down of your belly (I could lie my head here forever and believe your scent is the only one I know and ever will)

Like your intoxicating honey (the words stop here and sense melts between your burning thighs, in my fire hands, in my open receiving mouth)

Sliding down my throat (I want you)

Like your moans (symphonic orgasms fill my mouth, fill your mouth, and drip down our chins)

Into my lust-laced ears (sounds of us tangled in our hair, biting tender earlobes and drawing your blood from my pulse)

Like my fingers (ours)

Slipping deep into you (and you and you and me and holy reverent angel you)

My eternal obsession (I will never be the same after you and neither will you)

~~~

❤👽xoxoxo👽❤

~~~

Bone Book

erotic poetry

I am a book written in my bones.

If you crack them open, you can taste the story of my double-helixed soul.

But only when you extract my marrow with your tongue,

Slurping it all onto your palette,

Rolling it over in your mouth,

Letting to slide down your throat,

Rather than merely waiting

For it to drip out

And splatter into a bowl.

You have to

Come

Deep inside

To get at the most nectarous parts,

The parts that ooze ambrosial mystery.

Push yourself into me,

And consume the stories branded inside my bones.

~~~

❤👽xoxoxo👽❤

~~~

Succumbing on a Loveseat

erotic poetry

I was lounging on the wicker loveseat on my balcony

Last evening

Watching the sky bluepurplepinken

After the sun had dropped his head to slumber beneath the horizon.

An airplane passed overhead,

The roar of the engine momentarily cancelling out the raucous rush of vehicles on the highway below.

I ran my bare foot along the contour of a waxy canna lily leaf,

Closing my eyes to savour the cool sensation upon my skin and across the tips of my red-painted toes.

It made me summon you,

Especially your lips, your tongue, your teeth

Along the edges of my foot

And the edges of where my self-control succumbs to the complete retirement of self

Then I imagined your hand

Surging up the length of my thigh,

And I turned my head to bite the pillow.

~~~

❤👽xoxoxo👽❤

~~~

***Mmm… lushness is running up my fevered limbs days and days after this reverie….***

Ground Cherry

erotic poetry

I am eating ground cherries

In the corner of the break room

Trying to pretend I am alone…

But I never am

When I have thoughts of you crawling like fingers across my ribs.

I choose one of the delicate fruits and pull away the golden papery skin

To reveal an almost transparent yellow berry.

I roll the waxy little sphere between my fingers to release the surprising aroma of caramel

And a dewey desire I hide in my blood stream

And in other dark places.

When I pop the little fruit between my lips to roll it about my tongue,

Thinking of other tight round things to roll my tongue around,

It tastes just the way I imagine your breathe against my mouth

Tastes.

~~~

❤👽xoxoxo👽❤

~~~