Pluck Me


Pluck my strings

And transform me into your instrument of longing.

Play me like your fiddle,

And make me reel and tremble as you conjure music with my moans.

Compose me like a salacious symphony,

Edge me towards a frenzied crescendo

Of cacophonous exclamation,

And pluck me until I deconstruct

Into single notes of pure tone and spent ecstacy.



Stay With Me

Weird Poetry

Let’s not rush

Towards cold wet pavement

And packed buses

And loud ceiling lights

And the vexing modernity

Pushing against the door

And pounding on the windows.

Crawl back under the sheets

And get lost once more,

In my flesh and yours,

Which is one and the same.

Stay with me a little while longer.

Then we can worry about being brave

And conquering a world

We have no desire to actually conquer.


Honey Pot

Erotic Poetry

Dip your fingers in my honey pot,

And you will see how sun-ensouled nectar drips from your digits like a viscous melody.

You will see my undulations beckon you to a second helping

Of unhinged longing and glee,

Long held captive by gates of goose-pimpled flesh and opaque black fibre.



Erotic Poetry

I scribbled this masturbatory poem almost 2 years ago and nearly forgot about it. I doctored it a bit as time away from one’s own written word demands revision. I am sure I could have been figurative in my approach… but I am not feeling particularly subtle or figurative today.

Without further ado….

The bed below my ass gives every time I roll my hips down into it.

My glistening nodule, buried beneath fluttering folds of juicy wet flesh, tingles with every thrust upward.

My fingers quiver with want as they claw my inner thighs, leaving wanton red scrapes, almost breaking the skin.

My index and middle fingers form an inverted ‘V’ over my vulva, pinching and releasing my outer lips until my clitoris swells and hardens.

Fingers circling that sweet pearl of ecstacy like bees around the honey pot.

It will only take minutes at this point until I wholly unravel, burst into flames and leave this confining dimension for a few fleeting moments of breathless eternity.



Erotic Poetry

Fill me with sprouting seed

Until emerald tendrils creep out of my fractaled folds,

And wrap around my writhing limbs.

A wellspring of verdant splendour sprays in abundant profusion from my insides:

Ivy leaves, lotus buds and lily pads,

Along with the brackish mire of the shadows,

Pour out as if I were a mountain

Holding untold secrets

Of darkness and light.




I have never really been big into lingerie. But in recent years, I have been developing a keen interest. I do not collect lingerie by any means, but have a few select items that I enjoy both with my partner and on my own.

In actuality, I am much more of a black thong and fishnet stockings kinda gal. I definitely want a garter belt though. That’s just what’s missing from my life.




Most words escape me today.

I am pure desire.

I am a gushing cavern of secrets and darkness kissed by Light.

I want to feel my insides on the outside,

And split myself in two for the divine purpose of sacred communion.

What is rend apart is rejoined into One.

I am You and You are Me,

And we are lost in the magnetic moon-pulled waves of Us.



Erotic Poetry

You erect soaring temples inside me,

And deconstruct them in a single ravenous squall.

Thunderheads thrash

And lightning issues violent lashes within my folds as you plunge into my unfathomable depths.

Hips rolling into yours like a famished ocean wave clawing up the beach

Before being dragged back into itself.

I am all warm around you,

Can’t you feel me?

Ebbing and flowing up your cock like your belly is the moon,

And my cunt is the sea.