Earth Lover

Erotic Poetry, Weird Poetry

I can see the inaudible breathing of the Earth,

The ground rippling with slow rapid movement,

Birthing forth blades of grass

And fractaled purple blooms,

As I wrap my arms about your heaving mossy expanse.

With ear pressed to the vibrating ground,

And lips embracing the silty loam

Ensconcing my face,

I watch the persnickety red squirrels frolic

And fight for territory

As sunlight,

Like warm breath,

Whispers at my temple,

Licks me from shoulder to shoulder,

And tickles me

From spine to painted toe.

I feel my mind melding

With your organic sentience

And know that though I can’t hear

The chirps and howls of your sacred voice

Or look into your omniscient cloudscaped eyes,

That watch from beyond and within

The domed-firmament,

I feel you all around me

As I sink into your soil

And become the biomass

That ushers forth

All the new and reborn life

That you hold in store.


Mounds of Venus

Erotic Poetry

Take your lust-laced musings for a walk

Amid my swelling mounds of Venus,

And feel the mighty surge of the Aphroditic tides

Squalling forth from the twilight

Trapped between my quaking shuddering limbs.

Let my Aeolian murmurs dance upon the top of your head

And your shoulders

As your moans get tangled in fractaled folds

Of my glistening moon-steeped love




Erotic Poetry

I feel your whispers between my legs,

Against the gauzy material hiding my pulsating jewel,

Against the outer curves of my quivering thighs,

All along the flaring lines of my gyrating hips.

I feel your whispers there,

And your saliva

Pooling at the dip of my waist

And the mouth of my pussy.

Pull the lace away from my dripping cavern,

And lick me until you’ve made me

Fall apart

Before your adoring eyes

And gaping mouth.



Erotic Poetry

As I lie patiently in wait,

For happenings unknown

But sensed in every cell of my body,

Secret hidden parts contract and expand,

Like a star finally given over to its inevitable death.

The air is thick with violent evolution

And feels like a soaked wool blanket

Covering my still body,

Which writhes and pulsates beneath my confining spacesuit of skin.

I cannot bring myself to move,

For unseen parts are shifting and evolving,

Exploding like blinding supernovas

Within my every molecule.

The heat and force of the remnant pulsar

Beats like a drum

Between my quaking legs,

And I am powerless to stop the double beams of electomagnetic radiation

Blasting out from my core

And into empty space through my root and crown.



Burnt Pages

Erotic Poetry, Weird Poetry

She kneels before me,

Silent as smoldering coal,

Burning pages off of my body,

And tearing away line after line of me,

Like I am nothing–

And have only been nothing–

But recycled paper.

My edges curl and ash

As barbed fire tongues lick at and devour my insides

On the outside of me.

The flames melting away

Layer after layer of carnival masquerade

And clown paint

And harlequin drollery

And the vast towers jutting from my skin cells

Built by the great architects of falsity

And fear.

All of it slides down my slippery shadow silhouette

And pools at our knees

Which are almost touching.

That dark blankness where once I lived

Is all that is left of me

After her burning

And her pulling apart of my epidermal fortress,

And the sloughing off,

The crumbling,

The spiriting away

Of decades

And entire lifetimes.




Erotic Poetry

I don’t like to show the whole;

So I show the fragments instead.

I control the angle,

The body part(s) on display,

The composition,

The filter… if I use one at all–

And I might,

If my insecurity is showing.

I have days,

Too many to count,

When I hate myself wholeheartedly…

Every hair…

Every blemish…

Every roll…

Every stretchmark…

Every fucking centimetre…

And I feel that it would be better

If I actually were only the fragments I choose to show,

Rather than the disappointing whole.

It’s just as well–

I can never quite capture the all of me anyway

She is elusive and blurry,

And doesn’t stand still

Long enough to be caught.

Self-love is a constant struggle of Sisyphus… pushing that motherfucking dung ball up a hill, then, after my hands and feet lose purchase, watching it roll the fuck back down… again….

Will I ever feel good enough for me?


I will.

And it will continue to be a battle.

If it weren’t, there would be

No lessons

And no growth.

So I bear the shards of the pain and pleasure of self-actualization

In equal measure.

With grinding teeth

And gasping breaths

And tears that brand my cheeks

In bloody streaks,

I bear the fragments

And the whole of me.


Naughty or Nice

Erotic Short Stories & Vignettes

She crawled up the length of the bed, tore her glasses off, and stared deep into his smoldering dark eyes where she could see her own reflection:



Saliva-kissed blood red lips;

Star-bright icicle eyes;

“Have I been naughty or nice this year?” She asked with a feigned coyness only she could pull off.

“What do you think?” He replied, his words infused with a grin and an eye roll.

“Right…” she replied as she reached under the bed, pulling out a little many-tailed whip. “Better get crackin’ then… if you want to reformat me for next year…”.

His grin fell from his lips as he took the whip in his weathered hands,

“Assume the position,” was all he said as he hulked over her curvy little body, a body all sin and sweetness and everything in between.





I love making chocolate confections at Christmastime.

I put a lot of love into each batch,

And I wholeheartedly enjoy the candy-making process…

Maybe a little too much,

As my photos may suggest.

Singing Christmas carols (and fucking up the lyrics) while melting the dark chocolate in a bain marie.

Crushing candy canes with a hammer… which helps with holiday anxiety.

Chopping up Swiss milk chocolate to sprinkle on the melted dark chocolate spread cross parchment paper, along with the candy cane pieces and toasted pecans.

Then melting white chocolate to flick and splotch onto all of that layered sticky sweet deliciousness.

I always make sure to taste test the final product…

Which never ceases to make me

Groan with the kind of pleasure

Only a handmade chocolatey confection can.

***Taste-testing occurred only after the final product was made. No nipple or saliva was included in the featured chocolate bark.***

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and Happy New Year! 🍾🥂


Write Me

Erotic Poetry

Plunge your voice into me,

Penetrate me with your verbs,

And all of the tainted musings sullying your thoughts.

Stab my heart with salacious soliloquies,

Spank me with stinging sentences,

And make me bend beneath the power of your wanton words.

Brand me with your poetry,

As I drip

And flood

And spray,

Leaving behind a damp trail

Of voraciously lustful verses

Written by you

But published within me.



Blood Lust

Erotic Poetry

I feel a ravenous growl rising in my throat–

But it was born somewhere else,

In my belly made of fire.

I glare at you as you sit there,


That I am stalking,

Laying low,

And planning my attack,

While burning saliva drips from my blood-pinkened fangs.

I am not the girl you know,

Or the woman,


I am savage hunger incarnate

And blistering fury bubbling beneath

Rosey dew-kissed skin

That glows like cool moonlight.

You have no clue of the danger

Taking shape before you,

Thirsting for gore and gristle,

And soft throat tissue.

Gird your loins–

I am coming in for the kill.


Under the Pressure

Erotic Poetry

Coiled lightning bolts;

Crushed thunder claps;

Inverse volcanic ejaculation;

Crossed hurricane eyes;

All beneath my quivering percussive drum-tight skin.

With collapsed lungs and stolen breath,

Choking on lament and eternal shade,

I am writhing and grabbing

And clawing and squeezing

The errant parts and pieces

That refuse to stay coiled and crushed and compressed.

Things are collapsing and expanding,

And the skin stretched over my heart is crazing and cracking

Under the pressure.



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.