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. ***

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. ***

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…. **

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 ***