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 —


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. ***

Blood Domicile

Weird Poetry

I withdrew my raw gushing heart from the locked drawer in my chest,

Placed it in your calloused hands,

And watched your eyes as you received it;

They reflected the moonful sky,

And the beating sun in mine

As a curl of my own blood (I could tell by the colour and the perfume) twisted around your chin

From the corners of your lips,

Zigzagging down your throbbing throat,

And under the collar of your worn t-shirt —

Some of the blood absorbing into the cotton over your chest,

Turning eggshell white

To wet shadow-bathed ruby —

The shade of my heart and its skin.

That’s when I knew it had found its home,

Because the rubies in my veins (your veins) had somewhere to go,

And grow,

And they knew they wanted to get there,

Rather than just pooling beneath your Adam’s apple.




*** Gee whiz, Sweet Lips! Here we go with the blood again…. ***

*** Blood is my favourite metaphor and beverage. You might be sick of it, but I’m a vampire at heart. ***

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

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. ***

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


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


with sounds that just can’t be spelled




***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)





Erotic Poetry

I want to bleed into your veins

And be the writhing in your body

As you arch your back

And leave your bones.

I want to breathe into your lungs

And become the air that escapes

When you call out

For me

From the deep of the dream void.

I want to be the moan upon your eros-kissed lips

As you reach out through the gloom

To find me there

Standing behind the veil

That only seems like separation.

I want to be the abandon in your fevered eyes,

And the tongue-lash across your sweet throbbing throat,

As you run your fingers through my hair

And through the phrases caught in my webbed thoughts.

I want to be the claw and nail

That sinks into your skin

As you roll your eyes

Towards our burning heaven.




Milk Oolong Tea

Erotic Poetry

Smooth (hands running up your body, rolling over your heaving ribs, the skin of your neck right below your left ear)

Floral (the scent of your love on my upper lip, on my fingers, on my everything, hanging on the air like a canopy of bruised roses)

Steaming (it’s 2:11 a.m. and no one else is awake except for us and only I get to hear you moan)

Creamy (the secrets between your thighs spilling over, pouring out, drenching me in the privateness of you)

Milk (sip)

Oolong (sip)

Tea (swallow)




Erotic Tale #5: The Museum Visit

Erotic Short Stories & Vignettes, Uncategorized

She liked to visit the Fine Art museum on her days off. Wandering from room to room, taking in all of the delectable visual stimuli, whether a painting by one of the European masters or a Post-Modern abstract installation, she would smile to herself, and caress the sides of her thighs as she gazed at whichever work of human creativity she found before her.

She adored art. She lived for it. She wanted to see it, touch it, smell it, feel it, be inundated by it. Art made her swell, expand, breathe deeper. It excited her in ways she couldn’t put into words.

She knew what it felt like to make it, and was aroused by the thought of other artists feeling the same way as they created. She could feel herself trickling like a little forest brook… and was relieved to be wearing underwear today as it was absorbing the aromatic evidence of her sensorially-drenched arousal.

As she ambled about the various rooms of her preferred museum, she obliviously caught the attention of a man sitting in a far corner of the room, sketchbook open on his lap and a pencil in his hand. His dark eyes followed her as she criss-crossed the room, moving randomly from one painting to another, going towards whichever painting seemed to call to her.

As she stood in front of the painting he was sketching, he noticed her press her legs together and gently bunch up her skirt with her hand, pulling it taut against her right ass cheek. He wiped his brow as he watched her thumb stroking the bare skin of her thigh. He picked up his pencil, flipped to a fresh page, and began to sketch her curves as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his stubbled face.

She heard the sound of his pencil etching, and turned towards him, regarding his furrowed brow and his clandestine work. When he looked up to take her in again, their eyes met, his dark as pitch and hers clear as quartz. He tried to cover his sketch with his hand, but her bright eyes were faster.

He could not read the expression on her face. Was it curiosity? Irritation? Expectation? Were her pupils dilated? He was perplexed because he was so used to seeing people as open books. She was a frustration to him, but one that he found more amusing than annoying.

He noticed her skirt had buttons going up from the hemline to the waist line. The bottom two were already unbuttoned. He found it a rather practical but very sexy design feature; he imagined possibilities with that skirt.

Though he was still trying to decode her, she could read him without any doubt: he was rapt. She had often fantasized of someone wearing that exact look while beholding her, and had never seen it until that moment.

It made her clench her secret parts, and push out an audibly laboured breath. He smiled at her blushing cheeks as he flipped to another fresh page, taking care to hide his substantial erection with his sketchbook.

She noticed it, but didn’t give it away. She tossed a glance over her shoulder to see where the security guard was; he was zoning out by the entrance on the other side of the room. There were no other patrons aside from the two of them, so she slowly started to unbutton her skirt from the bottom up. The last button was positioned right below her belly button. She left that untouched lest her whole skirt fall to the floor.

He glimpsed her floral print thong as she parted her skirt, and her legs. Another bead of sweat slid down the side of his face as she pulled her panties away from the overflowing wellspring at the appex of her ample thighs. His hand started to dance the pencil across the page, sketching out the shaded areas and rolling contours of her glistening sex. He couldn’t pull his eyes from her fluttering shell-pink petals as he translated her hidden beauty to the pages of his sketchbook. He could smell her swollen sea as it ebbed and flowed like waves of oceanic desire as she swirled her finger around and around that protruding node of ecstacy peeking out from under its hood.

His turgid rod pressed into his jeans, filling him with a desperate ache and an undeniable need to enter her, infiltrate her very essence, as she slipped her index finger between her honeyed pussy lips. Then she brought her finger to her mouth and licked it clean. His body spasmed and held in a groan as he issued the final strokes of graphite to the sketch. It was finished now. So was he. So were his cum-stained pants.

And now, so was she. She buttoned down her skirt, gifting him with a crooked mischievous grin, not once breaking eye contact. He dropped his pencil in his waking reverie, and leaned over to retrieve it. As he rose up, pencil in hand, he watched her swaying hips as she walked away, and he was frozen stiff with unyielding lust. He was too much of a mess to pursue her… but they both knew this would not be the last encounter.


Erotic Tale #3: Virtual Masturbation Party

Erotic Short Stories & Vignettes, Uncategorized

She was writhing and moaning as she held her clit sucker up against her pulsating pearl. She knew they were watching her from her open Skype app. It made her nervous, but also exceedingly aroused. She tried not to dwell on what she looked like in that moment or the animalistic grunts emitting from her salivating mouth. She was trying to focus on the bliss she was experiencing from her toy and from the building anticipation of her inevitably volcanic climax.

She glanced over at the screen and could see them each jacking or jilling their respective genitalia. She could hear their exclamations of arousal, and it fueled her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

She heard them cheering her on, “Yes, TJ. Cum for us.” “Get that cum, Empress!” She could also hear the wet frenzied sounds of his hand moving up and down his considerable length, and the buzz of the other female’s vibrator. They were getting close as well, and she wasn’t sure if she could hold back any longer.

She felt herself approaching the crest of her gargantuan pleasure as she panted closer and closer to completion.

“Oh gawwwd! Oh fuuuuck!” She growled. “Yes! Go for it. You’re so fucking hot!” She heard him say in between her own moans. The other girl was very much in her own zone as she was practically speaking in tongues.

Then before she knew it, her orgasm ripped through her like a tornado, sending her into a violent state of barely controlled screams of terrifying pleasure. Nectar blasted out her like a geyser. She released her clit sucker, now dripping with her ample juices, and she began to cry softly. She was not even aware that her audience/masturbation mates were also releasing their own theatrical orgasms. She caressed her heaving breasts as she turned to her virtual fuck friends.

“Oh, you guys always encourage me to be my best self,” she rasped as she caught her breath and pushed her tears away. They all giggled and issued their hasty goodbyes as they embarked on the rest of their days, each one hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away from the other. Separated by vast distances, but joined by deep mutual attraction… and cum.


*I have no clue if you can actually have a Skype video conference with multiple people. Maybe I should find out… but what a delicious fantasy. This sounds like a great way to start the day! Anyone ever do this?