sex poetry

Flesh

2008-08-21T06:35:48+00:00

The flesh hung from supple
Cords, taut and handy,
Brown and luxurious.
Molded of wet clay,
Glistening and heavy, pressed
By gravity onto textured chairs.
I felt the compulsory
Touch of thickly rolled
Thighs against me.
The glint of the onyx eyes
From under lashes and hair
Signaled something like the
Bittersweet tin of semen.

Hair bobbed and framing her
Eyes like the flaps of a tee-pee.

Her lips are soft, full, and round and
Press softly into crevices and trace
Hills and valleys leaving waxy trails of
Lipstick and the texture of her lips
Like fingerprints Identifying the
Writer of the letters

I noticed the silver tin wrapper of
The Lifestyles condom you hid in
Your transparent Armani handbag.

I sat there supposing
That the foil would
Open for my use-- its
Silken present my
restraint.

The Fling

2008-08-21T06:34:05+00:00

A centrifugal head-spin,
A cowering dyspepsia of spiny
Thoughts and dissections
Pitches me forward.
She parts me easily
And plunges in with barbed wire
And bottle cap love.

A hateful lovemaking:
Golden fog perfume and full lips,
Shimmering gold skin appeals,
Then cuts -- bleeds
Long and red down my back.

Flesh grows hard and white around
The blackened blade in my back,
The jagged handle protrudes. Still,
I am unable to remove it.

Agony. Ripping pain,
An arched back,
A howling scowl,

Then black:

garters, stockings,

raven hair,

black-out.

A ravenous appetite for nothing.
This coma is warm,
A fine billowy nothingness.
A sudden blow-out in this
Zero-gravity pressure.

Cunnilingus

2008-08-20T06:57:02+00:00

I complain of your smell, like phlegm,
and the humid cough from between lips,
but I reek like corpse, socks, and it
all collects between my rubbing thighs.
Oh yes -- I am a man -- I am allowed
to exude like the backfire of a Packard
or the great green billows of some stout
Cuban stogie rolled tight by hand.