Before we go out, I put on
red lipstick, not the dollar
store brand that comes off
easily, but my Chanel Rouge
lipstick in intense red.
So that as my lips trail
down your skin, it will
stain the kind of red you’re
craving. I’ll paint you with
50 shades of passion, make
you mine in every direction,
so that you don’t forget, that
I was the one who found
the spot that quenches
your every longing.
Most men lay me down gently,
my head on pillows, kisses soft
and tender. You put bruises on
my knees as we crashed to the
floor, a tangle of messy sheets,
hardwood and moonlight glow.
Most men fuck me like they’re
afraid to break me, but you
fuck me like you’re trying to.
*For #sizzlingsummersins, hosted by the fiercely, feisty, passionate, crazy and lovable Daughters of Nin:
Like a dance, we will barter
the role of predator and prey,
trading surrender in abundance
like gold under our tongues, as if
it has been a year of drought in
our mouths. Make room for tongues
and teeth, whispers and kisses, the
sighs and sounds we make are the
kind that poets write ciphers about,
the art of worship and war cries.
*For Our Poetry Journey Contest
I have boundaries until I know I can trust you.
*I posted this photo in Mirakee, a social network that’s very much like instagram, but allows you to edit your posts and choose backgrounds. I was very surprised to get comments asking me to change the background. Some guy said I should change it because there are many teens in that community. Then some girl asked me to change it to get more likes and reposts. I mean seriously! Why is everyone focusing on the picture ONLY and not the text? The text talks about boundaries and trust. It amazes me how anyone would still think that this post is filthy when it’s talking about boundaries and trust.
It’s all about wordplay, like how poetry should. And although the image does give a spicy, saucy connotation, it is not showing any boobs or nipples or vajayjays, just the back side of a woman in lacy underwear. I do not mean to sexualize women, I bet if I used a photo of a man with handcuffs, I’ll get more comments saying its battery or abuse lol. That’s how it is, some people will always jump to conclusions. It’s hilarious how I’m only posting a woman’s behind and yet in some people’s minds, they’ve already had sex and are already lighting a cigarette. Either way, I guess I am doomed haha. Oh well, I am standing by my post. I am not removing it.
There are a lot of good writers in that community and it saddens me that some people treat the community as if they were stupid people not being able to decide on their own. They can report it if they think it needs to be censored. I understand that I can’t please everyone. I am not there to get follows or likes or attention. I am just there to post, to put my writing out there in the world. But if that post gets taken out, I am leaving that community.
I explore his erogenous zones
like a deft explorer charting my own
personal map, shamelessly unfolding
the mysteries of his body, saving to memory
every unheard grunt and moan to be
revisited when wanderlust strikes.
I am a world traveler, and he is my world.
For Day 4 & 6, Our Poetry Journey Contest
Lust | Love | Hurting | Healing
I loosely braid my hair and tie off the ends in a calculated attempt at effortlessness. He has a thing for braids, you see, and a thing for women who are effortless, and I have a thing for being the cause of his undoing.
Hold this. Un-cuffed her mind unloosened her heart unlocked her chastity to her belt for I was to twist her middle as much as her braided hair. You the woman so effortless to my craze of heat it makes me exert my energy in my foreplay as my coals heats your fireplace warms the warnings of my doing that I do to you. Now you may let go and swear at your sweat.
Let your fingers explore the tender, hidden places where my pulses ache. Learn the language of my sighs and moans, decimate my body under the tangled sheets. I want you hungry in my arms, with your fingers knotted into my hair like my legs are knotted around your waist.
My fingers slide in then spread to further moisten the cake not to calm it down but to see your face frown from the goodness sake I taste what you make you mix it drip it I won’t waste but increase the volume of the pour and pace I get Full as I fill you up and go deep to your heart beat lain on saturated sheets Hair in my fist legs shaking like an earth quake go to sleep so in our dreams we can do it again when we wake.
He knows that once he presses his tongue to the seam of my lips, my resistance will crumble. My hands will do his bidding. They will fall down the arch of his back as my head spins., all thoughts stopped in their tracks. Darkness will come and my eyes will fight to stay open, while my legs will fight to stay closed.
How intent your immortal fire make as a god of me among men liquidizing
my mind into developing a seemingly magical process. Stay and transfer my
moans until they become longer whispers as each thrust penetrates. Combine
and deliver us into this volcanic submersion and suppress us into this
forever glowing ash that lites and lights, and let our lightening from
heaven to earth. Shine upon all who dare as we do. Stay.
I can offer you my hand,
my impatient tentacles that will graze your thighs. Let them find us gasping in bathroom stalls and buses with our fingers sticky with greed, with eyes that see only dark corners and opportunity as we rendezvous on lover’s lane.
Continue reading “Anything for you”
He was all logic and feigned cool detachment until our skins touched. At my grant of access, his tongue delved into my mouth. My arms reached up and tangled around his neck, while his fingers traced my spine, pulling me closer until there was no space between us. He tried to be gentle with my clothing, but his strong rough hands were not made for tiny clasps.
Kiss me where my carotid
meets my clavicle, leave
cherry blossoms scattered
across my flesh, dot the
highways of my neck. Bend
me like words. Arch me more
than a metaphor. Make me
your masterpiece. Please.