There is something about our sweet destruction that is so irresistible to the senses. Day by day, I am becoming accustomed to the crashing, the breaking, the wild, spinning-madly-out-of-control bliss as our language. I look forward to waking up with you coffee ground into my spine, as my body melts in your hands like heroin on spoon, attempting to spell addiction in my pulse.
My fingertips yearn for the hard and the soft of you. My mouth waters for the sweet, salty taste of your lips. I am forever longing for the burn of your kisses against my skin, for the way you fit against me, inside me. I am half crazed from wanting you.
His fingers crept into the sweet,
subtle places where my pulses ached.
We were learning a new language of
sighs and moans. My body was his
treasure map, as he followed every
dotted scar around the planes of my back,
searched in between hidden folds and
moistened crevice, until X marked the spot.
Eager and breathless were our hands and our hearts.
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.
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.
*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. @thenotionoflove
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. @thenotionoflove
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.