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
Paint your most hidden
desires on my skin, over
over every inch of the
Jackson Pollock mess
the last guy left.
He is not home. He is a five star luxury hotel with a host of amenities and beautiful views. He is a comfortable place to rest my head, a lovely respite from routine.
He is the illusion of forgetting everything pressing at the moment, except listening to the ins and outs of our breaths and the swish-swoosh of our limbs rearranging themselves under European cotton.
Continue reading “I love him anyway”
You don’t always need lewd,
dirty talk to turn her on.
Listen to her body,
the arch in her back
means that she is
listening to yours.
Continue reading “Lewd”