The Garden of Us

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We have our own world

in which we play together.

 

Only we two

hold keys

to enter our sacred realm,

this lavish fertile dreamscape,

replete with its secret language

of adornment and ornamentation.

 

We are the caretakers of it,

trimming and pruning, planting and seeding,

watering the rich garden of desire

that sits in the meeting place

between our two dreams.

 

And no one will ever know you

in the singular way I do.

 

How I hold you in my arms

and my hands encircle the small of your back,

caressing the edges of the taut fishbone of your spine

that curves slimly down

to your boyish little ass.

How my fingers tickle the back of your ribs,

squeeze playfully the tender flesh of your butt

through your jeans.

 

The way I traverse the hard terrain of your body with my hungry mouth.

My lips on your cheek, on your neck,

exploring the well of your collarbone,

my teeth delicately biting your nipple,

my tongue dipping into the indent of your belly button,

then licking downwards, wetly,

opening wide

to bring your hard cock

all the way in,

to extravagantly suck.

 

All the little games and pleasures that we have ritualized.

 

The abundant treasures we have harvested.

 

It is just between us my dear.

How to Give Your Man the Best Sex Ever

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Love him with a wild and desperate yearning.
Love him with the hospitality of the Bedouins,
a fierce and elaborate generosity.
Love him the way a dog loves it’s owner,
pouncing and licking
in excitement and adoration.
Love him with shamanistic cunning.
Read his sexual fantasies
in your tea leaves
and give him
lucid wet dreams.
Love him with the eloquence of a poet,
talk dirty poetry into his ear
before you stick your tongue in there
and nibble his earlobe.

Love him like the Earth Mother herself,
welcome every part of him
inside the grand consensus
of your body.
Receive him the way the ground does
the roots of trees and plants;
be his fertile, fecund foundation.

Kiss him like a delicate blossoming flower kisses the sky,
straining in impossibility to touch the beauty of the soul
across the great distance of inherent separateness.

Give him the best sex he’s ever had
and hope with gentle hope
that he will love you in return.

And for god’s sakes hope
that he will not treat you the way humans do with Mother Earth,
trashing and polluting you
even though your ever loving body is
his only home.

It Was Like A Taste

I could write this poem again today

erotica poetica

Image

It was like a taste that appeared on my tongue,

the sumptuous taste of sex with you,

unforgettable, inimitable.

 

Suddenly that taste filled my thoughts

and I savored it within my mouth,

my appetite whet

to feast upon you.

To eat you.

 

I was sitting up in bed,

but I lay back into the pillows.

Subtle fabric of desire

covered me like silk,

and I luxuriated in imagining the sensual fibers

of our bodies sown together in tautness,

in delicious pleasure.

 

I could have drowned

in those opulent thoughts

of fucking you.

My nipples became hard like pearls,

between my thighs I was wet like the sea.

I rode the waves of sensation

as they broke over me,

came gasping

to the shore

of my bed.

 

Your dream penetrates me so hard sometimes,

touches me deep inside.

You arouse me so much in those moments

that…

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God’s Eye

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I weave a God’s Eye

with the strands of my aching heart.

straining to see with the vision of the unseen,

the construction of this wayward pattern,

this painful unravelling.

 

I dwell inside the dreams of others like a tenant does in an apartment,

renting a small space in which to live.

These walls are not what I would have wished them to be,

if they were mine

I would paint them differently.

 

I seek solace in myself.

Within my void,

truth rearranges itself,

refining the movements

of its delicate shadow dance,

turning and shifting

with changing gradients

of perspective.

 

Like the caterpillar in the cocoon,

I am formless,

a nascent fledgling of raw possibility,

just hoping to someday

become a butterfly

and fly free.

Sunset

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I watched through the frame of my bedroom window

as flaming streaks of pink and peach glittered on the horizon,

then receded

as dusk fell,

leaving thick brushstrokes of blue grey clouds

to fade

into the blur of night.

 

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I watched,

the result of inevitable mourning

that my heart should not indulge.

 

But I am unapologetically alive

and love to vent

my real feelings

sometimes.

 

You always tasted like bitter herbs, sharp and arresting on the tongue.

A shock like plunging into a cold bath on a warm day.

I grew to crave the bitterness,

the rough contrast.

 

You entered my veins like a poison

and changed the pattern

of my blood.

You became a sickness,

that knew no cure.

I was bedridden, addicted, pathological,

helplessly stricken with

love’s curse.

 

Tonight I cry myself to sleep,

a soothing gesture.

In my dreams I know I will see your embattled visages

and their complexly interwoven threads,

turning like a kaleidoscope

through the various stages of my inner landscape,

tumbling, moving, shifting,

like shells do

at the bottom of the ocean.

 

Then morning will come

and paint the sky again.