Dusky Rose

    
Do you still drink

of my succulence
in the hot July heat 
of a faraway dream,
my ethereal scent of geranium
rising from your night sweat,

a fragrant, poignant memory?
You know 

my taste is sweet,

that of plumeria honey.
Flowering in the sensate garden 

of my bed,

I turn towards you,
in vivid sleep.

You are my beloved ghost,
cradled in the flourishing vines
of my arms.

You may see me

as a Venus fly trap,
cunning and expedient.

But I am not that, no.
I am a dusky rose,

carefree and forgiving.
A beautiful flower,

unwittingly planted

in the dark soil

of your mind.
Pua Nani.

Mine

20140605-162005.jpg
My body rained heavily over yours
like a tropical storm
onto the firm waiting earth,
seeping into you,
warm and wet.

With the raw force
of nature
you entered me
again and again.

And in that one moment
Time uncupped itself
from its sheath,
emerging fresh
as a blossoming lotus flower
out of the silty muck,
to become a poem.
Immortalized.

For that one moment,
you were mine.

You Kissed Me

In anticipation of Valentine’s Day, I will be sharing some of my poems that offer different perspectives on love. This one shows the lighter side of love, it’s ability to transform us with its glow into into something brighter and more vibrant. Tomorrow’s post: the dark side of love.

erotica poetica

20131104-191958.jpg
why did my heart bloom
when you kissed me and tasted
like water and sun

View original post

Springtime/Astarte

photo-64

I know I am surprising sometimes,

in my rawness,

in my nakedness,

in how I feel tonight,

soft skin smooth and moist

rubbing between my thighs,

no panties

beneath my skirt.

Tickled and tasted

by the air.

 

I am the bees in springtime,

gathering nectar,

making honey.

 

From the fertile center

of myself,

pleasure buds

like flowers do from bulbs,

sensual and fragrant,

ethereal.

 

I was named

for a pagan goddess,

a woman

who’s body’s ecstasy

was a special kind of worship.

 

Like Easter:

I come

in the springtime.