When I Was A Flower


I was exquisite petals.

Pink, dewy, delicate.

Your fingers opened me,

coaxed me into full bloom,

until I reddened with color,

dripped with honeyed nectar,

decorous with feminine plushness;

a gleaming pistil,

a pulsing filament.


I was this radiant bouquet,

rosy blossoms

in your artful hands.


I was a pretty ache,


my breasts budding,

legs spread,

hips splayed,

wet and open,


I was garlanded

with your kisses.

Adorned, adored;

I flowered.





When you returned,
the day felt bright
like new paint
and our forms freshly drawn
by the nimble hands
of God.

Our kisses were sweet
as spring strawberries,
dripping with juice.

We were lovers
once again,
refining and polishing
our art
like careful masters
on the canvas of tragic need
that is the body.

I was a mermaid
in the sea
of you,
in delicious oblivion.
You tasted
salty like my tears.

In your arms,
agony and ecstasy
seem to become
one and the same.


Your Lips

This week in celebration of Valentine’s Day I am sharing some of my poems offering different perspectives on love. This one speaks to the deep impression love makes on us.

erotica poetica


Your lips are lines of a poem

indelibly written upon these breasts,

upon these hips,

like a tattoo or a scar,

an invisible mark I bear

upon my skin.

And when I decorate

the walls of my mind with stars,

those verses illuminate

like phosphorescence

in the glow of black light

and the lingering language

of your kiss

speaks to me again,

a satisfyingly long

and heartfelt ballad

that rhymes in all the right places

and transports this aching body

beyond words,

into the ecstatic agony

of memory.

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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

why did my heart bloom
when you kissed me and tasted
like water and sun

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Before I Die


Before I die, will I think

of making love

to you?


When I have swam

through the eternal sea

of life’s consciousness,

and endless memories are bubbling up

from murky depths,

will I run the fingers of my mind

over the faded photograph

of your eyes?


Will the scent of your skin

fill the intangible air

of my thoughts?


My love, I want to let you go.


But I may wish

to feel your lips on mine

one more time.

You Whispered to Me


You were sitting across from me

in a booth at the Pho place,

your noodles eaten,

your bowl almost empty,

and you leaned back,

tired, sank into the vinyl seat,

and a particular look

came over your eyes.


Your sleepy gaze cast a spell on me.


You whispered to me then

without words,

in the language of your body,

which I understand

all too well.


Your head told me

to run my fingers

through your short spiky hair.

Your smooth cheeks told me

to paint them

with hungry little kisses.

Your lap told me to

climb in.

Your mouth told me

to fill it with my pretty pink nipple.

Your hands told me to abandon myself

to your touch,

to give up everything,

spread myself wide

and receive sensation.


I am a good girl, you know.

When you speak to me like this,

I can’t help

but listen.

Pursuit of Poetry


Always a lonely hunter of the heart,

I stalked your movements across the wilderness of my inner visions,

contemplated your various images like Rorschach blots

as they were painted in my dreams,

your petulant moods, your hard walls and ragged edges,

your painful betrayals, your ambiguous returns,

your stolen kisses

taken like a thief in the night.


When I saw you,

your brooding eyes spelled me to you

like sorcerer’s stones.

Your carefully cast glances entered the soft, yearning places on my body

with invisible hooks,

luring me to crave

your warm touch,

the familiar feel

of your rough hands

on my skin.


Inside my void, I rearranged things

with the insight of my secret wisdom.

I watched

as you fell through an inevitable crack

in the liminal space,

dove into the pool

of desire.


“God brought us together in this place” you said philosophically

after grabbing me

and pulling me to you at the bar.

But I only believe

in a personal god

and the artistry

of this living dream,

so when I found myself later that night

lying sweetly in your arms like a bear cub

in a cozy cave,

I knew I had crafted that moment with the clay of my will,

had penned it with my own divine hands,

as that is what I am willing to do

in pursuit of poetry.

The Eye


You gave me the eye the other night.

Looked me down hard.

The air between us cracked for a hot moment

with a bolt of ambiguous desire.


I was struck,

became helplessly flustered.


Grew flushed and wanting.


You sauntered by me,

your chest puffed out meaningfully in my direction,

projecting rough masculinity like a magnet

that you know has the power

to draw me in.


If only time, distance, and social decorum

did not stand in the way,

I would have cut the space between us in two

with the sharpness of my fierce and unceasing heart,

rained a torrent of kisses on your lips

and unleashed the wiles of my native passion upon your body

like a ferocious and tender storm.