erotic poetry

I just gotta see it again

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Immediate impulse

Swelling with hot pervasion

sparkler-tingles juicing me up

in my center, I hold my breath

I just gotta see it again

Oh, I growl, a craven sound,

“I want to eat you now!”

My eyes close imagining

my lips planting a kiss

on the supple skin

of your left dancing hip…

Hand over my mouth

a bit of drool coming out,

for I stop myself slow

Immediate impulse

Licking the phone

(Sorry, I don’t know how to share the adorable clip picture thingy of riding a mechanical ‘bull’ but a hot corn dog! I shit you not, it got me in a funny way that I’m struggling to ignore with an “Oh! I love you!” Yelled out uncontrolled, lol…I crack myself up sometimes 😅)

Ok so here, this helps to calm me as my theme music when life becomes overwhelming (from an absolutely adored album & my music league entry for round of 7min or longer:)

Piano Concerto No. 1

But, of course this is followed by one of my favorite love songs of all-time…a dedication, if I may be romantic and bold

lend your love to me tonight

Funny how my brain works.

seek & find

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I giggle, so damn tickled,

rolling hot, feel you fall

into my sweet spot,

teased tense, I clamp down,

and your hip beat slaps

my sweet, sweet spot

bam-bam-Bop

up…up…up

with a cherry POP!

But we don’t stop!

From my valley

to your rock-top,

together our possibilities

exploding inside my mind,

urging more seek & find…

You are my Srircha in this life;)

Sriracha

(Looking for a soup ingredient song, for music league is back on…this cracked me up, had to share, lol:)

Actually submitted this song…

Chicken and Dumplings

Per music league rules, of course, technically, chicken and dumplings are in soup too.

My Pickle

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I have a pickle.

It’s not an ordinary pickle.

Yes, it’s long and hard.

Of course, it’s bumpy and green.

But, my pickle smells funky,

like a skunk dancing with a flower in the rain.

Cradled in the palm if my left hand,

a pointer-push to gently plug the tip’s hole…

empty, the shaft waits…

Until, from a right-hand flicker,

the flame ignites, and I suck

a mouthful of a gracious spirit

through my pickle, filling my soul

to maintain a smile, alone

with my Sunday friend,

the only one who always leaves me satisfied in the end.

Merging Metaphors

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Fighting a war with my impulses now You’ve inspired me again. My muse, You win. I’ve lost control, sniff-licking the phone-mirror as if to inhale You like pink crystal meth, I have to catch my breath…

For days, You bounce dream to dream (even while I’m serving ice cream), tingles from You become part of everything!!That’s why talking to You terrifies me… 

Love, as You may know by now,

Feel You Up
Horny Toad (Hard to be me;)

Ok so yeeessss!!! Ridiculous, right. Living loving my dream life. God, you make my eyes smile as my heart dances with a double-beat.

Then, a mid-day snack with my nap, dreamt by surprise when at noon my body collapsed: Unbeknownst to me, you arrive through a halo-appearance, like on some Next Gen episode, and as our eyes lock, you begin to walk to where I sit, then, bending your erect, long body down to this broken frame, your one hand cradles the left side of my face, your arm encircles my shoulders, and you whisper, “Hello.” Every pair of eyes in the room, suddenly gone, as I glide the back of my fingers down both of your cheeks with a direct stare into your gentle gaze never letting go…

While you lean your lips upon mine, allowing me to taste every inch of you, I re-learn to give in, to invite the good feeling to actually pervade, trusting the end result is a love I didn’t have before, loving myself more…

(Honestly, me bubbling with mirth??? Absurd. So, here I am, on a sunny day after a horny-little cold-cry at a firey–joy from the hot image of your lips wet by mine…I know I’d love to lose control if I were to see you again in real life. Not that it matters, for you are more beautiful than someone this hopelessly inappropriate could ever deserve. Is it wrong to plead with hyperbolic intention, “Please, hear my words, I’d do anything to feel our metaphors merge.”)

Off to make rainbows 🌈

Mourning Mist

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Missed you are,

I have to say.

Mourning mist with

my eyes closed

wet by my cry…

Now, You I find:

Droplets glisten

on lustrous skin

newly cleaned

Just for me!

I drink a lick

from your neck

teeth massage

as you slide in

slow pushes, long

with kisses, caresses

spinning me round

atop Your cock

a bounce to hop 

You in and out,

up and down,

Your hand guiding

my ass rock,

I arch You deeply

fitting you keylocked

COMPLETELY

an eruption we build

fucking each other

HARD, HARD filled

PUSH,  OH!

PUMP,  OH!!

YES! OH, OH, OH!!!

How I want to hear

You cumming inside,

moaning in my ear!

I must confide.

(To You: Not feeling you makes life dark, like I’m mourning the loss of you just before every morning light, yelling while sleeping, “HELP!” But, you’re not longer listening.  I wish for a moment to feel your light glistening.)

proclivity

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My proclivity

eats my sanity,

to the point

I want to scream.

I feel a little devil within.

He tells me things!

It’s true! Naughty ones

between me and you,

lips rambling truth

plant together lovers

engaged in passion:

tickles, licks, nibbles

necks, chests, legs

down, up, back

slide, slippery wet

bouncing high

a fuck-fabulous

bed-banging ride

again and again

in and out, walls hot

oh, Oh, OH! I mount,

hard-cocked relief

pounding, moaning

I become a beast

sex-starved too long

I want more!

I want to do wrong!

Please, drill my core!

Fantasies whispered

only to me, we try

everything you need,

I fulfill YOUR dreams…

warm inside

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Brain sweltering, heat melting me,

a tornado following me incessantly,

tearing at my seams, all as I’m drowning,

OH! So parched, and I slip my fingertips

to wrap into the thick grooves of clay,

addiction carved out waves,

mind dancing with a dream,

reality lost (my SELF almost not caring),

tongue extended, longing,

dry-salivating for a drop to come down,

so I tip – tip – tip – TIP…Til

the rim sits just above my open mouth,

tongue out suspended,

wiggling with such want

I realize (shaking a hand full of empty)

syrup stuck to the bottom of the cup

There, your eyes peering through at me,

tempting my taste buds to bloom

my opening wide, warm inside.

Inspiration: E.E. Cummings

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The first poet who got my goat and really made me want to teach and write with a different kind of poetry is E.E. Cummings.

Years ago, I bought myself a small book called erotic poems e.e. cummings to spark some needed inspiration, but failed to find a spark let alone a flame of spark to build the desire.

For the first time I opened it today, needing out of my head in a big way, looking for inspiration that isn’t…Anyway, this is honestly the very first poem I read:

Layers of Beauty