Category Archives: Erotic

Petite Mal

Your lips on my lips,

your hips on my hips,

your breasts on my breasts,

our nipples hard-pressed,

as two ripe grapes during wine season

 

The flicker of your tongue,

the way you bite the edge of my lip when you kiss me,

your mouth agape as you moan into me,

like an Inuit throat singer,

your voice vibrating my ribcage

 

Your legs a colossal snake forbidding escape,

pupils dilate then decrease, spasms increase,

your uterus grips like a fist w/

its spontaneous contraction,

giving way to intense satisfaction

 

Light flickers through shadows

from the candle-box on the wall,

one vivid lotus flower blooms

in the middle of the room,

as butterflies twirl

from the ceiling fan,

like frenzied ballerinas

 

You grip my head, then pull my hair,

forcing my tongue deeper

urging my fingers,

as my entire hand thrusts

rhythmically inside you

like an instrument

I’ve learned all the chords to

 

When the music’s over,

the butterflies retreat,

the lotus flower floats away;

you lay there

twitching as if you’d been stricken

with epilepsy

 

I tease you with my touch,

then blow gently

on your naked body,

cooling the fire, which burns so incessantly

 

Plumes of smoke,

blow circularly,

like two entwined rings,

engulfing the flowers,

that cut a path through the glass,

overlooking this arctic oblivion

 

I can’t feel myself, can’t feel you, can’t feel the room

 

I feel on the verge of emotional hypothermia

as you attempt to return the gesture,

knowing in advance it’s not going to lead

anywhere, pushing your hand away,

then rushing to wash you off of me

as if you were tainted blood

 

I return with a smile & a kiss,

before surrendering to the emptiness,

& the blackness;

the sad twitch of burning souls

among cindery neural synapses.

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Filed under Death, Erotic, Poem, poetry, travel, Uncategorized, writing

Canine

You enter others dreams, a sexy slip screen. When I close my eyes at night, I can hear you scream. You have entered into others without intending to. She tells me her dreams of you. You hold her tight from behind and squeeze the life out of her body, not so hard to do considering how small she is. I’m in love with a masculine mind trapped in the confines of a feminine body, nothing is more alluring than she who being so fragile in physical form, has her true power taken for granted or underestimated, her entire being is a massive understatement, and yet the way she grips your thigh in the dark, as she enters hard and deep, the way her pupils magnify what sliver of moonlight bleeds across your body as you stare down at her thrusting eyes, you think a woman is akin to a wolf and none would imagine the way she is capable of swallowing you alive. Then in the afterglow as she slowly dissolves away into the distance, you feel the remnants of her lingering with you, as though she has marked your body with her scent, to accentuate her territory. She strays but not from others, she strays from her self. This is what it means to love a shadow, her lips are the velvet slowness of a tortured animus. When she kisses you it hurts. It hurts where life begins, it hurts where life ends, but it is the hurt you crave from being enslaved, it is the hurt you beg her in silence to settle. It’s that secret swell of never spoken words, whose expressions die exquisite deaths, relentless deaths, contracting, swelling exasperating deaths, where bite marks and claw marks outline the places you were initiated. She doesn’t ever say it in the light of day, only in dark whispers, and you watch her with this strange mix of terror and desire, as she goes about her daily life, washing dishes, mending clothes, planting seeds that will one day grow into something beautiful. They mistake her for something tame, but you know better, you know better and you know worse and as she talks about the mundane, your mind travels back to dark territory, nothing she says or does is ordinary. You wear a goofy grin, and only when reality slaps you cold and hard across the face, do you realize how stupid you must look, walking around with an invisible leash on your hips, a magnet in between your thighs that draws you to the silver of her. Your friends say you must be whipped. But who are these friends? They are humans. They are human only human, and you are part canine.

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Filed under Bondage, Desire, dreams, Enslaved, Erotic, Fantasy, Poem, poetry, travel, writing

Stained Thoughts

Never thought we’d dance together, the way your eyes gazed through me, leaving me to squirm self-consciously, wet from my walk in the rain. And you smiled that really dumb blonde smile, that said “blonde enough to have fun, but brunette enough to know better.”  The element of danger, the risk when I tightened my fist and you smiled the know better smile and chatted about the weather, the obvious, yes it’s wet, yes then, yes now, still. I pulled a pained face and your hand ran down my arm as I stared at the photographs on the desk, three grown children, your phone vibrating, the certainty of that gleam where I knew better this time, and I wondered how does one stay in a marriage so long, subdued. You penetrated me right through to my veins. I felt it up there on the makeshift mobile bed, spinning it’s wheels to a far away land, through the green blue heaven of your eyes, and the stillness of your lipstick silence, hiding the crease of age under beige. There in the travel clinic, with images of exotic world’s,  never ventured to, and the smell of coffee on your breath, taking me back to eleven, when I had a crush on the school librarian. Questions of where I’d planned to go, and when I might return again. From you, who vaccinated my body and contaminated my thoughts.

(About a travel clinic nurse.)

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Filed under Conversation, creative, Desire, Erotic, Fantasy, Humour, Loneliness, Longing, Needles, Poem, poetry, Sexuality

Invincible

Blood rushed
Aphrodite blushed.
And the morning rain fell
outside my window.

I recall trying to hook a minnow on a line when I was about nine. My grandfather said this was what one did to lure the bigger fish one hoped to catch, they made a splash and their silver slip of fear is what drew the hungry ones near. So we gathered round and waited by the water. The white rush of waves and the violent current roaring past made it all seem so fast, but the waiting and the hunger persisted. Yet he insisted on being still. My grandfather had the patience of granite on a day of rain, which promised an arch of colour in the grey distance of the sky. Why couldn’t I be like that man? He used to hold vigil with the battalion. When his father died, they hailed him a hero of the skies and named a lake after him here in Manitoba “Lake Barthelette” He spoke broken French and then with a swift pull he filled the bucket of ice with our breakfast. I recall huddling around the fire for warmth and black tea, he always drank his tea so strong. Strength and patience were two of his greatest attributes. Up until a few years ago he was still out catching pickerel, picking wild blueberries and chanterelles, hunting a deer or a rabbit, gathering nuts and fixing something with his rough hands…

Perhaps I have that, the power of lightening bolts in my hands on rainy spring mornings, and the patience of granite as I try to silence this hunger swimming inside of me, silvery and uncatchable. The wave of loneliness overlaps the wave of ecstasy, causing a rush that pulls me under into deep places, where emerging I regain my breath as I ponder life and death before the big swell drowns out my consciousness.

Blood rushed
Aphrodite blushed.
And the morning rain fell
outside my window

I’m a helpless minnow striving to break free, blood gushing out of me as they track my metallic scent in the water, mercurial, rust coloured and dangling from a hook, this hook that holds me between life and death as the hungry world centers in with a bone-chilling calm in the midst of all this chaos. I am of the sea, of algae and long vines emerging from entwined blackness, pulling me back to the watery remembrance of a  wilderness where I was once invincible.

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Filed under Adventure, Bleed, Chaos, Colours, Control, creative, Death, Desire, Drowning, Erotic, Feast, Fish, Freedom, Immortal, Life, Longing, Memory, Mortality, Nostalgia, Poem

All passion spent

They thought we might be the death of eachother. I could hardly stand to breathe without her body. We tried to abstain, I tried to keep her away, at arms length, but she couldn’t obey. One night her partner lay sleeping in his bed as she read poems to me, and something in the seriousness of her expression made me unable to resist her. We were on a cast iron bed in the adjoining room, every muscle flex caused the bed to creak. I put my hand on her mouth to silence her, but her moan escaped and awakened him. Just a look from her was enough to make me cum, the anticipation of her touch sent comets shooting through me. By the time her skin touched mine they exploded into the night like a million beams of light, blinding me with stars. Maybe it was the fear of being caught that thrilled me, or the way her eyes were etched with green flecks of brilliance and her mouth seemed carved out perfectly to fit mine. One day his relatives were visiting from America and they stepped out while she was cooking dinner, promising to return in time to eat. In their funny Chicago accents they said “dinner smells mahvelous, see you soon.” The moment they drove away I couldn’t keep my thoughts at bay. She was sitting on the sofa drinking a glass of red wine, wearing a white apron, stained with the blood of a wild animal. She leaned into me and whispered that her loins ached as she ran her hand down my leg, I felt the earth break and tremble. She took my hand and led me in the bedroom. Our screams filled the small old house as the potatoes boiled over on the stove and the windows went foggy from the steam. We lay gasping by eachother’s side as the car pulled into the driveway and we ran to make ourselves more presentable, less mangled by desire. They were so honoured to be eating a traditional, Aboriginal meal. As they commented on how delicious it was, it took all my strength not to laugh at the situation, their accents and serious faces, her messy hair and legs lined with scratches, as though she had fought and killed this massive beast alone. I always hoped we hadn’t left evidence of our passion anywhere, but if we did, they seemed to overlook it.

Another time she came to see me at the apartment where I was staying. She held the keys to her truck in her hand as she stood in the hallway explaining the situation. She was carrying crates of books from their house and lining the back room with her possessions, promising to leave, to come be with me. Her hair fell in waves down her shoulders, her tightly toned legs shone from the force of her effort, and she stood there with a slight smirk, eyes shaded from the sun. I walked up and claimed her lips, grasping her wrist I told her to stay and she chased me as I pulled her keys away. She fell on the bed, wrestling me down as she tried to pry my hand open. Her sex pushed against mine and I dropped the keys, she stared at the keys, then back at me while I kissed her. Our clothes were unnecessary restraints that kept our skin from eachother. Later as we lay covered by dew and lust, with laboured breaths suddenly we heard footsteps ascending the stairs. The door opened and we struggled to dress, it was so obvious. My brother walked in with my cousin and they found us that way, completely ravaged. The entire place breathed sex. It seemed to follow us everywhere; at all hours, in open spaces, behind bathroom doors, at the homes of relatives & friends, everywhere we went got marked by our undying passion for eachother and our inability to resist. Her hands belonged to my body and mine to hers. It took more than a decade to kill, but we outlived it. Others weren’t so fortunate.

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Filed under Bondage, Control, Dance, Desire, Drowning, Erotic, Infatuation, Intimacy, Longing, Love, Memory, Nostalgia, Pain, Poem, poetry, Sex, Sexuality, writing

For us

I’d like to get some platform boots, a silky pair of black nylons and a strapless strapon. Red and full is how I feel when I see your hard nipple & thirsty mouth, want to take a slow trip South, biting and licking my way through your valleys to the highest peak of pleasure in you, in me, where it hurts, transmit this anti into climax, encircle your shiny pearl with my tongue, the swirl of paradox, the soft endless ness of your velvet body when I enter you slow, rhythmic, then gradually harder, until I need to hold your braided hair, pulling on the reins of paradise, each thrust pushing deeper into you, into me, I need your eyes on mine, so I can journey back and forth between those  parallel worlds where you are both woman and girl. My soul pulsing into that death, that emptiness, that place at the threshold, where there’s no turning back. Brush away the butterfly fluttering in me so constantly, the bird trapped in my ribcage, the viper in my spine, all these things that twist & tangle and unwind me, set them free for you, for us

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Filed under Bondage, Death, Desire, Erotic, Fantasy, Freedom, Lesbian, Longing, Love, Poem, poetry, Repressed, Sapphic, Sex, Soul, Strapless Strapon, travel, writing

Multilingual

The languages I speak are English, French, Greek and love. In the latter I am a beginner. At neither am I fluent. Truant to love’s feast, I hunger for something I cannot articulate.

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Filed under Erotic, Feast, Longing, Love, Poem, Sex