all of a sudden passion suddenly

[Desejo]

Black rock lapped by waves
crystals bedded in seaweed
Sun folded into clouds
Hazy fire undulations
Caressing, coaxing
Rock to sand
Water to salt
Structure into fluidity
And back to structure

Saudade.
uncharted, awash ,unfettered
Eroding facades
My eyes, my mind, my body
yearn ache wish
to flow, submit
Pour over me in
like warm oil, the kiss of
Shirodhara.

I smoke a clove cigarette on my balcony
And wonder if the sweet tendrils reach you somehow.

[4degrees]

Poems that drip
And slide like hot butter
Fatty residue leaving
This sore throat parched
Drink me
Think me
Watch on and recall
How cool night grass
Feels in between toes
The tickle and the scratch
And a voice in the breeze
This cure again
Is also disease
Every day life
I love like thunder
Until I am too
Old to remember.

[Desejo]

Sometimes I think about that time
we lay recovering
in yet another London hotel room
when suddenly a burst of music-- glorious
improbable gospel
streamed through the blinds

I expected you to say something
obnoxious

Instead, you just looked at me
utterly silent
We crossed a line there.
I know that this troubles you too

[Desejo]

“When does the kissing stop
and everything else begin”
he said, laid half across my body
so I could feel his cock push against me
A delicious, unfamiliar feeling of power
After all, I was only 16 and
the question was sex

You are the most decadent
and the most right
of my indulgences
I crave you, as if I have opened my veins
to let your words flow into me
with a sigh of bliss
that I do not understand but
I want that
Over and over again
The question is still sex

I think we may have started with everything else
And it is so intoxicating
I’m afraid to ask about kissing.

[Tzara]

Pouilly-Fuissé

I spilled wine over her feet.
That was clumsy,
I admit.

But because it was such a good wine,
I'm afraid I also licked
at the thin rivulets

that ran down between her toes.
And that made me sad I had not tipped
one leg higher.

[champagne1982]

Originally Posted by Tzara

Pouilly-Fuissé
it was such a good wine,

STC: Pouilly-Fuissé
I remember my first sip
of sweet crystal flavour
it gave me shivers
and giggles like champagne
but harder to wrap
my tongue around...

[Desejo]

What is this place?
It's not a town.
It's not a city.
Not a human in sight
Houses with cars parked in front
Signs for garage sales
pointing to closed garages
I wouldn't be in the least surprised
to go into one of those houses
And find zombies
Stepford wives
Or someone living expired canned food
stocked away by some prescient survivalist
before whatever happened here happened

But then again
Someone has put up
A hand lettered sign over lettuce in a postage stamp garden
bordering the perfectly maintained tarmac
It says “ready! Help yourself”
I don't think zombies eat salad
So it must be ok

[Desejo]

I’ve never liked Austen
often poke fun at Bronte
seems to me that the corsets
could have been put to better use
than melodrama and there ought to be solutions
to impossible situations

Then again
Did you ever watch the Ghost and Mrs. Muir?
I was in love with the Ghost.
His smart cracks, irreverence
penchant for appearing
in the most inopportune times
And of course dashing looks did not hurt

But what really got me, I think
Was that they loved madly
but could never touch.

[Tzara]

Shangri-La

I could find our utopia
in some secluded and narrow valley
well north of Kathmandu.

The Himalayas would serve as fence—
keep the world away
from our personal divan

where we would alternate love
with discussion,
as if they were the equals they are not.

We would drink white tea
with our rice
and copulate contemplatively,

in sunlit afternoons while playing Go.
I would let you violate the ko rule.
Endless repetition is no vice.

[RhymeFairy]

Originally Posted by 4degrees

Poems that drip
And slide like hot butter
Fatty residue leaving
This sore throat parched
Drink me
Think me
Watch on and recall
How cool night grass
Feels in between toes
The tickle and the scratch
And a voice in the breeze
This cure again
Is also disease
Every day life
I love like thunder
Until I am too

Old to remember.

I tremble at
the thought
Wooded

footprints
Make shivers
slide. Spine tingl-
ing touches as
fingertips frequent
this mindless body.

Into the forest
Mesmering moss
bodies entwined
secrets told
shown. No hidden
agenda, just
passion

Unfolding
Unleashed
YOU


I ...

[Tzara]

Foucault Pendulum

Contrary to expectations, it’s not your ass
I’m after, or not only that, at least.

The beautiful clock of your mind,
with its exquisite meshing of tiny golden gears

is what thrums in my chest, like a pendulum
disturbing a bed of sand

as it rotates through the turn of my world.
Once, every twenty-four hours,

you come around to me again.
Dammit. It’s like you personally spin my Earth.

[Desejo]

I’m looking up at 50 shades of green
hand-knotted ropes of a hammock
imprint red marks on my skin.

I think about about control.
Surrender, it turns out, is delicious.
I cannot resist you.

I consume your every word
as I would a perfect plate of pomme frites
Licking salt off of my fingers
then stretching out in the sun
for a post-prandial nap, completely sated.

My sigh of contentment
ought to be
a clear indication
that you are far beyond
my G spot.

[Tzara]

Obelisk

Late last evening, we stood
on the sidewalk in front
of that Italian restaurant—
the one near Dupont Circle,
where the burrata was wonderful
and the bottle of Paolo Bea
made us rather drunk.

What I only can recall
(I drank too much wine,
remember?) is your kiss
as you stepped into the taxi
that ferried you back
into Virginia.

Perhaps it is just me,
but I dreamed I felt some tongue.

[Neonurotic]

Circulatory

At the curve her neck, I take
her pulse with my tongue, feel
the flutter of her heart.
Its bounding and rapid as is mine
in the palm of her hand.

I echo with a ragged breath.
On inhale she takes me close,
but at exhale, she stills me
without release.

There should be resentment
but there is not, I always want.
Then there should be remorse,
yet again, there is not;
she gives me my more.

Passion is in the oxygen,
and heat's in the blood,
I'm well contained without love,
without a beginning.

She's relentless knowing
there is no end.

[Minalick]

You're not the first, second, third.....and doubt you'll be the last.
All the same words, repeated mixed and mashed.
I wonder what words you'll hear that we're said to me.
Some of them spoken and written even recently.

Hope you enjoy them as much as I did.
I wonder if you're naive and believe any of it.

Soon someone else will hear them for the first time.
And you'll just be another friend in the line.

[Desejo]

Considering
the continuum of effort
of enclosing you in muscle
drawing you deeper
opening like an unhinged jaw
with a thousand forked tongues caressing
swallowing
then stopping to focus
on every last twitch
and spasm
I understand why the boa constrictor sleeps
for hours after eating

[KatieJones]

She waits in the corner
sipping hand delivered champagne
but stops when he takes center stage
stands in the light directed at her painting.
The night-a carousel come to its end
finds the agony of stillness
worse than the spin of waiters
and music that starts back up again
when he leaves
her work without pause.

Unaware he was watched
by the woman he shaped
beneath his hands- that his brevity
would leech all that made her
organic and drain the paint
from her blood. Or that his casual wave
from across the room stung
more than if he had slapped her face

[Desejo]

Pere Lachaise - Metro

Under the plastic sheet
Jacques pulls the bag
Over his head like a shroud
to muffle the cats screams
As they screw on the graves of
poets, musicians, politicians, murders
Common and exceptional
eternally domiciled and dead
decorated in flowers
care assured by the state

He could do without the cats
But the rest sounds sounds formidable.

[Minalick]

The arrogance of youth and love
It believes itself invulnerable and above
All else and of those better then
But it is weakened from within.

[missandrist92]

sometimes, I forget about my forehead
rolled up like a sleeping bag
clenched and holding
withholding
and not until I let go
do I feel it again.
funny how the tension makes all feeling disappear
as if a natural state.

letting go
feels like something else.

[Angeline]

It's the Real Thing*

Two old goats
well past expiration date souring,
falling to decay you'd think
some tooth or gristle, bone had sloughed
away to press impacting
on the rancid flesh occupying
silk and mohair suits.

Two old goats,
two old coots saccharine and smug
in mansions full of loot and loot
in every mountain, cave and sea.
Midas and Croesus loot here
and there on keys and cays
oil palms and pouring single
malts or priceless Beaujolais
to grease the wheels of industry
as far as dollars spread
across a thankless sky
and surely that is freedom,
just not mine.

~

The streets of heaven paved with gold,
apple pie and champagne promise up on high,
while here it's potholes, raveled sleeves, old folks
waiting on a line, the midnight ER far
from gated walls, private parties, pleasures
of the harbor, fortune and men's eyes.


(*ETA title only)

[Tzara]

Thine Eyes

Nothing was ever
so perfect.

This is why I cannot paint,
for I would soil
whatever image

I would strive to portray
in my little inks
and wash

on Arches paper.
For you. For you, I

might be able to blot
out some kind of form
that might resemble
you, might

stroke the curves
of your body, might

image you on paper.
I would like that—
for I could mount you ,

then, on my wall,
even if not in bed,
and celebrate

your body, which
(or what) I want to seize

frankly, like a bottle—
around the neck.



For I want to quaff you,
inebriate, wholly.



Down to your lees.

[Remec]

It had been second-hand;
everything he had seemed
to be, from hand-me-downs
within the family to the fact
that Claire had dated Bill
for at least a week before
they'd gone out.

But, even second-hand, it had
been the nicest of raincoats.
Sharp lines, not too long or short
of cuff or hem, and lapels that
seemed to fit the current style.
Avant-garde is what the clerk at
the thrift had called it,

He didn't care, he just like how it
smelled, how it clung to him even
while dry and how he didn't need
all of his fingers to work the buttons.

That had been a major
selling point.

[Desejo]

Fingers Raincoat

Washington is a khaki city
Armies of tan chinos line the
too steep escalators of the metro
like Chinese terra cotta soldiers
And equally stiff

With the cherry blossoms the
umbrella vultures wait on every block
laughing at impromptu
wet t-shirt contests
5 bucks gets you an umbrella
but like a condom, don’t try to reuse it

I buy a raincoat after the second umbrella

Not Burberry
Not a REI
No Anne Taylor for me
I walk the files of the khaki army
In flame red PVC

The only problem is,
I need to wipe fingerprints off it every night.

[4degrees]

Every time you rise, I see you fallin'
Every time I hear the nasal ways
Of Brian's crooning I return
To the couple dozen months of days
When you labeled me a poet
Damn right I believed, still do
To some degree
Some 4 degrees even, I know
The magic only happened
When passion, suddenly grew
Into the entire reason for breathing
Sometime, tattoos surface up under
My flesh and become raised welts
That smell like Seattle and cats,
And burn like what love
Must feel similar to.