Hi poets. I'm not one of you, and I'm comfortable with that. On a good day, I'm an author, and that's it.
I wrote some text to accompany a piece of erotic art recently. I had to keep it brief but emotive, so as not to overshadow the image by its sheer volume.
What I was trying to do was a textual version of the picture. i.e. not tell a story, just describe a moment.
My effort is here: https://www.literotica.com/i/kiss-me-like-that
The art is by Literotica's NextDoorSecret.
Now don't tease me for being an idiot, but I thought my paragraphs and sentences were starting to morph into verses and lines, so I actually did an edit and converted it to verses and lines.
The thing is, I like it better now.
I have no idea whether it's poetry or not, regardless whether it's good or bad. Serious question. Can you tell me?
Here's the edited version: (be gentle) Hit the link above to look at the image first.
Jenna's Choice
So hot!
Throbbing music,
All rhythm and no melody,
Pounding through me,
So hard that my fingers tingle.
Noise, flashing lights.
Hot, dancing bodies fill the dance floor,
Grinding together into a single organism,
Sleek and lithe and feline.
A club with no men: Jenna’s choice.
The vacation together; that was mine.
Barbados: Jenna. The Sapphire Hotel: me.
I chose the spa, facials,
And braids in our hair.
Brazillians for two? Our outfits?
I could never.
They were Jenna’s choice as well.
Wet, faux leather short-shorts,
And outerware bras,
Hers with breathtaking panels,
Cut into the side-swells.
It’s Jenna’s choice next.
I know what she wants, now.
Maybe I always have.
I’m ready! I’m yours!
I could scream the words, but she wouldn’t hear.
There’s safety in the dance
But I can’t bear to be safe any longer.
Our senses overload.
Sight, smell, sound,
All are meaningless,
Inside the writhing beast.
There is only touch. Jenna’s touch.
A hip, an elbow, the points of her breasts brush across my back.
I lift my braids to cool my neck,
And Jenna’s finger slides beneath my bra strap.
It’s your turn; your choice, Jenna.
God help me,
Choose while the answer is still yes.
I wrote some text to accompany a piece of erotic art recently. I had to keep it brief but emotive, so as not to overshadow the image by its sheer volume.
What I was trying to do was a textual version of the picture. i.e. not tell a story, just describe a moment.
My effort is here: https://www.literotica.com/i/kiss-me-like-that
The art is by Literotica's NextDoorSecret.
Now don't tease me for being an idiot, but I thought my paragraphs and sentences were starting to morph into verses and lines, so I actually did an edit and converted it to verses and lines.
The thing is, I like it better now.
I have no idea whether it's poetry or not, regardless whether it's good or bad. Serious question. Can you tell me?
Here's the edited version: (be gentle) Hit the link above to look at the image first.
Jenna's Choice
So hot!
Throbbing music,
All rhythm and no melody,
Pounding through me,
So hard that my fingers tingle.
Noise, flashing lights.
Hot, dancing bodies fill the dance floor,
Grinding together into a single organism,
Sleek and lithe and feline.
A club with no men: Jenna’s choice.
The vacation together; that was mine.
Barbados: Jenna. The Sapphire Hotel: me.
I chose the spa, facials,
And braids in our hair.
Brazillians for two? Our outfits?
I could never.
They were Jenna’s choice as well.
Wet, faux leather short-shorts,
And outerware bras,
Hers with breathtaking panels,
Cut into the side-swells.
It’s Jenna’s choice next.
I know what she wants, now.
Maybe I always have.
I’m ready! I’m yours!
I could scream the words, but she wouldn’t hear.
There’s safety in the dance
But I can’t bear to be safe any longer.
Our senses overload.
Sight, smell, sound,
All are meaningless,
Inside the writhing beast.
There is only touch. Jenna’s touch.
A hip, an elbow, the points of her breasts brush across my back.
I lift my braids to cool my neck,
And Jenna’s finger slides beneath my bra strap.
It’s your turn; your choice, Jenna.
God help me,
Choose while the answer is still yes.