007 Challenge

1

The pink bubble gum
Slipped into the pocket
Of your long white lab coat

Is nothing more than
Me telling you sweet lover
I want to blow your mind.

You might think about
What neurons are lighting up
On the MRI of your brain

As I suck you softly and deeply
You know my gag reflex
Is entirely intact

When you stop whispering
About anatomy and physiology
You say suck suck good

And I have passed
The swallowing evaluation
With salty colors.

sweepthefloor said:

I like it.

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Ditto. Wonderful to see you back at it, Lubricant and welcome to the thread, sweep. Sexy start! I look forward to reading more.

PandoraGlitters said:

Ditto. Wonderful to see you back at it, Lubricant and welcome to the thread, sweep. Sexy start! I look forward to reading more.

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Thank you. I will do my very best without using old poems hidden in this computer! I need the motivation.

2

All the modest clothing
In the closet
Cannot hide

Eyes shine naked
Lips puffy wanting
This mouth wets for you

3

Biology would cruelly dictate
We are mating in the wrong orifice

Oh lover! Fuck science!
Let me make love to you

With my mouth.

4

I prefer to fall in love
With imaginary men

Then to suffer the experience
Of being forced into pants

Promises! Promises!
Don’t beg for my love.

Even if it is above average
Keep my secret

Safe within your soul.
And we will be happy.

Don’t puke on me
Cheap and sentimental

Lies or truths because
I am just a girl like other girls

Don’t put me on this
Mental pedestal

I will fall off and die
And your heart will break

Somehow that will be
My miserable fault

Even though it is you
Who murdered me.

5

sweepthefloor said:

Fuck science!

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Fuck Science

is not an official degree program
at this university, although
many of our students (and faculty)
are heavily involved in the field,
either experimentally
or theoretically
or, often,
both

and many of these amateur researchers
run studies with as many subjects as they can gather
together in a room
at one
time

presumably to improve the statistical reliability
of their conclusions

or, perhaps, for other,
more idiosyncratically hedonic


reasons

lubricant said:

Fuck Science

is not an official degree program
at this university, although
many of our students (and faculty)
are heavily involved in the field,
either experimentally
or theoretically
or, often,
both

and many of these amateur researchers
run studies with as many subjects as they can gather
together in a room
at one
time

presumably to improve the statistical reliability
of their conclusions

or, perhaps, for other,
more idiosyncratically hedonic


reasons

Click to expand...

it is a chemical orgy, and we want results.

5

You are the powerhouse
The left atria of my world

I am the right atrium
Passive love sending

Gravity brings me
Sucking to you

Easily preventing
Pathologic hypertrophy

I need you to circulate
You use me to feed

The muscle of you
I am diastole

You are systole.
Your ejection fraction

Really turns me on.

6

You are morphine sulfate
The best drug in the world
Erasing the pain.

I am Benadryl
The easy anti-histamine
Erasing the itch.

It is a symbiotic affair.

7

Pacing, with an underlying
Rhythm of loves you.

The ECG tracing of this heart
Is not lined with pqrst.

It is mapped with the letters
Of whatever your name is.

I don’t need a Master Cardiologist
To know this truth,

The only ruler I want
Is the one you measure with.

6

Harrow

Leave rugby to the rough boys,
cricket to the wealthy ones—
I'll stick to chasing butterflies
in fields of fresh-mown grass
where pretty Lepidoptera
spread their delicate, wet wings.

The old boys' joys lay deadened
by too much bat or scrum.
Their dullard's inattention
speaks of some faulty genes.

I never had a chance
to thank you for Monday. As if
there's a sacrament for what we shared.
As if I know anything about sacraments.

How many women performed
a rite of benediction for you?
Blessings of jazz, Mingus and hot fingers
blessing in sighs and whispers,
the drumbeat and our distant voices,
our masked faces. We were bound
to the miles between us
but we were naked
and covered in secrets.

Dance, dance. Make your hair move.
Lean then leap with your eyes closed,
but know there is an art to painting
the blind night until Eos rises
from your bed saying your body
is as vivid to me as it ever was.

You people are rocking this thread! *throws roses*

7

Hell

No one quite understands that all coins
spun on a bar are not tips,
but another form of life.

I should blend
into this loud, ragged conversation, but
not all of us are paired

to our own chosen donkey
who will carry us down into the beautiful canyon,
one crossed, cautious hoof at a time.

1

Exeunt
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
—Henry IV, Part 2 [II iv 260-261]

Sometimes a stag tires
of the yearly rut, the ridiculous
cage of velvet and bone
worn like a crown of thorns,
the adrenaline shiver
that spikes the backs of each leg
while waiting for a younger male's rush.
It all gets old one season,
and desire turns to the final relief
of an arrow's thud into his heavy flank,
of lead tearing through the hot carotid
and the long, wet drift into dark.

I have read of how certain men, disturbed
by the needy instability of want,
emasculate themselves
searching for freedom from sex and its compulsions.
This does not not work, of course, and
these guys are crazy, anyway,
but

know that my ever more erratic pursuit
is not inconstancy, but age
and waning confidence. Men also tire
of butting heads with youth, and strength
cannot reliably be bested with just technique.
Thus inherit I mere earth, not you. Meekly.

Coda
So as I lay me down to sleep,
I leave my soul. It's yours to keep.

2

spoor

a broken branch
a random hair
some scuffed, cut leaves in disarray

that slight scent left
on bushes, trees
I know I'll find her, anyway

her notebook, left
abandoned—rot
has claimed each page. Analysis

tells me it's hers
and on I track
an age, unease. Dialysis

One

. . . . . .

. . . . .

3

.....

Three

. . . . .

one

last night I dreamed you
your lips
feather light on my eyelids

and I breathed you
your tongue touching mine
advance
retreat
embrace
part
always dancing
flirting with the scrape of my teeth
and yours

and I felt you
your hands so certain on my breast
that I forgot to wonder
when I lost my nightclothes
you cupped them
touched their peaks
gentle
firm
taut
wet with the heat of your mouth

and I wanted you
tight
wet
aching
sweating

until I opened my eyes
sat up
heart racing
nightclothes twisted
sheets soaking

but you were gone
and I wept as I finished
alone

4




André de Lorde

I see you in some stale, dim recess of the Bibliothèque,
hunched at your rabbit hutch of desk,
perhaps cataloguing the dull debates
of the Archives Parlementaires—
paeans on brie or camembert,
Cognac's snipes at Armagnac,
the wonder of the Haut-Médoc.
Was it there you began to dream of knives and picks,
of blood and severed nerves, of jeune filles
sliced and raped (or nuns, perhaps, for Sunday matinées)?
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?
A librarian does, and presto: Grand Guignol.

two

we were alone in the lab
and I yawned
bored
wanting you and sleep hours ago

I put the paper in the bath
while you put two fingers in the can of ink
and smeared over tiny lines in the glass
then wiped the excess away

when you called
I put the paper on the press
worked the crank
and when the ink was transferred
hung the print to dry
seeing

me
I remembered that night
although you hadn’t sketched
while I stretched
eyes closed
arms bound above my head
back arched
panting
legs wide
for your fingers and tongue

I blushed
hot
wet
tingling with memory
my breath quick
as you stood behind me
your head touching mine
hands full of ink
declared it a clean print
and reached around to stain
my tee-shirt
with large black handprints

I turned to you
my voice caught
as I asked how many more
we would do
imagining your class
tearing apart the lines of my body
the thought was cold
when I wanted your heat
to warm me

you reached out your finger
black and shining
and touched my face
the ink was cold and smooth
on my skin
you promised it was for your private collection

that freed me to feel you
my hands were clean
as I tugged at your belt
and freed you
and knelt before you
and tasted you on the tip of my tongue
my lips tight around you
when I had a thought

I stopped and stared up at you
hands shaking
ready
and asked you if we could do one more

you caught my head
with ink-stained hands
to bring me close
and finish the job
and I swallowed hard
before you asked why
then laughed when I told you
I wanted a collection of my own

Welcome to the 007 Challenge, Ninianne. Quite sexy poem that second one is.