bogusagain
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 18, 2009
- Posts
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appetite's good for poemry *nods*These things like Marx etc just pop into my head and sound right at the time of writing. Though this poem started off as satire and decided to go on a direction of its own. I feel I'm getting my appetite to write poetry back, which could be bad news for a world teetering on the edge of a catastrophe.
I feel I'm getting my appetite to write poetry back, which could be bad news for a world teetering on the edge of a catastrophe.
tods an bogus are a coupl'a liars. porn indeed there's art here.
Sophie's Vagina
rumours say Sophie shaved her vagina
or should that be vulva, pudendum or pubis?
it’s difficult to intellectualize, when
your mind is swimming below waist height
a dog sniffing around at random, searching
for a morsel, or even better, some bitch in heat
you know, you’ve been there too, don’t deny it
it keeps your mind occupied and who knows
someone always wins the lottery
her porcelain pubis polished to a mirror
a V pointing between her thighs, the cut
which keeps you awake at night, your face
reflecting back, with a gash between your eyes
this concerns you more than the boot, pressed
down upon your sternum, the weight of the world
squeezing your bellows chest of oxygen
pumping hard and making no headway
it’s the impossible vision, more an ideology
I studied Karl Marx for the betting averages
asked Frederick Engels for his opinion
‘Freedom is the recognition of necessity’
everyone needs a distraction, a hope
I applied this reasoning to shaved vaginas
boxes full, like harvested mussels, puckering
a field of failed last dying words, bubbles
inflating then deflating, moribund explanations
you may imagine Sophie’s smooth pudendum
but in the end all it is, is politics
hmmm, linguistically speaking this could be read as:Morning After
Sloughing sex from shoulders
rolled back to release
stress, rebuilding in ponderance
of last night when that tongue
explored every last silk-edged
fold, each swollen mouthful
of salty orgasm induced at the end
of a willing cock and God!
Those shoulders scream for a palm
smoothed over tight muscles
to blur the lines between skin
and thoroughly hardened bone.
Cheek and tits pressed to to wall
Hands pressed beneath one of his
Furious fumbling of button
and zipper
Hurry for fucks sake
My mouth or pussy cry
Clumsy entry
Then the push
Being impaled
on heaven's gate
Batter them/me open
Hand buried in my hair
Yeah, that's it
Ride us there
tods, i'll need to come to these fresh (if you'll pardon the awful pun) but i will, and post my thinking. briefly, for me, the first hits its stride when you make the words work harder by using brevity in the second half. that's not to say there's not good stuff in the earlier parts. i do need to reread it with a clearer head to offer anything worth saying.
A hand slaps
a crack
redden a print of passion
that rages as you urge harder
Don't ask why as ass flashes,
a sewing machine has nothing on me
the arch in your back deepens
dimples indent
claws sink into hips
hair slicked in sweat that sticks
to your face
for once you don't care to flick it back
thought merges into sensation
and nothing but the feel of penetration
registers
come with me
to the point of no return
and we burn for
that moment
when mouths open
and vent what has been pent up
Fall onto your face
gasp and breathe
deep
as my nails
gently scratch the stinging marks
of my hand prints
Ahhh Baby, I been screwin' with you! And anyone else who reads my words.hmmm, linguistically speaking this could be read as:
of salty orgasm induced at the end
of a willing cock
of salty orgasm induced at the end
of a God
or God willing (and he must have been), his cock
who you been screwin?
ooooooohAhhh Baby, I been screwin' with you! And anyone else who reads my words.
The scratching
of reddened flesh
makes inner muscles
clench
awakening
new cravings
Nipples harden and ache
to be suckled and supped upon
while I hunger for
a pacifier of my own
soft moist flesh
that tastes of the ocean
I swim in anticipation as nails
follow the trail of sweat
rising on shaky knees
I croon and sway
until you slide beneath me
and I spy my dessert
I take in the whole of it
savoring the salt and tang
as fingers glide over
my folds, spreading
opening
finally teasing
In slow divine spirals
as you take your first
taste of ambrosia
sending spent
but hungry muscles
into spasms of clench and release
My hips rise and
back arches
in a plea
that you answer
with long thick
digits
A moan escapes as I
release my pacifier
and bury my face
in the join of your legs
inhaling your scent
as you probe my depths
in our joint quest
to satiate my renewed hunger
I suck in your most tender
flesh
as bones warn
of the coming tide
and I am pulled under
by the waves that
you created
with your beautiful hands
I was on top.
One hand planted on your sweaty chest
the other grinding my lust down
until it was gone, like dust.
I couldn't wait to fake it for you.
All I wanted was your cock;
and your soul,
but your love is nothing more than a fading handprint on my ass.
I was on top.
One hand planted on your sweaty chest
the other grinding my lust down
until it was gone, like dust.
I couldn't wait to fake it for you.
All I wanted was your cock;
and your soul,
but your love is nothing more than a fading handprint on my ass.