📚 The Pretty Words and Poetry Dump 📚

[JustAnotherFlower]

what if we stopped thinking
the erotic lives in bodies
and started realizing
it lives in moments?

what if the real orgasm
is when the clock shatters
and suddenly we're no longer late
for our own lives?

what if desire is born
where the world collapses?
in the relapse. the sleepless night.
eros as the divorce that fucks you awake
when you’re trying to forget
you’re alive.

maybe eros isn’t about
touching each other.
maybe it’s about
touching the world together.

if you want to know where lust lives,
don’t strip naked.
strip your routine.
watch what happens when
chaos is allowed to bite
the leash in half.

what if every mess,
every chaos,
every rupture
is foreplay with god?

eros doesn’t need you nude.
it only needs the mess you try to hide
when you’re clothed.
i made a shirt
to stain you
with that truth.

- Christopher Sexton

 

[JustAnotherFlower]

 

[PrettyLilPussy19]

 

[JustAnotherFlower]

not sure if i’m obsessed with her face,
or the fact that every time she looks at me
i forget which lifetime i’m in.

every time her mouth is on mine,
i forget my own name
and remember
the one shame tried to erase.

the first time she kissed me, i thought:
this is what art feels like when
it refuses to hang
on a wall.

when she bites my lip
i stop believing in free will.
it’s not her fault. it’s biology.
or witchcraft.
or both.

this woman burns leashes for breakfast.

she’s proof that the word “no” can be erotic
when it’s aimed at conformity.

feral would be lucky to lick her crown.
she’s something wilder,
the kind of animal
evolution hasn’t invented yet.

audacity blushed when it met her.

i don’t know if it’s the way
she carries trouble
like perfume
or the way she laughs
like god forgot to chain her lightning,
but i’d follow her into every burning building
just to see what she writes on the walls.

i think heaven is the place where
she erases the line between
masterpiece and mess,
like she knows both
are the point.

her genius isn’t in
just what she creates, but
in how she makes you realize
you’ve been starving
for wildness
your whole damn life.

her defiance tastes better than wine.
i get drunk on the way she refuses to apologize
for existing like an earthquake.

cages look embarrassed when she walks by.

she knows danger
is just another word for freedom
when you stop fawning for approval.

she leaves me wrecked in the best way,
like a museum after midnight
when the statues finally
decide to dance.

she slides her demons across my tongue
and calls it dessert.
like she’s feeding me proof
that survival tastes better
when it’s soaked
in shadows.
god help me please.
it’s the most addictive flavor i've ever known.

wild how the bible tried to convince us
women were carved from scraps of men,
when every time i’m inside her i swear
my soul remembers she’s the soil
i sprouted out of.

By Christopher Sexton