Everyday Erotica

[legerdemer]

Myopathy

Well. I cannot move
this indifferent arm.
But then she took my quiet hand

and at least I could watch
her finish herself
with dead fingers.

I felt her warmth,
her wetness,
even if only as spectator.

For now, I can still bend forward
to kiss. For now,
that must suffice.

For now. For now.
Somewhere I can hope there's still
happiness

in the luxury of her body,
whose different paths I can no longer
openly explore.

This throbs with disappointment. But truly dead fingers can't feel, and the hope of actual feeling shines through. A sad and wistful poem, but nursing a small spark of hope in its arms.

 

[Tzara]

Molly

We were in my car,
a '67 Pontiac with column shift
and a front bench seat
I had racked all the way back
when she said, I want you
to touch me. I very nearly
said that I was touching
her but suddenly I knew
what she meant and tried
to be gentle as she guided
my fingers.
...............Later, she touched
me as well, but I found
she didn't need any help.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

A golden day of early summer,
with the scent of sweet roses
wafting in from across the gardens
meeting the taste of Pimms
upon my tongue as we chatter elegantly,
old friends and new.
My husband is away somewhere
laughing among his friends,
as you press your hardness
against my leg and whisper in my ear.
Yes even here I want you.

 

[Angeline]

Changes

The room was pulsing
music and flashing lights
purple, blue and green.
People were dancing,
the crowd packed close, loud
and sweaty so we opened
the window and climbed out
3 flights up on the fire escape.

You pulled me out of my dress
bent me over the railing
and took me hard, both of us
hollering howling at the empty
autumn night, at the street
while Moby Grape played.

When we finished
the song had just ended
and someone in the shadows
applauded from below.

 

[Tzara]

Music Lesson

I spent most of the dance
watching the rhythm guitar,
trying to memorize

chord changes for different songs.
His fingers were backwards
from my point of view

so it was a little like translation.
Then Lori touched my shoulder
and asked if I wanted to dance

which I sure did when her breast
rubbed over my elbow
and forearm like,

I don't know, like sex,
and afterwards, in my car,
I couldn't remember anything

except how to play Louie, Louie,
and I couldn't even remember that
when she took her tongue again way low.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Hunger

He watches
her as she disrobes,
his arms folded as if
to show indifference
but his dark suit can't
hide his obvious
tumescence that belies
his stance.

She bends
away from him, a deep
bow intended to whet
his appetite. He sees the
glisten of her own arousal
gathering, readying and,
as she straightens she smiles
knowingly,

He ignores
her so she kneels at his
feet as he likes her to,
reaches up to touch the
thing she has caused but
he grabs her wrist, a quick
twist and she is across his
knees.

He uses
one hand to caresses her
long braid, the other dips
into her moisture. Her moans
please him, he speeds up
his stroking until she arches,
crying out. In their bed, later,
he takes her roughly to satisfy his huger.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Tonguing him back there
produces a hardness like no other,
and as he twists her body
for palm on buttocks
she probes it to the rhythm
of ... smack, smack, smack.

 

[Tzara]

Why You Are Not Pornography

It's more ordinary than that,
something as basic
as how your jeans show

the shape of your hips,
and if they're really tight,
how your calves are still shapely

enough I want to run
my fingers (or my tongue)
over the long muscles

in your legs. It is your breasts,
still beautiful, beautiful
to me, even though

you are no longer twenty,
and in no way quite so firm. Remember,
how I have softened also,

and think about what we have shared
in that attic over Paris,
that cramped tent in the Cascades

and that even in the decrescendo
of our lives, it is you
I want beside me, your

body I long to touch,
to mold my own body to,
to hold close to me in sleep.

It is you. It is you that I love.

 

[Tzara]

Decorum

I have tried to not to look at your breasts
because I know that that probably
makes you uncomfortable.

And I do not want that,
I would hate that

but how can I not but stare
at such perfect beauty? Let me
ask you, instead, about Wallace Stevens,
how real poetry emerges from the ordinary things,
and refocus my gaze onto your slim and elegant hands.

 

[champagne1982]

Birthday Feasts

I love you and I want to write you poetry
with my tongue, tasting "I love you”
in rich saliva trails against your lips,
down along your jaw. Shivering a path
over the cords at your neck; the hollow

where your clavicle meets sternum;
and downward, between the rounded
rise of your pectorals; toward the right;
and to find that pale pink difference
and tease it with my teeth; moving
around your nipple and nibbling
it over the very tip with my very lips.

Kissing a sugar drop swirl to the left
and suckling that one there;
drawing desire up from your belly
and down through your cerebrospinal
fluid to heat your libido.

Not stopping when you moan
instead moving, squirming to engulf
you with the melting of my mouth.
My pink softness, humid on your thigh
rocks rhythmically, your skin and muscles
bunched under me. My breathing increases,

my breath exhaled over your stiffening
length, nearly scalding you
before whispering my tongue
over the frenulum where your glans
meets shaft and teasing a promise
of so much more, I want you,
under me, over me, rising up inside me

I want you deep and touching where only
you can reach. I want you.
Right where I can take my tongue
and bathe your balls with my mouth.

Your scent of arousal makes my mouth water,
makes moisture collect on all my lips
as I nuzzle those masculine plums
and kiss the flesh that in its arousal,
excites in me, an answering response.

 

[delicious_man]

The white girl in the low slung yoga pants
Has an dangerous ass
Tight, rolling under her waist
Like two balloons filled with jello
Her walk sings voom bam bam voom
Each step dimpling her naked flesh at the waist
Your eyes strain for the V
of a panty line
which you will not find

Very sensual... I particularly like the 'dangerous' description. That last line is to die for.

 

[delicious_man]

Just noticed how old that last post was! I loved it all the same. There really are some great pieces of poetry on here. This is another of my favourites that I've read this evening. Well done to all of you guys.

Music Lesson

I spent most of the dance
watching the rhythm guitar,
trying to memorize

chord changes for different songs.
His fingers were backwards
from my point of view

so it was a little like translation.
Then Lori touched my shoulder
and asked if I wanted to dance

which I sure did when her breast
rubbed over my elbow
and forearm like,

I don't know, like sex,
and afterwards, in my car,
I couldn't remember anything

except how to play Louie, Louie,
and I couldn't even remember that
when she took her tongue again way low.

 

[ZombieGirl017]

Rain

It rained the first time we kissed.
Hesitant tongues and wandering limbs
Wet, steamy, sweaty kisses
It's been raining ever since.

 

[Tzara]

Safeway

The closest we get
to intimacy

is when she asks for my birth date
to clear the register

when I buy beer or wine.
My attraction to her is as much

shared age as looks—
I like that she's letting her hair

go gray, that she's not quite slim,
that still she wears earrings,

dangling ones, that idly make me think
I might kiss around her ears

as if trying to remind her
of her youth and those acts that embarrass her,

now that she is older.
That she has, or had, a husband or

perhaps a wife, perhaps children
old enough to argue politics with me,

doesn't matter. I like her looks,
the feminine sound of her voice, asking

What's your birthdate?
Then, the nimbleness of her fingers

as she types those six digits in.
It's like a kind of love. Or not.

But it's sure something, anyway.

 

[Tzara]

Obsession

She dances. So I watch her feet.
They trip and turn and pirouette;
I trace the syncopated beat
she dances so. I watch her feet
and watching her is bittersweet—
she's perfect, a Rodin maquette
that dances, so I watch her feet,
each trip and turn, each pirouette.

 

[Mysterious_liaisons]

Lovely

 

[Tzara]

Attraction

Love is friendship. Just with less clothes,
which makes it far more brilliant.
―Elizabeth Hunter

It's just her words, not photographs,
that ultimately get me hot.
The things she says that make me laugh
more than her unclothed photographs
(though those are sweet) choreograph
how I'm left sexually distraught
by simple words. The photographs
just add to it. In megawatts.

.

 

[Piscator]

The myth of the concubine

He had sex with an Asian woman.
Love was not involved, a purely
physical and pecuniary transaction,
if money can ever be pure.

A woman, no longer a girl
and the only things that
he can recall are the
softness of her skin and
a professional massage
after the preliminaries
were dispensed with.

 

[Greatwhiterice]

Frottage Poem

This feels so good, it loses me for words,
mixing our precum at the very tips,
edging our cocks until we near release.

Positioned in the king of clubs, we stroke
our cocks together, touching frenulums
as abstract lust transitions into cum.

I use your load to go a faster speed,
and blow my own all over your thick head,
and then I feel so weightless I can't stand.

 

[Tzara]

Souvenir

I watched her wipe the sweat
from our lovemaking

off her brow
with a towel I have kept,

damp as it was,
safe in the bottom drawer

of my dresser, because
it holds, at least, her perspiration,

and her lithe and sinuous body
is now a very longtime gone.

.

 

[Piscator]

Not strictly ballroom

She loved to tango with my cum
leaking into her postage stamp
thong saying it lubricated her splits.
Afterwards, I'd lick her clean and
then fill her up once more.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Need

The taste of her remains
on my lips and tongue
like some exotic spice,
burning a memory and madness.

To look up and see her arching neck,
the bridge to her beauty, to feel her
taut thighs tensing under my hands,
the need in me twitches tactlessly.

Her moans and cries wake me
to find an empty bed and
an unmanageable monument.

It is a tangible tenderness,
an actual ache that stays
with me all day, an urgency
only she can salve with her
warm presence beneath me,
her legs wrapping my eagerness
and her gasps of pleasure.

 

[champagne1982]

Depth

I woke playing with you this morning
your ass as open to my fingers
as your ear is to my whispers
of need and desire
Would that I had a cock to give you
in these moments when you want
me with an visceral ache
to massage that spot
My touch does not reach so deep
that you could be soothed
by my intimate insinuations
and digital manipulation
My desire is to pleasure you
and fill those wanting gaps
in our love making tastes
that our lips devour.

 

[EllenMore]

The Word "Ablution," Used Ironically

I was in bed, half asleep,
when he laid his beautiful cock
on the bedstand

half-erect. I managed to tongue
him a bit, circling
the head, but

I was very tired
and left him unsatisfied.
I made up for that,

oh yes, the next morning
when I washed and washed all him.
Oh yes. Oh. Yes.

 

[JCSTREET]

So, if a man had two wives it would equal out?