Everyday Erotica

this is a supple couplet

The first verse is also memorable

it just pours out of you, to our delight
 
Kiss Me

Sometimes you part my lips,
Like a familiar road,
My cunt,
The sea.
You taste my tongue,
Like it is the sky,
My clit,
Your own.
You make a metaphor of my mouth,
A messenger,
A meteor,
A myth.
You make me ache,
Imagine,
Move,
Hope.
 
Which of these two poems is better?

I wrote #1 and thought it was done, but then I read it to the man who inspired it and he said it felt unfinished to him, so I kept working on it.

Then I submitted it for publication here and it’s taking like 8 years to be approved by a moderator, so I just keep rewriting it and rewriting it.

Now I just reread the first one posted earlier here and it feels perfectly finished to me, on top of which, I think I just like it better.

But, I don’t know. Anyone feel like sharing your opinion?

#1

Kiss Me

Sometimes you part my lips,
Like a familiar road,
My cunt,
The sea.
You taste my tongue,
Like it is the sky,
My clit,
Your own.
You make a metaphor of my mouth,
A messenger,
A meteor,
A myth.
You make me ache,
Imagine,
Move,
Hope.


#2.

My Mouth, Your Cunt

Sometimes you part my lips with yours.
Like they are a familiar road.
Like my cunt. Your hair. The ocean.
You taste my tongue with yours.
Like I am your moon, we are your sky.
Like my clit. Your lunch. The sunrise.
You make a metaphor of my mouth.
A messenger. A meteor. A myth.
You tickle, and tease, and take me.
Make me: imagine you there, feel you there.
Need you: inside me there, and elsewhere there.
Above me there. And below me there.
Make me hope for it there.
Ache for it there.
Ask for it there.
Know it there.
 
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It's been a long time,
longer than I care to mention
since she spread me with
an experienced finger.
Was it the unknown or
what I had smoked
caused acquiescence to her
questing tongue and
immediately omg, omg OMG?!!!!
 
I like both poems, Psyche, but I think the line "You make a metaphor of my mouth" is unnecessary. The poems would be more effective, in my opinion, if you let the reader infer the implicit metaphor created by the lines that follow this one. Enjoyed them both. -- Cal Y. Pygia
 
Which of these two poems is better?

I wrote #1 and thought it was done, but then I read it to the man who inspired it and he said it felt unfinished to him, so I kept working on it.

Then I submitted it for publication here and it’s taking like 8 years to be approved by a moderator, so I just keep rewriting it and rewriting it.

Now I just reread the first one posted earlier here and it feels perfectly finished to me, on top of which, I think I just like it better.

But, I don’t know. Anyone feel like sharing your opinion?

I like the first one. It feels better and leaves more room for the reader.

I also like the suggestion regarding the metaphor line, it seems like you could just drop the "a metaphor of" and let it read simply, "You make my mouth..."

It's intense and we don't really want kisses to feel finished, do we?
 
"Later my anklets would dance a raga
Tiny bells jingling
beneath my crimson toenails
on your shoulders"

This is a very tasty stanza, Desejo . . . . and "the white girl in the yoga pants . . . is a clever and erotic poem.

If it weren't so cold here I would be looking for panty lines for the rest of the day:)
 
"Was it the unknown or
what I had smoked"

The question we have been asking since Enki walked the ancient paths of earth
 
Thank you!

I like the first one. It feels better and leaves more room for the reader.

I also like the suggestion regarding the metaphor line, it seems like you could just drop the "a metaphor of" and let it read simply, "You make my mouth..."

It's intense and we don't really want kisses to feel finished, do we?

Now that you mention it, no, not really.

And he usually does NOT go down on me after he kisses me in this very intentionally suggestive way, which is obviously cruel and unusual, and very much UN-fucking-finished in my mind...

But, I’m getting off topic, so.

Thank you both, doc and cal, for the feedback. It’s my first time to ask for some, and get some, so it is meaningful to me that you replied and helped. It makes me feel like a real poet. So, thank you for that.

I took your advice and landed on this. I like it better now.

Kissing You

Sometimes you part my lips,
Like a familiar road,
My cunt,
Your hair,
The ocean.
You taste my tongue,
Like it is the sky,
My clit,
Your own.
You make my mouth,
A messenger,
A meteor,
A myth.
Make me ache for it.
Hope for it.
Imagine it.
Know it.
 
That Girl in the Sundress

does not resemble you—
her hair is too straight, too light
to be your dark, rich waves.
She is too young, too blank
in experience of life
to taste like the wine of your kiss,
your conversation. But she is bare,
or nearly so, and her beautiful
shoulders and slim, tanned legs
make me think of sex, and so,
the way a grainy photograph
must serve at times for soul,
this is why—how—she becomes you.

perfect, professional, publishable, prick-teasing, penetrating
 
Now that you mention it, no, not really.

And he usually does NOT go down on me after he kisses me in this very intentionally suggestive way, which is obviously cruel and unusual, and very much UN-fucking-finished in my mind...

But, I’m getting off topic, so.

Thank you both, doc and cal, for the feedback. It’s my first time to ask for some, and get some, so it is meaningful to me that you replied and helped. It makes me feel like a real poet. So, thank you for that.

I took your advice and landed on this. I like it better now.

Kissing You

Sometimes you part my lips,
Like a familiar road,
My cunt,
Your hair,
The ocean.
You taste my tongue,
Like it is the sky,
My clit,
Your own.
You make my mouth,
A messenger,
A meteor,
A myth.
Make me ache for it.
Hope for it.
Imagine it.
Know it.


I adore this. The power and sensuality in such brevity. Keep it up. This certainly raised me ;)
 
and so the weight of a mans heart is barely 300grams
a woman's slightly less
and beyond the fatalistic beating

70-80 of those a minute

pumping life into the furthest reaches of the cosmos
because the connections in the human brain
link beyond that of the stars in the sky


I burn for the curled warmth
of your breath on my face
tickling
inviting me to stare
into the unknown

the abyss that stares back
reflecting a fleeting moment

where my breath quickens
the pulse races and all 300grams of
me pounds as if I am sprinting
from death
as if the maelstrom of ideas I hold
are phantoms leaking out
being consumed by the simple act

of holding you cocooned in the Sanskrit
writings calligraphed on you skin in indelible ink
invisible to those looking out from within there own
hollows

but I see the lines and want to trace them out

write those letters of some such on all 300grams of my beating insanity

taste your taboos and kiss them away
until they are integrated into an us
to help you conquer your dreams
not stand in the way and try to do it for you
shield you from wounds that would altogether be mortal if I was not there
but I refuse to take those wounds that will make you stronger

there is some kind of gorgeous huger
in the suffering of fools in love
as if a heart beating battery acide
and a mind clouded in the dizzy fogs are all that matter
and yes I burn for you
ache to join in the topography of your flesh
breath the sanguis perfume
from between your thighs

the moments of awe
hair raised in shivering piloerection

as I melt

Aristotle believed the heart was a lamp that kept us warm
and mine surges into a bonfire

whenever I read the depth of you

engraved in all 300grams
of my lifes blood
 
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and so the weight of a mans heart is barely 300grams
a woman's slightly less
and beyond the fatalistic beating

70-80 of those a minute

pumping life into the furthest reaches of the cosmos
because the connections in the human brain
link beyond that of the stars in the sky


I burn for the curled warmth
of your breath on my face
tickling
inviting me to stare
into the unknown

the abyss that stares back
reflecting a fleeting moment

where my breath quickens
the pulse races and all 300grams of
me pounds as if I am sprinting
from death
as if the maelstrom of ideas I hold
are phantoms leaking out
being consumed by the simple act

of holding you cocooned in the Sanskrit
writings calligraphed on you skin in indelible ink
invisible to those looking out from within there own
hollows

but I see the lines and want to trace them out

write those letters of some such on all 300grams of my beating insanity

taste your taboos and kiss them away
until they are integrated into an us
to help you conquer your dreams
not stand in the way and try to do it for you
shield you from wounds that would altogether be mortal if I was not there
but I refuse to take those wounds that will make you stronger

there is some kind of gorgeous huger
in the suffering of fools in love
as if a heart beating battery acide
and a mind clouded in the dizzy fogs are all that matter
and yes I burn for you
ache to join in the topography of your flesh
breath the sanguis perfume
from between your thighs

the moments of awe
hair raised in shivering piloerection

as I melt

Aristotle believed the heart was a lamp that kept us warm
and mine surges into a bonfire

whenever I read the depth of you

engraved in all 300grams
of my lifes blood
..
Oh bravo!
 
todski... it's like you missed 3 rungs on the stepladder and wrote this one from the fourth up from you regulars.

they were pretty damned good, visceral, and beyond simple 'raw' - this latest is honed to a professional feel without being so shiny it's tawdry.
 
todski... it's like you missed 3 rungs on the stepladder and wrote this one from the fourth up from you regulars.

they were pretty damned good, visceral, and beyond simple 'raw' - this latest is honed to a professional feel without being so shiny it's tawdry.
Agreed in all but the honing Todski. I know it needs an edit simply because you wrote it on your mobile phone touch pad. If you'll allow me I will clean it up for you.

Send me an IM :)
 
Agreed in all but the honing Todski. I know it needs an edit simply because you wrote it on your mobile phone touch pad. If you'll allow me I will clean it up for you.

Send me an IM :)


Damn champ I'm sorry for not responding to this, I've been flitting between here and gone so much it's been drive by poeming:/

Thanks all who replied also, I may be around more often I'm kinda not sure at the moment I want to be around but life does what life does
 
There is coffee in its dark liquidity
toned and black
with cream I would take it
sweetened like caramelised candy
to better swallow the bitter brew

it’s aroma infused with the tempo
of our dark thoughts that want to
bury the madness of us
of humanity between the
walls of this threadbare house
and the delicate sounds longing to burst
from your throat
as the first trickle touches your tongue

and the taste of coffee in your mouth will always be an enigma
as sensual as your hair between my fingers
as dark as the stain it leaves on raw timber
and I would lacquer it there to remember
when it was
we paired back the hues of arabica
and shared the taste of
it’s dark and sensual hue
 
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Darling your sleeping sensuality, tempts me
beyond all endurance and all mortal patience.
A guilty flush creeps over me, until staining
nipples pink with desire, your excellence
will not deny my passion and I awake you,
deep within my mouth..............
 
You breathe in my ear that you love me,
and you may as well have emblazoned
it across the sky, for my heart soars,
races to the heights. The world must surely
be alight from the glory of what you give to me.
 
.
I love your eyes where the love light lives,
sometimes soft, more often lit with passion.
That look is all it takes to bring me desirous,
lost and trembling in the tempest of your love.
Lie skin to skin with me, and together we'll
sing our song, until all insecurities gone,
I discover the tune, the music of your heart.
 
When we were small
and the world a safer place
we'd swim, all us kids,
naked as the day we were born.

I always thought the little fingers
hanging out in front so sweet,
kind of helpless, tender. Floating
and bobbing, jiggling when the boys ran
to dry off or chase us girls.

Now we’re grown yours still seems
vulnerable until it swells with power.
Softly curled to the fleshy cushion behind,
stirring at my touch, my breath, my lips,
until it’s rigid, blessing your belly,
your heart beat making it dance for me.

To feel your body entering mine,
a part of me, is what I live for.
I envy you this token of your desire,
mine as long as we’re together
 
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