just porn

I have to agree with tod. That poem is yummy, but too subtle for anything I'd call porn. I like it a lot.
 
tod, Pensive and Lyri, thanks all for your kind comments, perhaps I'll try Everyday Erotics next and save the really raunchy for just porn
 
Roll Player

I am an adventurous open minded kinky passionate man
that loves oral and all sorts of roll play.
—Line from an online personals ad.


OK, forget that "that" should be "who"—

I want to roll marbles with this man,
go bowling, toss tennis balls back and forth,
play a round of golf or bocce,
even roll down a hill like a log,
the way a ten-year-old would embrace
dizziness as verticality.

That we could tumble together,
over each other, over each other,
should cement us

like hardened epoxy
but, damn, if he's not already
bound to how he thinks of us
as girls. Well, orally, mister,

I would bite the tip off
of your presumption

and chew on your lack of understanding
of how grammar slips us all together
as mere green and intertwining leaves.
 
fuck it all
I wonder how turned on you would be
if I hurt you
the way you beg to be hurt
how much can you really take?

you crawl on your knees and plead
that you have been a bad girl

Do you know the things these hands have done?

there is a scar from
collapsing a man's eye socket
in one shot
spiral fractures that had him
in fits as he pissed himself

punched a man's nose completely off his face,
I am damaged goods woman
and you beg of me
stir the anger in my blood
the dirty sediment that has settled
but when riled drowns out the clarity
of my normal every day

I snapped a man's wrist radius
and ulna clean from his hand
because he grabbed my throat

had a man bleed from his eyes
from his ears, frontal lobe concussion
and ruptured ear drums

I am violence personified
and
you want that
baby I am too broken
to play this game with you

you slap me
scream at me
I walk through the bedroom door
as if it's a breezeway

shards and splinters fly
as the wrecked remnants
shatter all over the floor

the awe in your eyes
you swallow
exaggerated
in slow motion adrenaline surge

I see you fear
I see you lick a small speck of blood
from the pink of your lip

we can taste it in the air
blood runs down my arms
splinters stick from bulging muscles
as heavy breathing blazes my wild eyes

you slap me again

I snap
with one hand I grab your hair
rip you from your feet
and pin you face down on the bed

rip your pants off and slap your ass
hard enough to bruise instantly,
screaming
you want this
my belt hits the floor
I unbuckle one handed

smash my cock into your
soft heat
and take you
you are wetter than you have ever been

your first cum
wets my thighs
you drip with the searing lust
as this beast
pounds like a pneumatic drill
growling,

I rip your head back
sink my teeth into your neck
draw blood
turn your face and smear it
all over you

a charnel house scene
obscene in its bestial display
you cum again in a screaming fit
of obscenities,
fuck, you chant nose turned up
in a snarl
"yes, fuck my cunt"
you squirt a gush as if my cock has cut an artery
in your lust and you soak the sheets
with your vaginal fluids

I
RAM
MY
ANGER
IN
TO
YOU

I clench and cum
squirting out every last ounce of myself
and collapse

my hand unlocks from your hair
gently, I kiss you
and start muttering my apologies

baby, you pushed me
I'm so sorry

you whisper
you are wrecking my high
shut up
dangerous games, written with fantastic control.

has me concerned more for the narrator in the piece than the sexual partner - it's mentally disturbing and incredibly selfish to push him to the edge of madness for the sake of her sexual high. having said that, this is probably your most mature write in this arena of sex/violence.
 
she is witchcraft
sorcery in bourboun sour mash
vodoo and mud
soft dirt in crystal decanters
sequins, lace
and heels from hell

I swallow
pulse beats at my jugular
jungle drumming
a thrum and throb
that lowers the bass
tones

she rattles ice cubes
like some mystic
marraccas
approaches like a zombie
she wants to feast

she takes the swell of
my tip in icecubed lips

I see red
tied to the bed in this super 8 motel

You nailed it
 
Artist and Model

She is content to pose
in his varied gaze,
sometimes a coolly critical squint,
sometimes hotly, erotically open.

He seldom touches her,
his hands restless on the canvas
although his eyes take in
every curve and angle.

To test him she will
casually open her eyes
through a veil of lashes,
her thighs, as if to ease discomfort,
her lips, knowing his eyes are there.

If he is tempted he looks away
only to return to her now closed
body, languidly naked,
a Da Vinci smile curving his way.

He cannot fathom if it is desire
or wantonness,
if she is nymph to his satyr?
He hides his desire from her
but she knows her power
and reaches out to touch it
as he flinches away.

Tomorrow,
tomorrow he may allow
her hand to settle but, for now he
tortures them both.
 
Artist and Model

She is content to pose
in his varied gaze,
sometimes a coolly critical squint,
sometimes hotly, erotically open.

He seldom touches her,
his hands restless on the canvas
although his eyes take in
every curve and angle.

To test him she will
casually open her eyes
through a veil of lashes,
her thighs, as if to ease discomfort,
her lips, knowing his eyes are there.

If he is tempted he looks away
only to return to her now closed
body, languidly naked,
a Da Vinci smile curving his way.

He cannot fathom if it is desire
or wantonness,
if she is nymph to his satyr?
He hides his desire from her
but she knows her power
and reaches out to touch it
as he flinches away.

Tomorrow,
tomorrow he may allow
her hand to settle but, for now he
tortures them both.

I wish there were more like this in "New Poems," GP.
 
Thank you both :heart: but in reading it here I can see several renovations needing to be one.

I was intrigued the last stanza. I liked the wistful way it began:

Tommorrow,
Tomorrow he may allow.....


I also thought the 3rd line, if it ended in rhyme, would have added to that wistfulness:

her hand to settle, but for now

and the the 4th and surprising line might have been lengthened, or perhaps I should say prolonged, because "torture" is the key word.

I really liked the poem, GP.
 
Thank you both :heart: but in reading it here I can see several renovations needing to be one.

lol, fine I'll remember to not compliment your poems again until you say it's ok :p

I like it as is, do I think you could make it better, tighter, with more impact, yes, but well that's on you.

me I think it's too good to be sitting anywhere near the crap I write, just saying ;)
 
I told you I would write something that would burn the page
that would make you want to spread yourself
to open to the sensuality of a liftime of sexual gluttony
so you can be finger fed the delicacies
gathered together in a tool bag
and a repetoire of
seedy nights
sorted into orgasm types
textures
sounds
and all the other senses you lose control of
when itgoes haywire
when the only sound is the roar of blood
and the smashing drum beat of come
screaming out names
of forgotten creatures
epiphanies
flow out in a litany of incomprehensible clarity

Lost then
recaptured in damp
moments
when the lights are off and the mind
wanders its way through
stopping before legitimate thoughys of personal demise
or the heavy feelings
a distraction from mortality
because in those precious seconds
you can touch the gods themselves

Very rich in its imagery, steamy and sensuous, tod. I think it was Billy Collins who wrote(I'm paraphrasing here) establish the narrative and quickly before you stretch the reader. The first two lines do that well. I might have omitted the "to" which begins line 3.

"when the only sound is the roar of blood
and the smashing drum beat of come
screaming out names
of forgotten creatures"

raised my body temperature.
 
Perhaps you should kneel
between my legs
and spreading my labia
seek for the concealed nub,
coaxing it out
with your fingertips to present itself
to your waiting lips.
 
Perhaps you should kneel
between my legs
and spreading my labia
seek for the concealed nub,
coaxing it out
with your fingertips to present itself
to your waiting lips.
Perhaps I should now kneel and spread
Your long, lean thighs upon our bed,
Roll on my tongue the cabernet
Of hidden pearl with which I'll play
Intently as a newlywed.

Or should I tease and feather? Sled
As stealthy as a copperhead
Through summer grass and lingerie?
Perhaps I should—

For lovely are you as I thread
My path along your thoroughbred
And sumptuous body, where I may
As native or as émigré
With lips and fingers live and tread.
Perhaps? I should.
 
Perhaps I should now kneel and spread
Your long, lean thighs upon our bed,
Roll on my tongue the cabernet
Of hidden pearl with which I'll play
Intently as a newlywed.

Or should I tease and feather? Sled
As stealthy as a copperhead
Through summer grass and lingerie?
Perhaps I should—

For lovely are you as I thread
My path along your thoroughbred
And sumptuous body, where I may
As native or as émigré
With lips and fingers live and tread.
Perhaps? I should.

All of the above! :catroar:
 
Time Well Spent

Morning began with my breasts;
pendulous fruit swaying
over the expanse of bed
as the tree yields to gravity's
persistent tug, then rebounds
resilient, back to height
only to be tempted forward,
to dangle bounty over the hungry
insistence of greedy foragers
reaching for the best
fruit in the sunlight at the top.

Plucking at my flesh like
a migrant worker pinches
the stem to hold perfection
in hands toughened to harvest,
and in a moment's rebellion
lifts sunwarmed ripeness
to his lips, breaking the fragile
skin with bright teeth. Urgent
pucker of lips that draw
sugared nectar inside against
the exploration of tongue
and cheeks before closing
his sparkling eyes in delight.

Morning began that way.
I want to finish it with you
the tree, boldly straight
and tall as my humidity
swallows you, nurtures
the plum you offer to ripen,
skin stretched tight over
the purple hue and so ready,
that when the extra time
is given, engorged you burst.
Good greatly becomes you.
 
Time Well Spent

Morning began with my breasts;
pendulous fruit swaying
over the expanse of bed
as the tree yields to gravity's
persistent tug, then rebounds
resilient, back to height
only to be tempted forward,
to dangle bounty over the hungry
insistence of greedy foragers
reaching for the best
fruit in the sunlight at the top.

Plucking at my flesh like
a migrant worker pinches
the stem to hold perfection
in hands toughened to harvest,
and in a moment's rebellion
lifts sunwarmed ripeness
to his lips, breaking the fragile
skin with bright teeth. Urgent
pucker of lips that draw
sugared nectar inside against
the exploration of tongue
and cheeks before closing
his sparkling eyes in delight.

Morning began that way.
I want to finish it with you
the tree, boldly straight
and tall as my humidity
swallows you, nurtures
the plum you offer to ripen,
skin stretched tight over
the purple hue and so ready,
that when the extra time
is given, engorged you burst.
Good greatly becomes you.

This is erotic poetry at its best, absolutely beautiful. I enjoyed it very much and am sharing it tonight with my wife as a wonderful aperitif before our Valentines Day dinner.
 
Time Well Spent

Morning began with my breasts;
pendulous fruit swaying
over the expanse of bed
as the tree yields to gravity's
persistent tug, then rebounds
resilient, back to height
only to be tempted forward,
to dangle bounty over the hungry
insistence of greedy foragers
reaching for the best
fruit in the sunlight at the top.

Plucking at my flesh like
a migrant worker pinches
the stem to hold perfection
in hands toughened to harvest,
and in a moment's rebellion
lifts sunwarmed ripeness
to his lips, breaking the fragile
skin with bright teeth. Urgent
pucker of lips that draw
sugared nectar inside against
the exploration of tongue
and cheeks before closing
his sparkling eyes in delight.

Morning began that way.
I want to finish it with you
the tree, boldly straight
and tall as my humidity
swallows you, nurtures
the plum you offer to ripen,
skin stretched tight over
the purple hue and so ready,
that when the extra time
is given, engorged you burst.
Good greatly becomes you.
just superb :rose:
 
Perhaps I should now kneel and spread
Your long, lean thighs upon our bed,
Roll on my tongue the cabernet
Of hidden pearl with which I'll play
Intently as a newlywed.

Or should I tease and feather? Sled
As stealthy as a copperhead
Through summer grass and lingerie?
Perhaps I should—

For lovely are you as I thread
My path along your thoroughbred
And sumptuous body, where I may
As native or as émigré
With lips and fingers live and tread.
Perhaps? I should.

as is this :cool:

esp love Sled/stealthy as a copperhead - how frikken awesome's that?
 
This is erotic poetry at its best, absolutely beautiful. I enjoyed it very much and am sharing it tonight with my wife as a wonderful aperitif before our Valentines Day dinner.

just superb :rose:
Thank you both. I am flattered that you will read this for your valentine GM, I'm happy to help delight.

And butters I do so agree with your thoughts on Tzed's beauty. It is superb.
 
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