You taste me; I taste you

Saturday, January 31, 2015

I let you put your fingers in my mouth

So I can taste where you have been,

Fingers wrapped around me like a shawl,

To rub against me

To rise and fall, come in and out like waves

You taste like the salty sea that comes

And goes, we rocking in this lifeboat

With no hope for or expectation to survive

Living only with the bliss of escaping steam.

You let me stick my fingers in your mouth

For you to taste where I have been,

With my tongue tasting your tongue

Until we both taste it all

This not so sweet existence that comes

With so much strain, this which draws

From us sweat and steals each

Breath we breathe

This which we press into each other

And then withdraw,

Like fresh water from a deep well,

I let you taste me as I taste you

And we come

To taste each other,

And you let me inside you so you can

Feel where I come

From and come

To understand where I need to go,

With this mouthful of honey covered fingers,

This bedspread into which I bury my head.

Erotica

Moonlight through willows

June 2, 2013

Moon light stretches her thin fingers

Through the gold willow leaves

With a touch so soft it stiffens them

No wind tonight to whip the limps

This way or that,

Just bent shapes in the dim night

And the shake of some internal shudder

Again, then again, and again,

The kiss of the air when it comes

Lingers on the upturned tips

The quiver of anticipation

And then release

All nights are lonely nights

Filled with the ache

For the company it can keep

Wine sipped but rarely consumed

Red lips lusted after

But barely assumed,

This night of all night

Struck with prickly edges

 Of need with a moon teasing

Full of promises before it fades

Living limp what it so excited

Casting into dark

The upturned protrusions

It once made quiver

And near the willow’s roots

The all-knowing river flows

Having reflected on moon light

For so long, and its suggestive promises,

It accepts in the end

Whatever gifts the moon will give 

Drip on the edge of memory

Thursday, January 29, 2015

I feel the curve of the river

Press against me as I walk

This lonely walk along the Hudson

In not-so-desolate Hoboken,

The chill wind kissing my cheeks

When I ache for more,

The trembling last leaves

Of last fall’s harvest clinging

To barren limbs,

Tender brown fingers

Rubbing the bark with the same

Affection I feel in memory,

This breath of air stinging me

And yet making me ache for more

As if pleasure and pain

Cannot be subdivided in a town

Where everything gets boxed up,

My limbs like tree limbs

Waiting for the coming of spring

To burst again into hard buds

That bloom and drip with a spring

Time due, the taste of the air,

Lingering at the tip of my tongue

As I swallow and feel the chill

Go down deep into my bones,

Where all things reside,

Like an unresolved remembrance
that drips off each edge of me,

Filled with the promise of satisfaction

I never feel

Link to other erotica

Fire eaters

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Breathing fire isn’t tricky

We eat fire from the day we are born,

Taking it in from our first breath

So others think we might be dragons,

Undefeatable except by a lucky lance,

While inside we bide our time

Fearing the pin pick that will deflate us,

We need to believe we are destined for greatness,

Waiting on a train that just hasn’t yet arrived,

As we huff and puff and know we can

Do anything we want,

Faith moves the mountains in us,

Lets us stroll over hot coals

rise into highs we get dizzy from,

Lets us breathe in fire and not incinerate,

Faith must propel us even when hot winds won’t,

The jealous small-minded pin prickers

Too scared to breathe fire themselves

And so insist we don’t either,

Faith that we take deep breaths

And remain un-singed,

Faith in knowing that we are what we believe

And without faith, we don’t breathe at all.

The pirate of Ocean Grove

Thursday, January 01, 2015

I come to the end of the walkway

To the edge of the sea

Where the old pirate sat
gone

The way all things go

When the sea calls them home,

Gone like the pack

Of stuffed animals from

The boardwalk memorial

For some long gone person

Who I know nothing of,

Cheerful faces to mark

A less than cheerful passing,

The frog gone first

And then the other two,

And now the pirate

That had clung to this remote

Edge of Ocean Grove

As if to the edge of the world

Why he vanished less important

Than his going,

Though I’d like to believe

Some ship came to collect him

As we all must be collected

When our time comes,

His job done

Telling us where reality ends

And beckoning us

To step off the land

We so cling to

To discover something more

Beyond the usual boundaries

Of our otherwise mundane lives

He, sailing into eternity,

With sails fully inflated