She kissed like barbed wire,
bruised his kidneys
with her vise grip thighs,
clenched his ****
like an anaconda,
climaxed like a volcano
spewing screams,
moaning like a torture victim;
always wanted more, deeper,
faster, harder, now.

She was the wanton
wild, *******
every guy longs to meet,
ravaging his bed,
bruising his body,
******* him dry

and he couldn't run away
fast or far or soon enough.

  ~mce

by Sharon Olds**

I knew little, and what I knew
I did not believe–they had lied to me
so many times, so I just took it as it
came, his naked body on the sheet,
the tiny hairs curling on his legs like
fine, gold shells, his ***
harder and harder under my palm
and yet not hard as a rock his face cocked
back as if in terror, the sweat
jumping out of his pores like sudden
trails from the tiny snails when his knees
locked with little clicks and under my
hand he gathered and shook and the actual
flood like milk came out of his body, I
saw it glow on his belly, all they had
said and more, I rubbed it into my
hands like lotion, I signed on for the duration.

In the backwaters, as waves lapped on a canoe violently rocking
we kissed;  two eager lovers quickly turning in to winged creatures,
eyes shut, she crushed her malleable ******* against my chest,
we took this journey through the labyrinth of love leading to
the gallery of ****** artifacts, arranged in progression, in our minds.
Her lips swelled up and took mine so deftly in to their control,
and in some moment when our languid eyes opened unawares,
the kiss , a golden fish swished in to the water, gleefully swarm around,
the gathered backwater fish , viewed astonishingly this rare species.

Hands are shaped by
what they hold and make.
Sometimes, I hold your body
tight as a cotton summer dress
on a torrid, sticky day;
Sometimes, my fingers slowly
tracing make it writhe and moan
like a gasping, shocked goddess.
Tell me that my hands are
shaped like love and lust.
Tell me how to touch you
again and forever.
Make my hands
the shape of your desire.

   ~mce

to my darling who feels she's not:
our separation is mere illusion.
truly, your pain strikes me as i write this;
your sensations of abandonment,
and the decisiveness they have caused,
bleed from my skin into the fibers of my clothes.
i am no longer clean.
i do not feel pure.

to my severed arm and shortened tendons:
destruction is merely another side of life.
out of disappearance comes all things-
without space, there would be nothing to contain us,
nothing to allow and enfold our beings' spirits,
and they would sputter and cease like my love's flame.
i am no longer yours.
i do not feel full.

to the farthest star that my eyes can see:
your light reaches me- i glimpse you!
in the perceived emptiness between us
there is no distance to be found;
around us exists the infinite potential for
further connection and deeper growth in closeness.
i am no longer alone.
i do not feel sorrow.

i yearn...
what most people take for granted:
~ to hold your hands
~ to look into your eyes
~ to kiss you good night
~ to whisper in your ear 'i love you'
i yearn for the mere joy of being with you
........all that i am......i yearn for you...

*You are of the gentle things in life,
like a warm mug of coffee on a cold night,
big comfy sweaters to sleep in.
You are of the beautiful things in life,
like the sky when the sun rise,
the way your face lights up each time you smile...

Let us get naked
and frolic blue lipped
in the gelid waters
of Lake Michigan
and warm each other
on the fine white sand,
your painted toes
pointing out clouds
in the pellucid sky.

Call that a date.

  ~mce

Here lies no attrition in the endurance of celestial love.

Slide that dress up
over your hips,
part your thighs
like a promise,
pull your knees up
in welcome.

I am a thirsty man
who needs a deep drink
from paradise.

You are a woman
who understands
and quivers
at necessity,
who loves to have
her liquids lapped.

Tongue on secret lips,
we nourish each other.
Love and lust,
the perfect marriage.

  ~mce

Wake me
with love

Touch me
with hunger

Take me
with fire

  ~mce