I’m older if not wiser
Can’t *** like a geyser
And I think I can hear the bells toll.

They’re a little less distant
And a bit more insistent
And no longer seem quite as droll.

Out the corner of my eye
I think to espy
A dark figure with malevolent intent.

A voice with a tone
Like the scraping of bone
that leaves me whining and spent.

Is it getting closer?
Is it there in the toaster?
I worry perhaps more than I should.

But I’d be lying
There is no denying
I wish now that I’d done more good.

I touched myself to the thought of you last night.
And, God,
It felt so ******* good.

The thought of you above me,
Hand around my throat,
With your teeth clashing into mine.

It felt so *****.

Our spit and other ****** fluids mixing and creating the chemical reaction for love.

I could hear your voice edging me on.
‘Go faster, you ****.’,
‘I know you want me to make a mess of your innocence.’,
I can still hear the echoes of the filthy and twisted fantasies we have.

My fingers spin the most intricate and intense shapes over and over again.
In hopes of merely grazing the ******.

I can feel you,
Pulling my hair,
Digging your nails into me,
And slapping me senseless.

Everyone must think we’re sick—
But I don’t care.

I need you,
I need to ***,
I need you like never before.

If this is the image of true love,
Me with my hand down my *******,
Head thrown back,
Back arched,
And sputtering gasps of “Yes, Sir.”

Then this is a fairytale.

Growing wetter and wetter,
I’m soaking through my moans of pleasure.
Closer and closer,
I’ve almost reached the end.

With a happily ever after
You growl into me animalistically.
You spread me open to lap up each and every last drop.
You look at me—
You smile.

“Who’s a good girl?.”

Hues glistened above her face,
        prisms of droplets catching
the light as each fell..

This was ecstasy,
          A rainbow covering

                             her features...

Never trust an angel,
            as my demons
knew where there angelic
                               spot was.

And all you heard was,
              oh Jesus, oh Jesus
forgive me for I have …………………..

My eyes close gently
Like butterflies finding peace.

My breathing is soft
Like the winds that move music.

On my back,
Covered with duvet,
I come alive.

Don’t you hear it?
The call to an ancient rhythm?

I start to dance.

My eyes clench shut
Like doors to an argument.

My breathing picks up pace
Like the smoke of heat in winter.

On my back,
Covered with sweat,
I come alive.

The dance begins:
It starts at my toes.

Clenching, curling,
Pirouette Princess.

Moves up my thighs,
Shaking, sliding,
Shimmy salsa.

My hands join in,
They create foreign mundras.

Massaging circles into soft flowers.
I’m blooming all over again.

The rhythm picks up pace,
The drum beats vibrations into my existence.

The process repeats,
Pirouette toes,
Salsa thighs,
And flowers blooming from fingertips.

Faster,
This time,
Faster.

My eyelids play movies I’ve never seen,
My breath hitches in my throat,
I’m coming alive.

Suddenly,
I feel everything all at once.

My head starts to spin,
The good kind of dizzy.

On my back,
Lifting up,
Soul leaving body in unspoken essence,
I’m coming undone.

In a estranged voice I’ve never known,
Your name leaves my parted lips.

The music stops,
The dance is complete,
And the petals wilt.

Fingertips sticky with nectar.
Or is it pollen?

Doesn’t matter—
It still tastes sweet.

I was the two lumps of
                     sugar

in her morning coffee,
    her lips moist..

Yet afterwards she
             was always tired.

                        Go figure.

My body is a rugged mountain pass
whose dangerous peaks and valleys
call out to the hubris of would be adventurers
with its hungry siren song.

Lovers have come the world over
with their maps, pickaxes, fire starters and rope.
Some brought tents intending to go the distance;
several with flags to stake their claim at the summit;
a few with pocket knives for carving their names.
All leaving trash on the trails as they went.

“Did I make you ***?”
they would ask believing in their foolish arrogance
that their movement and noise were really capable
of causing my avalanche.
Covered in the sweat of my labors in Sherpa-ing them to the peak
I whisper “Yes.”
Understanding in those moments that some things cannot be taught.

Only one ever came truly naked -without intention or ego.
The many times he found himself cresting my summit
it never occurred to him to pierce me with his pride
but instead he kissed the earth beneath him in gratitude.
He always moved through me as if he had gone this way his whole life
and yet still could get lost on the trails of a single limb.

He made himself an eager student of my skin
and produced waterfalls where before there had been none.
Singing songs into me as he studied my topography with adept fingers.
The echoes of which ring through me even now.
Never was he concerned with the ridges
for he being too preoccupied with the beauty of my slopes
thought of them only as trail markers.

The songbirds in the trees of me call always for him.
The animals of my wilds stay hungry as never before.
A small fire burns constantly for his return.

Unclothed.

i still taste your sticky sweet nectar on
my lips from the time you released your
seed onto my perfect *******,
then you traced your fingertips onto
my precious flower and tasted my sweet honey, watching  it drip from your fingertips
as you plastered your mark into my sweet flower--
my breathing becoming shallow from the sensations, thoughts scattered , close to the threshold before a beautiful release of ecstasy .
A perfect deflowering carved into my memory.