#natursim
—A pantoum where our lust ripens in the spring sun
A shy lover drops her towel—our naked bodies open to spring sun’s tease.
I gaze on a lush pearl of sweat fleeing the peaceful valley under her breast.
My tongue traces its journey, headwaters of my quest, this silky-soft valley it flees.
Her lips sip my salt—a rare vintage—poured from my tiny moon’s firm crest.
I gaze on a lush pearl of sweat fleeing the peaceful valley under her breast.
I breaststroke down her salty, wet body toward a shoreline of dew-licked, glimmering trees.
Her lips sip my salt—a rare vintage—poured from my tiny moon’s firm crest.
Our throats, salt-parched, sun-licked empty seashells from a lost sea.
I breaststroke down her salty, wet body toward a shoreline of dew-licked, glimmering trees.
Our tongues drink deep—slowly—our oases never run dry, our lust’s final loving conquest.
Our throats, salt-parched, sun-licked empty seashells from a lost sea.
Our tongues discover our salted spring’s nectar, our chorus of taste, our potpourris.
Our tongues drink deep—slowly—our oases never run dry, our lust’s final loving conquest.
We pressed our flowers—eyes open wide—mouths, tongues, a flavor tempest.
Our tongues discover our salted spring’s nectar, our chorus of taste, our potpourris.
Together, our petals bloom, our sweet scent of our love carried by a warm spring breeze.
We pressed our flowers—eyes open wide—mouths, tongues, a flavor tempest.
Monday office—my body glows by the sun's burn, I so hate silk’s squeeze.
Together, our petals bloom, our sweet scent of our love carried by a warm spring breeze.
Sun’s pain warms my overflowing oasis, dreams of her taste, her drink, her gentle caress.
Dec 10, 2025
Dec 10, 2025 at 6:03 PM UTC
Sun fingers her hidden hummingbird nest of skin,
Each twig, love's unfinished sonnet, found by dawn's light.
My lips echo night’s bare swim’s wild lake water,
Our steam now swirls skyward, sisters with the breeze.
Her breathless wink, a covert quest cloaked as touch,
Then silence—inhales between our lingering drip.
Her drop, carried by sunlight, feeds my waiting drip.
Wander the rainforest of our clammy, wet skin.
She slowly turns—I search her folds, lost in touch,
Her nest, crescent moon, orbits a split of light.
She shivers, wild hairs pirouette by a breeze,
My fingers press her steam and honey tea into water.
Her hips sing a ballad—our rhythm cyclones the water,
Our chorus swells red—cools—softly—a lush drip.
We bloom, finding sun’s rays—chased by a soft breeze,
Flesh cools where steam once warmly caressed skin.
Sun’s gaze lowers, tangles softened with light,
Her calf discovers mine, a fawn, frozen by touch.
Gaze locked—hummingbirds hover, skin craving touch.
We lean as one, gathering feral hair, drowned by water.
Glints of wet skin flicker through mother oak’s light.
From her thigh’s fold, a slow, golden honey drip
Marks time—stroked by a returning breeze,
Its chill paints a stream’s pebbles on cold skin.
Sun, a spider, crawls along her ******* secret skin,
Her woven silk—memories, a wisp of touch.
My lips chase her ******* last rivulets of water,
A sigh spills golden from her—deep, into light.
Between her thighs, one final honeyed drip—
Then stillness—skyward, the gasp of our breeze.
A drowned silence—death—our last honeyed drip.
Our shadows triumph where sun once ruled skin.
Skyward, the scent of our love—a nest in the breeze.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 6:16 PM UTC
What the Tide Knows
—a Sestina of one night shared with our sister moon
Night’s first blush leans low against the tide
that licks the sand; moonlight unhooks the darker seams of our skin.
The air stings sweet, crystalline breath of salt.
A feral moon, she leans close—silent, luminous, wet.
Her ******* dip the water; the water dips us—oh…slow pull
after slow pull—silk unraveling into constellations—we are, at last, bare
bare-foot, bare-hearted, bare-assed—every hush of fear laid bare;
satin chill a caress, sliding up shins, over knees, exploring the secret tide.
Between us, dampness trembles—a harp-chord plucked across our skin;
notes of brine flare and fade in the hush of moonlit salt
Desire itself echoes each pull she tightens—loosens—tightens again in the moon’s slow, intimate pull.
Night after night we bend to nature’s lust—its intimate pull
a deep, slow kiss—honey for dreams, our spirits once more bare
on a starlit shore that forgets and remembers the faithful tide
that knows each breast, each soft fold of skin
until our footprints shimmer, then vanish in a tidal pool of salt
while water’s slow tempo keeps time beneath our same bare-breasted, sister moon
Brine prisms drip between our thighs—soft, shimmering salt
as we sink into sand—breasts and breath—utterly bare;
above us, the hush of waves keeps time with the tide
while our sister, the ****** moon, unbuttons herself—O luminous moon,
her silver hand wandering, circling, stroking her own pale skin,
her gasps spilling down to embrace us oh so tight into one, shuddering, pull
Dawn’s silk-white wraps moon-bruised ******* gathering the last flecks of salt
that cling to lips—a hush of spent sighs riding every slow pull
of breath. Ocean-wet, sunrise-warmed, we rise wholly bare
beneath a sky tinted with our spent, satisfied sister moon,
and wade until cries of ecstasy between waves swell, matching the tide
washing footprints, sand, and shy shimmers from our glistening skin.
We become as one, a shared pulse—wave after wave pressing into skin,
A sousing of honey and ocean on lips—sweet with salt,
as night’s last breaker swells, arches, cups—one unquenchable pull
before it raptures. We bloom wide, throats singing, utterly bare
of nothing but vision of her white-hot spasm, our sister moon,
dragging us under—flinging us back—gasping—embraced by the heaving tide
O sister moon,
embrace our last slow tide,
your gentle hand forever filling our dreams, forever caressing our skin
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 6:01 PM UTC