"musky" poems
This is how it goes
your hands will be proxy for mine
my hands will be proxy for yours
your fingers my fingers
and my fingers yours
what I describe, you enact
told in detail so exact
Just to begin
I squeeze your *******
knead and pinch
tweak a ******
give it a tug
Stroke your tummy
work over your thighs
move up the inner
where skin is smooth
circle around, moving in
till soft contours are caressed
through pants that burn
to be removed
that pain you to wear
and I see in my mind
as you describe
the spreading, darkening patch
that fills the gusset
Now they're pulled down
removed quickly, completely
and you are revealed
spread, opened, shameless
Gentle fingertips tease
dance in circles, barely touching
yet the fire within grows
back and forth, round and round
dance the fingertips
as both reciprocate
with growing pace
and firmer touch
I hear you gasp down the line
and your breathing quickens
as you hear mine
as your excitement fuels mine
as mine fuels yours
in our feedback loop of lust
And I tell you how
my fingertip would give way
to tonguetip if I could
that I can taste you
in my imagination
fragrant, salty sweetness
with musky undertones
the tip of my tongue now circling
then flicking back and forth
beating out the rhythm
that you best harmonise with
bringing forth your moans
Then darting down, back
between wet, glistening folds
exploring each ridge and valley
working remorselessly
Breathing faster now
with animal grunts and moans
directions of pleasure gasped
breathless down the phone
As fingers again
take the lead
find the opening
slip readily within
probe, explore, ****
find that place
on your front wall
yes, just that spot
that's a little rougher
and feels sooo goood
Add a second finger
working and *******
licking and rubbing
moaning and gasping
barely intelligible now
...yess...more...yess...ohhh
are all that have meaning
Finger three joins one and two
then the pressure builds
demanding release
and shaking and thrusting
grows to shuddering
and...yes...yesss...sooo clooose
******* faster furiously
till we both explode
hearing each other's
voicing of our ecstasy
in language intelligible
only in this one context
Brains and voices return
as we bask in the afterglow
and what passes between us then
in those moments
is the deepest intimacy of all
Cynthia Pauline Jones 01/02/2014
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
Lady, your room is lousy with flowers.
When you kick me out, that's what I'll remember,
Me, sitting here bored as a loepard
In your jungle of wine-bottle lamps,
Velvet pillows the color of blood pudding
And the white china flying fish from Italy.
I forget you, hearing the cut flowers
Sipping their liquids from assorted pots,
Pitchers and Coronation goblets
Like Monday drunkards. The milky berries
Bow down, a local constellation,
Toward their admirers in the tabletop:
Mobs of eyeballs looking up.
Are those petals of leaves you've paried with them ---
Those green-striped ovals of silver tissue?
The red geraniums I know.
Friends, friends. They stink of armpits
And the invovled maladies of autumn,
Musky as a lovebed the morning after.
My nostrils prickle with nostalgia.
Henna hags:cloth of your cloth.
They tow old water thick as fog.
The roses in the Toby jug
Gave up the ghost last night. High time.
Their yellow corsets were ready to split.
You snored, and I heard the petals unlatch,
Tapping and ticking like nervous fingers.
You should have junked them before they died.
Daybreak discovered the bureau lid
Littered with Chinese hands. Now I'm stared at
By chrysanthemums the size
Of Holofernes' head, dipped in the same
Magenta as this fubsy sofa.
In the mirror their doubles back them up.
Listen: your tenant mice
Are rattling the ******* packets. Fine flour
Muffles their bird feet: they whistle for joy.
And you doze on, nose to the wall.
This mizzle fits me like a sad jacket.
How did we make it up to your attic?
You handed me gin in a glass bud vase.
We slept like stones. Lady, what am I doing
With a lung full of dust and a tongue of wood,
Knee-deep in the cold swamped by flowers?
14.7k
Burn incense to block out the smell of death and self hate
that lingers in your room
, as you sit up
at 3am
thinking too much
.
(your mind is
never at rest)
Because the musky scent and stuffy atmosphere
, will breakdown your thinking pattern
and leave you mellowed
and able to sleep
for a while…
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
my favorite material
rich, luxurious, deep
cigars and a musky afterglow
your man's warmest sweater
he smells like the earth
he smells like lust
he smells like leather
my favorite material
******* bedroom, broken
lay me in a vice grip and
force me to inhale
it smells like love
it smells like I'm centered
it smells like leather
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
two women
a single
Gemini
of desire
the yin
the yang
betwixt
the known
and unreachable
swinging
on wide
arcs of
extremis
inhabiting
opposite
polar worlds
and all
the spaces
in between
intrepid
sailors
dare hope
to explore
T
the outer
R
the inner
T’s
tiny
name
betrays
a big
robusto
femininity
bombastically
womanly
big *****
jazz *****
perfumed musky
hips and ****
that rock
and those
lips
oh,
those ruby red
Norma Jean lips
I’m puckered
up
begging her
to paste a big
rouge smooch
on my eager lips
press those
bustling bosoms
onto my face
wrap those
arms round me
with a rasperous
hug
shake me
with gyrations
of your gracious
shimmy thang
you wow
the bow
out of this
dog
taking lovers
prisoner
with the
coy blink
of wide
eyes
flashing
lashes
batting
brow
boldly
being
a force
of a
mothers
nature
bearing
and
belting
Bessie’s
*****
blues
to a
howling
crowd
wanting
more
fully
enthralled
bedazzled
enraptured
with quixotic
hypnotics
I'm frozen
solid
hoping to
melt
into the
heat
of your
inviting
fire
R
bespeaks
whispers
from an
inner place
she lines the
lost desires
of a yearning heart
she offers the
softest curves
the delicious touch
the wet presence
of a delicate tongue
limpid fingers
hide shy sly
*******
offering
invitations
to hidden nests
humming the incarnate
dark forest secrets
of bloomed lilacs
and sweet carnations
the voice of poems
dance and flutter
from her mouth
as the lightest
butterfly
wings wayward
onto soft hearts
yearning
seducement
her
kimono
gently parts
at the slightest
suggestion
of a rising
breeze
her songs
invite lovers
to pillowed
chambers
daring
intrepid
men to
risk the
death of
desirous
tempests
I melt
into the
delicate
complexity
of your
fleshy heat
my dear
celestial
twins
the lovely
Gemini
each different
reduce me
in differing ways
to a puddle
of rippling water
reflecting
the glorious
elegance of
wondrous
ambrosial
femininity
Dedicated to
T& R
Music Selection:
Barbra Streisand
Pretty Women
Oakland
4/26/12
jbm
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
"Sorry I'm late sir... I ran into a strange man down my street who kept following me and asking to borrow my socks. At first I ignored him but realizing he was following me to school, I stopped to question him. When I asked him why he wanted my socks, he said he wanted to smell their musky scent. I flat out asked this man if he had a foot fettish, and he guffawed telling me he had a smell fettish. I quickly speedwalked away from the freaky man and because my nerves were so jumbled, I forgot to grab a pass in the office."
Finally notices its a female substitue, and looks at classmates to see their mouths hanging open ready to catch flies
"So... I will just sit down now"
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
*taste of salt air and nectar'd apricot brandy
musky scent of silken satin sheet'd sin
lips bruised of unfurled ecstasy
coral fire in the ***** ignited rapturous essence
eyes glistening in the moment of a little death
soul of a poet on the edge of reflective verse
once chosen surrender in zest's soulful unveiling
blithely trapped stargazing unto eternity's sublimity*
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
This pencil sounds
like sputtering,
a car engine failing.
It smells like
the sheets you just left.
It feels weighted,
heavy like a lead blade
that I can hardly hold up.
It tastes bittersweet,
like the tail-end of smoke:
as musky and infectious
as your kiss.
This pencil looks
at me sparkling with dew,
"did you lose interest in me
like the boys lose interest in you?"
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
I kiss you and it seems like the stars shine for us and waves crash along the musky shores for us
But then I realize, the us that once sent my stomach in a frenzy of butterflies
is not the same.
And I find my self holding on to something that does not exist.
And I cry.
My tears are an ode to a person who I've loved so long but with every fiber of my being I know,no longer exists.
People change.
Your smile has changed.
We met at the wrong time,
at least that's what I keep telling myself.
Maybe,
Years from now,
We'll meet again, in some extraordinary way.
And love with be rekindled.
And your smile will be the same.
And I won't spend time wondering if you are my way of compensating with a love deficit.
ER.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 1:32 AM UTC
everywhere i look
your blood laced fingerprints.
everywhere i hear
those tintinnabulating anklets.
everywhere i smell,
the overpowering musky marigolds.
but where are you my black goddess?
when no one in the universe
can match your ravishing beauty,
have you chosen
this time
to hide inside pure dark matter?
© 2022
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 9:27 AM UTC
Lush mango groves
where the musky scent of mango blooms
once wafted making the
bulbuls sing in ecstasy
from morning till sundown
are reborn as gated communities,
where grim seriousness parade.
In sun drenched vineyards,
shadows of dreams,
wanting to dress up as IT parks, spread.
Bangalore barters its medley of colors and smells
for prosperity in terms of greenbacks,
as people learn to be 'smart' players,
and more and more get 'Bangalored'*
from around the world.
Corn fields that danced to the tunes
of the songs of toiling farmers
go missing within days.
To match with the new mood,
nature, in this green paradise, till not so long ago
shamelessly wears the unnatural with style.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
Leather creaks, quietly
in the dark
thick and musky
wild hides sit in opposition
to progress?
latex stretches shiny
conforming to every curve
needing not sweat to glisten
taut and cheap
industrialized
still isn't civilized
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
The Lost Bird In The Sky
The Lost Bird In The Sky
Somewhere there sits a lone man
at a bar filled with lowlifes
lost in his thoughts
mad at the world
and at her
it's eight in the morning
and dawn is long past
and its eve's seat he'll now nurse
across the bar room
through the blinds, some sun peeks in
over the seedy rug
the sun drying the last cleansing
of a patron's puke
the musky smell the last of his worries
his eyes take in the bar
he intimates a hand gesture to other patrons
and a meaningless nod
indifferent to being friendly
matching the terrain
of the other lowlifes at the bar
all on crutches, it seems
on the wall
hangs pictures of storm clouds
black and ominous as his life
the first of his worries
him and his head always drooping
or were those pictures in his imagination
the music box plays a sad song
smoke gets in your eye
followed by lies
another sad song
stories of his life
accentuated
grabbing at him
his worries
her effect
how poetic, he smiles
him in effigy
through the smoke in his eyes
and more beer
he can clearly see her
with a voodoo doll in hand
sticking needles in him
maybe deservingly
if only he could tell her a story
he thinks better of his thoughts
and a pending epilogue
thirsting for sunshine instead
his eyes glance up at the women bartender
plain, plump, playful, pierced
sunshine for the moment
his lips, and tongue curl
his feet touch earth, seeing if it's still there
as she lumbers back and forth serving drinks
her backside sticking up like a beehive
and for a moment he wants to be a bee
he plays with his beer bottle
running his hands past it's neck
caressing, taking a sip
thinking of his past love
the softness of her neck
*****
her essence
of how pleasing it would be to touch her
her nest
if only he could be a bird for a moment
fly and be in flight with her
together in the sky
making baby birds
their innocence and first tweets
that would have been nice
now ... landed at a hole in a wall
his eyes and thoughts keep soring
he grabs more beer
more beer
pausing to grab some honey with his eyes
he keeps playing with his loose change
spinning a quarter
like watching her pirouette
again and again
she had that effect on him
Logan Robertson
11/15/17
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
A rain cloud, I was
in one of my incarnations,
heavy and pregnant with water,
it was proud,
billowing, adorned with
lightening's golden thread,
it poured in torrents,
with roars of thunder,
then sped through the fields,
that became fertile,
farmers with their ploughs
and bullocks came out,
the fields were bright green
with dancing rice saplings
Some other time
I was an ecstatic bulbul,
mango blooms told me amorous tales,
I voiced each in snorous ghazals,
The rice fields were ripe,
musky scent was ******
Women came in waves
and harvested the rice,
their songs were on romance,
ardent love and parting
hearing the bulbul
they perfected their singing.
A long time ago
I was a goat's kid,
I sprang around and danced
in the harvested field,
the cloud wanted to pet me
but she was so far,
bulbl sung a special tune
for me for a while
Looking at the green grass
on the other side of the fence
I would think wistfully,
what life would bring.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Warm sweet chai melts these frozen days.
Blankets and books- smells of musky pages and spice invade my nostrils.
I am home.
Our cat sniffs the air and then sleeps, his paws pushed under the radiator,
he hums a deep contented purrr.
We feel the same.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 1:25 PM UTC
So, what do you think about the dynasty of Babylon? Freshly cut potatoes which are deep fried can be displayed upon colorful plastic plates, which may trigger a spiritual sustenance of simplistic expectations which are immersed in Glaswegian nostalgia.
Therefore, I contemplate the goddess of the moon, as she is enthroned in Celtic tenements of astral plains.
Entrance-ways are characterised by the musky scent of the tomcat, whilst the purring sounds of diesel locomotives echo along the tracks of mischievous linearity.
So, although I acknowledge Osiris to be the Egyptian god of the dead, I am tentatively perplexed about Northern and Southern boundaries of grandparental occupation. Shake those sensual vessels of salt and vinegar. Do you know why? Because there’s nothing like it in the cosmos.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
Burn incense to block out the smell of death and self hate
that lingers in your room
, as you sit up
at 3am
thinking too much
, because your mind is
never at rest.
The musky scent and stuffy atmosphere
, will breakdown your thinking pattern
and your thoughts leaving you mellowed
and able to sleep
for a while…
Somedays every feeling and all my thoughts bombard my mind like a hurricane
Bashing against the walls of my skull wanting to be spilled all over the page
.
like ink in a fountain pen.
Yet there are days
I cannot even think
of words to say
,
when you ask me
what's on my mind
or if I’m okay.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
Come, lovely cat, lie at my breast
Cease your scratching and settle,
Into your beautiful eyes let me rest
Swirled with agate and metal.
When my fingers caress you at leisure,
Your head and your back's elasticity,
And my hand tingles with pleasure
At the spark of your electricity,
In your spirit, I see my lover’s expression
Like your own, amiable creature.
Profound and cold, leaving a deep impression.
And, from her head, across her features,
A subtle air, a musky sin
Floats about her dusky skin.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 8:10 AM UTC
Sugar and spice
And everything nice
A delicate blush, a secret crush
Rings, white wings and other fine things
Ribbons and laces, tender embraces
Elegant grace and a sweet pretty face
Cheeks of pink, colorful drinks
Holding hands and fluttering fans
Smiles sweet, small and petite
Soft, luscious hair and a whispered prayer
Ballroom dancing, timid glancing
Liqueur and ****
Jealousy, greed
In dark rooms, kneeling and wasted
Under the sheets, squealing, getting tasted
Smeared lipstick, hair mussed, no longer slick
Bleary red lips, curvy hips
Tattoos and lingerie see-through
Heavy petting, getting drunk and forgetting
Ripped tights, endless nights
Coke and hazy smoke
Expensive drugs and sweaty hugs
Twisted lies, glazed eyes,
Strong musky perfumes, dark rooms
Sketchy guys, spread thighs
Broken trust, humid lust
Mindless fornication, empty stimulation,
With bated respiration, nothing but degradation
Vodka-cherry shots and hazy thoughts
Dancing, grinding, lights all blinding
Backstabbing, hands jabbing
Dark magic, endings tragic
Secrets revealed, wounds opened or healed
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
The woodland trees, bathed in the glory of the crimson sun,
Adorn the rugged path that droops into the valley
The autumnal wind caresses the falling leaves,
twirling them towards their destiny
The musky fragrance,
Of the dewy forest floor,
Shall soon ****** my senses
And I shall yearn for more/
I drift through the mass of naked shrubbery
They have shed most of their modesty
Not a soul in sight - though a thousand such
Reside within the woody giants
Perhaps I am too, I reside within myself..
The grey, stony trail leads me into the heart
Of this creature;
This vast expanse of golden, brown and green.
Where light does not dare intrude..
I have never seen so much malice, in such serenity..
I submit to my will, and venture into the unknown/unseen
The sorrow of winter embraces me,
Spontaneously.
The ghosts of my past lurk in the undergrowth
Waiting to strike at moment's will..
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 7:32 AM UTC
*Your musky scent lingered
wafted through my mind
my eyes glistened in the recall
echoed in enthralled moments,
Chantilly laced and perfumed
my body aches to do it again
a shiver tickles my inner thigh
flutter of fiery passion enraptured
left its brand upon my breast
your torrid kisses bruised my lips
pain and ecstasy of divine bliss
sizzling in thrashing slow motion
within my trance of sultry nights*
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 6:34 AM UTC
In the circular lily pond--
desolate, surrounded by lush growth of
tall, entangled ***** pine plants
spewing amorous scent
in to the humid tropical air
from musky flowers, golden yellow.
hunted by swarms of bees,
-- you step in.
Peeling off your clothes to the last bit,
with a jubilance freedom bestows
you spring down, delve deep
to take bathe, knowing, I the owl
that has an eye on you always
keep watching you from the other end
in a stunned surprise to see you ****
for the first time, after long last!
In a fix you are now about my presence
when celebrating the freedom
of a village belle, that comes rarely
on such occasions, away from all eyes that pry-
You swim a few laps, my water nymph
on your back you glide, setting the water aflame
now, you pretend to see me all of a sudden,
then, swim towards me as if your secret plan, did succeed,
I am caught in your net of love, but your ploy is different,
plead not to look at you as you swim naked,
a wily love cat, you are, that knows her alley well.
If only, I were a water lily,I'd pretend to be your waist band
made of the stem, supple soft; the petals would jealously conceal
the secrets of your lotus, while circling the slender waist tenderly.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
Musky body, amber eyes, coat of red.
Smokey breath that hangs in the morning air.
A full spread of antlers on a glorious head.
He is the child of herne the lord of the wild hunt.
King of the woods is this stag his roar echoes off the trees, it rings in the air.
A challenge to all who enter his domain.
He owns his space, he stakes his claim there in the ragged wood.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
My lungs are beating like they have swallowed my heart whole.
Divided on who she loved more, they choke my breath so I taste sour gummy bears as I curl over wounded,
a victim of one of loves ****** battles.
As I have fallen in love with every girl I have seen since I was 10.
I saw her in the playground with hair to her waist and we picked daisies like I picked her.
Seeing something beautiful and killing it for the sake of beauty alone.
I stopped falling in love when I chose the scent of musky sweat over the scent of rose blossoms.
It left a stench on my pillow so pungent and powerful I slept by the toilet which I shared my dinner with unwillingly.
Curled over out of no love I spat into the mix of **** and princess shapes and went back to the man who thought my interest in women was a turn on, so I pushed his button to turn him off.
It was that night I left.
It was that night I put down my fork and threw out my two meat and veg into the recycling to go into the arms of another woman's cutlery.
It was that night I stopped dispensing my body like candy from a machine and instead knocked on the door of myself and welcomed her in. Fall in love she said, but with me.
After putting the kettle on I fell in love with the curve between her thighs and the scars upon her arms. I fell in love with her inability to eat spaghetti elegantly and her obsession with trees.
Ever since then I have started living in my body as a home rather than a hotel I can change every week, I have begun to uncurl my spine and untwist my mind.
I now love a girl who smiles at the sky and shares food with her lover rather than an appliance.
But love spreads faster than fire and if you're not careful it can swallow you whole.
I say swallow me whole. Swallow me completely. Rip out my lungs and replace them with trumpets as I refuse to do anything but love, love, love.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 8:53 AM UTC