Sliding into the water as I rise
She holds onto me, I stand steady
Feeling the hot, soapy suds slide down me
Her fingers on my legs, gently caressing

I look down to see what my leopard-girl's up to
Through the steam, I feel her roving eyes
Whose slinky slits belie what she intends
Not an inkling do I have ....of what she holds in store.

Then she's beside me....yes, her on bended knee
And with her lips planted carelessly along my belly
I quiver now in the shimmering heat of her arrows
On her haunches, darting lower now to thighs....

I flinch in disbelief as she reaches up, all coy
Does a befuddled thing I would never expect
She.....oh, holy smackerel in a barrel, baby!
What in blazes ARE you doing to me?

My senses fall to pieces, mind in utter disarray
Wordlessly, I try real hard to hold it together
As she scratches lightly, while purring oh-so deep
My feline fantasy coming oh-too-true!

Mumbling sweet-nothings in a haze of desire
Ramming shaft into her mouth, we make a different musical jam
Throttling up all the way to the hilt
Sure ain't nothing so sweet as her takin'-at!

She shifts the rolling gears,  I sway along
Clutching her hair for support, I humbly beg release
I see her ***** her eyes, makes ME ***** her harder
Makes me buck, drives me up that ***** wall!

I am in the driver's seat now, better believe
Feel a touch unsteady, but I hold her reins
I pull her maddeningly tight into me
Such delicious thrills course through my veins.

Pumping on vigorously, I'm-a  gonna spurt
But I know I have to pull the plug a bit
So her face and neck and **** rejoice
As not everyone can swallow what I give.

Ooh! Sweet heaven...now rinse off all-a that love-sap
Gingerly step out, wreathed in smiles
I let her soak on, as she's wont to do
She loves a delayed bath and I do need the time....

No room at all for doubt must be left
For her to earn folded returns for sated favour
She must be famished for some humble pie
How creative shall I prove to be, I wonder....

Swathed in terry cloth, her skin all pink-an-rosy
Oh, will she be just ripe-an-ready for this picking
Deftly will I lead her down, on downy floor
And mete out sweet and fitting penalty.

Growing exceeding restless, she will moan
But I shall will her to her knobby knees
Shame, wouldn't want her to be uncomfy
Give the lass a cushion....there, there.

I will rake my nails delightful 'cross her back
My leopard-girl will taste and be a crumpled mess
She will crave the whips across her ****
To match her lovely, striped, distorted mind!

And.... do I spy the goldfish bowl beside our bed?
Yes, methinks a wicked dip.... will do the trick
And her tower of resistance crumble, it must
Oh yeah, have I got a treat laid out for my pussycat!


Star Toucher, 30 March 2013

Such an easy feat it must be, no?
I'm talking about my little brother's show.
More or less, he keeps bragging.
Take it or leave it, won't stop nagging.

But I ain't got nobody next to my seed
That's going to be leeching on me in greed
There still feels like a brother's near
And if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have fear

It's a godawful show, too
Props made from parts of the loo
Actors made of cardboard
Falling onto the hardwood

The denouement was a bore
The ****** made me snore
But I had to give him credit
At least it wasn't his script, he read it

As I sat in an uncomfy chair
Watching him talk about current affairs
I got called up by myself to dinner
And declared myself a winner

I got no siblings, I got no brother
I got no father and I got no mother
I got no grandma and pops
'Cause that's where my tree stops

The show goes on, I stay on stage
Make a few jokes about minimum wage
I sit in a chair in the audience, too
Watching cardboard actors and parts from the loo.

For the sun we wait,
To hear a joyful tune,
But it departed late,
So say hello to the moon.

All we can do is search
The sky for sonnet’s best,
We should head on to the church
Because there we'll get some rest.

We've been listening for days
But still we hear no sound,
And to god we give our praise
But still no sound is found.

The moon is still sky high,
Above our deafened heads,
In the church we still reside,
Laying in uncomfy beds.

We don't really mind,
And we're not too certain why
Though now we're going blind
And very well might die.

In these beds we still lay,
And to god we still ask
When will come the day
That you may do a simple task?

quiet stares as friends are made
a trade within your own space
playing all the same songs
why can't the melodies change?
deranged and uncomfy
one ticket to love me, but
am I coming on too strong?
I just want to move this along
making the most of this time
the short while you're mine
an endless night
of wine, I'll tell you
secrets a thousand souls have heard
and you'll laugh like they're brand new
because I'm still brand new, to you.

Where do I martyr myself?
I ask
And I come up blank
I listen to my mother talk to a potential marketing team
For her political campaign
Republican
And I find me there
The little martyr
Writing poetry in her Mother’s kitchen
An artistic soul
Poor artistic soul
Being so good
So humble and just
Looking so inward
Daring to challenge herself
Against the backdrop of oppression
Religion
Shame
Republicans
You see my mom doesn’t believe anyone is gay
And I am bisexual
She thinks parents should be involved in children’s education and schooling
And as a child she abused me with her conservative ideals and punishments
And yet
I love her anyway
Here is the martyr
The brave little progressive
Here I am
In this beautiful kitchen
Cooking breakfast from groceries
I didn’t pay for
In a house I don’t pay for
And yet I find myself feeling
Utterly self righteous
In my sensitivity
In my progressive ideals
Even in my forgiveness of her slights against me
Even as the so called forgiven slights stand up and wave their flags readily and say “remember me! remember me!”
Even as my records shout that it’s not safe to forgive
Because you see her personal views make me feel
Uncomfy
The martyr runs wild in the spaces
Where I forget my privilege
I’ve never known my privilege to be so great
As I know it to be now
And my level of privilege has not evolved or dipped or lifted a hair
But I’ve been given the opportunity to be aware
And I do believe I’m brave
But my martyr live on the extremes
My martyr lives in the narrative
Around my choices
In the narratives I fabricate around other peoples beliefs and behaviors and choices
The little martyr lays down and disappears
For now
I’m sure she will reappear and pick up her flag later today or tomorrow
When I try on a pair of pants
And marvel at the way I used to suffer so
Oh, how much I have overcome
To now enjoy my body and not hate every dimple and curve
I see that my martyr thrives not only
In the blindness to my privilege
But also in the agreement to recall suffering
It gets caught somewhere between
A decision to not suffer today
And a decision to always compare todays lack of suffering to the ways I have suffered in the past
Because agreeing to forget the suffering
Takes trust
Much much trust
That in forgetting I will not
Fall back into the familiar arms of suffering and abuse
But I think those days are past
I am brave and smart
And I know a good thing when I see it
No need to hit me over the head
Maybe the martyr dies a little more today
As I sign a new agreement to
Not suffer today and to also detach from past sufferings
With blowing breeze that tickles my back
On this late spring day
When all I need to do is enjoy

I wish the days were like the mornings where I see you waking smiling.
When I come lying beside you.
After enough sleeping.
To be cuddling. A little longer..... Never long enough.
I miss the nights when we prepare dinner, play music, drinking Irish coffee.
A little dancing.
Clothes come off and on again.
My dark eye make up.
Smudged.
Love, always feeling loved.

Just enough energy to be happy.
But most days I wake up too early, sleep too late.
There’s no way of resting.
Noises and stress, an uncomfy mess.
Stiff and tired.
Cramped and trying.
Nothing’s working.

I want to be dreaming even though life’s but a dream.
More like a nightmare, a night terror.
Voilent, never silent, never peaceful, full of conflict.
But I can’t leave you there lying alone.
I cannot leave this dream now that you know what if feels like when I don’t let go.
I didn’t want to let you go.
And I couldn’t.

But I’m broken now.
Completely broken.
And I think the terrors are old news but they keep happening here still.
So I’m waiting and walking in a dream for you to come in and say: let’s make a morning today.
Let’s make a day like the morning of cuddling.      
The day should be a little dreamy and still we’re fighting through each battle that comes our way.