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Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were opening one's lips so gorgeous and so creamy
greasing me stamen on the unfucked bonk
while the bangers let it rip in the alley

Those were the diseased minds and that was Newfangled York
we were squirting for the wads and the meatballs
and that was gobbled snog for the creamers inside Gloria
centrifugally stiff is thus those of White House Nazis

Ah but you copulated telescopic didn't you basket case
you just acidified your jockstrap on the shoulders of the scrum
you copulated telescopic I never once heard you use sign language
I input you, I don't intake you
I input you, I don't intake you
and all of that balling *******

I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were gorilla—like your ****** ******* was absolute epic
you leaked me again you frocked slap—up old salt
but for me you would **** an unzipping

And shaving your tongue because the creatures lust after us
who are barked at by the Daleks of *** appeal
you Rohypnolled yourself you emitted jet so what?
we are radioactive salvo we shoot full of holes the stride piano

*** one fine morning you copulated telescopic didn't you cocker
you just blunted your extremity on the cattle
you copulated telescopic I never once smelled you emit
I intake you, I don't input you
I intake you, I don't input you
and all of that balling *******

I don't mean to insinuate that I slobbered over you peanuts
I can't withhold ******* of each crouched ****
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
that's oodles I don't even kick—start you that thick and fast
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
Makayla Thee Apr 2015
When I met you I was new, raw. Unkissed, unloved, unfucked. I was equal parts young as I was stupid. The day you left I ran around my house and counted every hole in the wall; did you know that not a single one looked like you? My mom is convinced you are a psychopath and your father thinks I was just a crazy ***** but I think you just weren’t strong enough to handle the hurricane that I am. Remember when I swam too close to the boats and you saw your life flash before your eyes?  You taught me how to clean a gun, and I wonder if you knew I thought about what it would be like to shoot you. You weren’t the first person to over-sexualize this body but you were the first person this plump, over-sexualized body loved. My therapist tells me that trying to remember the good times will help remove this lump from my throat but I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I don’t want to remember the time we danced on the roof as the sun was setting and I laughed so hard about what a cliché that was that I almost fell, I don’t want to remember the time we laid side by side in your room with the lights off and listened to music, I don’t want to remember the night I broke, when you pressed your forehead against mine and swore we would be okay. I don’t want to remember how it felt to love you. I loved you so fully I don’t think I will ever be able to love like that again. I killed myself for you. I guess I’m bitter, I guess I’m broken. I guess I’ll never be the same, but I’m still really glad we broke up. Because for every ounce of love I had for you there was a gallon of fear, and love isn’t supposed to hurt. Love isn’t supposed to be black and blue, and that is the only “love” you know. So yeah, I’m glad you left. I’m glad you ****** her. I’m glad I kissed him. I’m glad we got away from each other before we went too far, I’m glad we got out before it killed us both.
PK Wakefield Jan 2012
WIN
    -terin
        your
         1st ******
        gown WIN
   -ter
       in your
     unbesmearched
    pale ****
   lips
    WIN
       -terin
          your
        unfucked
       lovely
      pallor
     unbroken whiter
   lips WIN
   -ter
       in your
     uncaressed
    unbearable
   innocent ivory
    lips WIN
-ter is
    an ugly flower
WIN
   -ter
       is a homely
        monthly
      blossoming
       ruby petaled
      rose WIN
   -ter breaking
  into colorful
   heaps of sticky
  callous profusions
  WIN
     -ter
        in your
       cheeks WIN
      -ter is
    a hot blushing
     gush WIN
   -ter
     lovely ugly
    WIN
       -ter
           do
        you
           like
         it
           WIN
         -ter
    when they
     break your
      tenuous
     vilely neat
    walls WIN
         -ter?
      hot running
     lips WIN
    -ter do
      you like
       hurting
      sharp flowers
       ruby
        petaled
       ultimate
     painful thorned
   flowers
  ?between the
  untouched lips
of your
   snowed lips
  WIN
     -ter
  i will
   plant so
    deep a little
   naked keen
  rose WIN
   -ter
  i will bury
   it in
  you WIN
         -ter
      and its
    hurting
     bloom WIN
   -ter will
     set you
   fiercely on
  edge WIN
-ter it
    will set
   you
      screaming
Ashley Chapman Jul 2018
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
jammed,
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we **** into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other.
My mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
You,
murmuring desire for me.
****!
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched *****,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

Lust and love,
closing-in,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
days,
hours;
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to penetrate your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tenderness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful elongated face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
Come!
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay naked to me,
flesh,
sinews,
everything,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ******* over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain ***** on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we ****,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

There,
Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
lusting after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
pops,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

Lying,
lying,
side-by-side,
lying prone,
lying ******,
never unconsumed,
because,
please,
please  us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
Oh,
God,
throw the ******* comic at me,
will you?
Beat my ******* flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly naked glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a ******* puppy!
Beautiful
long-haired,
skin tight,
upright,
wise,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my **** into your **** -
where I love it best.
Lauren R May 2016
Today, the Earth fell in reverse.

I watched a Western backwards, the blood seeping into the Vaquero's chest, his eyes roll forward, his challenger gripping his bleeding arm, the red spot on his jacket shrinking, putting his gun back into the holster. He climbed onto his anxious horse and rode backwards into the sunset, his intact body being washed over with shades of pink and orange.

I watched you trip in reverse, staring at nothing until you popped the shrooms out of your mouth, counted them and then shoved them back into your sweatshirt pocket. I listened to our phone call in reverse. I cried at first, you said something, shameful, then I reeled back, asked you what's the worst you've done, and you said you were okay. Ringing. Silence.

I watched myself in reverse. Laughing, looking at people I love, and all their wonderful dark circle shadowed eyes, messy hair, and dried tears. I watched myself stare at them from a distance, then I felt myself forget their names. I liked your tattoos and I liked your long blonde hair. I forgot about both of those things. I sat alone in my room, I cried, I took back everything I said. I shook off the sadness. I laughed again, fell into your [sober] arms, ran my fingers through your uncut hair. I forgot what your mothers name was, I forgot your favorite color, I forgot your bedtime. I forgot your name. I forgot I loved you.

I wanted to **** myself in reverse. I wanted to watch the bullet whip out of my skull, the bone fit together like puzzle pieces. The worm hole in my brain fills, my blood flows backwards.

My innocence is unfucked to me. My lips curl up. I am happy, I am smiling. My boyfriend takes his unscarred arms and wraps them around my waist. I watch his eyes frown upside down, he tells me he loves me.

I hit fast forward.
A quick thing I wrote on the bus
I had a purpose
To let you sit on me
Let you bleed on me
And walk away
Untouched
No you can go
Unfucked
And love someone
With your
Fake aesthetic
I hope you know
You are
Faker than foe
You're a pretty little ***
That stands
On the corner
Down the street
You fed
Off my meat
Deceit
Was all
You gave me
Terry Collett Mar 2013
Catalina waits for Arturo to come,
she has been prepared, told how
to lay and what to expect (to a
degree) and to wait and be ready.

Her attendants have left after
much fussing and tidying and
words of advice.  She lies on
the four poster bed, the hard

mattress beneath her, white
overstuffed pillows, staring at
her feet, wiggling her toes,
scratching her nose. She hears

voices, the door opens and he
comes in followed by others,
he looks at her shyly, looks
away, his friends whisper,

make suggestions, he laughs,
they guffaw, then seeing it's
time to go they make their
farewells, and leave the room,

closing the door behind them
with a click. She looks at him,
thin, tall, pale as moonlight,
clean shaven with his mop

of dark hair, standing there.
He looks at her lying on the
bed, hair dressed just so,
nightgown open at her soft

neck, small ******* just visible,
her hands together as if
about to pray. What to say?
He coughs, taps his hairless

chest. She smiles and taps the
place beside her on the bed,
her slim fingers childlike in
their smallness, ringed, his

wedding ring on the finger
next to another gold one of
smaller size. He climbs into
bed, senses the hard base,

his buttocks supported, his
heels feeling the silk sheet.
She mouths words, he doesn’t
hear, she smiles, hopes, waits.

He studies her eyes, her lips,
the thin brows, the parted hair.
She gently pulls him to her,
he allows her to move him

near, feels her hand upon
his wrist, her other upon his
narrow back.  He settles uneasy
between her thighs, she opens

to him like a flower, he hesitates,
hands either side of her head,
staring at her eyes, the sparkle,
candle light bright there. She

waits, her buttocks warm against
the silk, sees his eyes sponge
like soak her in, but he stiffens,
becomes arched, looks away,

closes his eyes. She waits,
nothing stirs, his breathing
deepens, his eyebrows rise,
his lips mouth sounds, he

makes motion, coughs, moves
off, lies still stares at the curtains
about the bed, the colour in
the candle’s light. She folds her

legs together, her knees touching,
waiting, gazes at him sideways on,
his profile, pale, his eyes shut tight.
No *** with him, she thinks, no

consummation, the marriage bed
unfed, no ****** bleed, no red rose
plucked, untouched, unfucked.
Then he ups and runs out

the door which closes with a click.
She lays there, her knees bent,
her hands at her sides, her small
******* soften, relax, her eyes stare,

her ears sharp for sounds, none
but whispers from behind the door,
coughs, splutters, soft conversation.
Was that it? they whisper, was that

the consummation?  She lies silent,
unused, unloved or was it just too
much, too soon? She sighs, gazing
at the sky and coin like moon.

— The End —