Tag Archives: bisexual

Tongue

In the noon glow,

the thrill of intimacy

while she maps me with
her tongue.

She knows my hips and

my secrets.

I know her shoulders,

her navel.

On the table,

my thoughts

on her sweet, moisturized skin,

my senses.

She has one finger in my world,

then her tongue on my secrets

polishing them.

Untitled 69

Among the piqued daffodils
my body of silk.
Nothing has touched me
but a phantom with a ribbon.

The friction of lace on my
lowest, basest secret.
The clouds are pearlesque,
my skin a pearl casing I wear
because elegance is getting
cheap as talk.

Born from my animal mind,
her breath cascades
over my breasts.
Her hands peel the lace sweetly,
sweaty.

What She Takes

Behind fire,
Sweating desire.

I am a museum of makeup,
the art of the feminine,
the vision of seduction.

By my entrance,
no angel of any kind,
my soul in sackcloth.

Imperfection entrances,
greed entrenched.
She has feasted on the slick sheen
of my alabaster skin for hours.
Having had the skin,
now she will take the fat,
and together we will leave the bone.

Careless Skin, Uncivil Eyes

My hair is easy to please –

Satiated with soft careless skin

And uncivil eyes.

 

The ships on the river

Corrected correction.

 

Love goes with you.

 

Your hands glaze me with pride,

a good disease.

Your teeth write me in anger ­­-

 

Your kiss a knife in another dialect.

In the river,

The dead wash themselves among the stones.

 

Your pretty lips alight on my breasts

 

Your hand is on my belly,

taking my soul away.

 

Between the rippling river reeds,

A timeless photograph

of vice and virtue.

Woman

On the bridge of her lips I consider crossing –
my hips a sailboat with no sails.
Behind me, daisies.
Beneath me, silk drenched with dream.
In the sweet musk of human frailty
I rollick like a ship to sea
when she gazes at me,
knife to meat,
erosion to beach.
Destruction never was so complete.
Spread open like an unread book,
I am searched,
My ecstasy excavated,
Preserved in her skin,
Dissolving on her tongue.

Primal

 

Her legs are incendiary.
Though I travel 100 miles,
Dragging the point of myself
Through broken glass,
She watches my natural fullness like
A leopard a pattern in the grass.

Hunt my beastful blush,
Lick the harmony of my breasts.

What can she sing with her lips
Pursed in kiss?

Her waist the willfulness of tornadoes,
Her soft belly bread
Baked in the Parisian dawn.

It is the ritual of her hands hunting me,
The reminds me that pleasure rhymes
With guilt.

Woman to Woman

Woman

 

Her hair is so cool.
The bridge of her lips I consider straddling.
In the sweet musk of human frailty,
I rollick like a ship to sea
When she gazes at me,
Knife to meat,
Erosion to beach,
Destruction was never so complete.
Spread open like an unread book,
I am searched –
My ecstasy excavated,
Preserved in her skin,
Dissolving on her tongue.