Disinhibition

 In the turbulence
of passion,
moistened skin, 
400 thread sheet count, 
I am happily,
wondrously lost, 
my imagination
and lustfulness 
trying to keep pace
with my heart rate.

After all these 
years, days collected
and stacked
high and haphazardly
as fall leaves 
in November,

this intensity,
this raw disinhibition,

saying things,
moving in ways
that can only 
be earned
through time,

to a climax 
of orgiastic,
timeless ecstasy.

Exchange

He gave her
a virginity
no one wanted.

She gave him
a glass slipper
he still cherishes.

Five Coitus

That first time
she took pity on me
but made me feel
like a king
by pouring champagne
and listening to me
babble about everything
before going again.

That midnight time
in the park
in the nose-cone
of that steel-framed
faux rocket ship
designed more for
a child's imagination
than adult coitus,
and how we had to
proceed quietly
as the cops
circled the parking lot
unaware.

That ugly time
when she was
breaking up
our marriage
to be with another man
and I pounded
angrily inside her,
hating that I still loved her
but loving that
I was hurting her
without leaving
a mark
or even caring.

That liberating time
in Seattle
after my father died,
and while I betrayed
my live-in partner,
and fell into
an impossible
secret love,
she unlocked
something
that ultimately
help free me
from my self-imposed
prison of guilt and obligation.

That last time
it was the first time
and even though
I couldn't see
the path forward
(or even the next day),
I wanted
more of her,
more of her
everyday,
and she is where
my heart has finally
landed.

I Let Her Sleep

In the chilly
pre-dawn February,
I hear her
gentle, soft breathing;

not quite a snore,
but a rumble
of blissful narcosis.

I curl up
with her,
our bodies
warm and soft
under a light
spread
of blankets.

This is intentional
so snuggling
and cuddling
is inevitable.

I hold her close
and let her sleep,
taking care
not to poke her,
prod her
with my insistent,
implacable
erection.

I let her sleep
because
that is more urgent,
more needed
and I love her
that much.

This Wine (for Anita)

Emerging from
the shower,
she wraps herself
in a warm towel.

I revel in
her soft skin,
the smell of
her wet hair,
our comfortable
years.

Before she
demurely
slips between
freshly laundered
sheets,
I kneel,
slowly tugging
the towel
toward me,

exposing
all that is perfect
on this
November night.

Starting at her ankles,
my lips tease
their way up
to her intoxicating
lubricity,

which reminds me
of the first time,

only now,
the years have made
this wine
sweeter
and much more
potent.

Better Than Music

Blood pumps
through
my veins,
loud and strong.

Breaths come
shallow, ravenous
in heady
anticipation.

The gentle
slurp and kiss
of tongue and lips
on the skin
of a lover.

This lubricated
piston,
finding home
repeatedly.

These are
the only sounds
better than music.

[Written for Dverse - Quadrilles with Sound]

Her Moaning Assent

The memory of
her moaning assent
echoes forever.

The echo bounces
off one block
of memories,
onto another,
ad infinitum.

However,
they do not decay
as naturally occurring
sounds do.

No,
they loop
at full-volume,

a supernatural siren
ever distracting me
into lustful dizziness.

[Written for De Jackson's quadrille prompt.]

Pang

This hunger
doesn’t sate.

I drink in
her sweet skin,
my private treasure,
face down
and naked
in our bed,

perfect in hue
and contour,
spilling like silk,
smooth
and cool
and luxurious.

She looks
over her shoulder
in my direction
giving that
unforced
beaming smile,
a lustful mix
of consent
and encouragement.

My eyes glide
downward
to her feminine curves,
as I
fit myself in
perfectly snug,
mounted skin to skin,
rocking and swaying
to the rhythm
of the cosmos.

I grab
sumptuous handfuls
of her thick
honeyhair,
and pull myself down
on her,
front to back,
sticky warm
skin to skin.

I proceed,
faster and deeper,

part of me
fearing I may have
a heart attack

and part of me
hoping I do,

as this is
the best moment
of my life.

Afterward,
a momentary
heavy silent bliss
hangs over us,

until I feel
another hunger
pang.

Micropucker

Her moist,
yielding lips,

twitch and
micropucker,

waiting to be
answered,

filled
and fulfilled,

by this warm,
and slippery friend,

so firm,
uninhibited
and ecstatic.

Buzzing

In our afterglow,

she radiates 

serenity, satiety.

I roll over,

confidently 

drifting 

into slumber,

as a buzzing 

emanates 

from her side 

of the bed.

[Written for Fireblossom Friday at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/02/fireblossom-friday-looking-beyond.html.]

The Gold Experience

"Of course,
we can make that
happen,
silly.

You're one of
my favorites.

Ok, let's make sure
we're on
the same page:

So, you're looking
for the
"Silver Experience?"

Oh, "Gold?"

That's a better deal
because it starts
with a warm stone
table bath,
including the
pomegranate scrub.

And we'll follow
that up with the
full-orifice lubrication
with imported
Middle East
saffron oil,
including all-digital
full prostate gland
stimulation.

Following that
you get the
full-body
45-minute
skin-on-skin
Swedish Massage.

And
by that time,
if I've done
my job right,
you'll probably be
ready for
Arrival Expression.

So, let me total
that out,

just a sec...

So, that comes
to $740,
before tax and tip.

We take all cards
(except American Express)
and, of course,
cash.

Yes,
cash is
best of all."

Charise

“The secret to
my happy marriage?

Once a week
I go to different
places like
Home Depot,
or Lowe's
or anywhere you see all those
Mexicans hanging
around the parking lot
looking for day-labor.

I look for the
most handsome,
cleanest looking
young man,
I don’t care
if he can speak English.

I tell him
I have some
light handyman work
for him to do
and we negotiate
a price.

He follows me back
to my place,
but before he gets
to work,
I ask him to wait.

Then I slip away
to the guest room
where I change into
lingerie,
something from
Victoria’s Secret
that shows off my legs
and my tits.

Then I call him
into the bedroom,
and I’m stretched out
on the bed
with an unmistakable smile.

You remember
that thrill of a new lover,
that feeling
of a young, hard body
on top of you,
warm muscles
and a strong throbbing,
hard and deep
inside you?

Well, I do,
because I get it
every week.

After he’s done,
I pay him
and he leaves.

Then,
when Randy comes home,
just before
he falls asleep,
I play a DVD
of the sex tape
I secretly made with
the day laborer,

and remind him

“This is for
fucking that
fat slut receptionist
in your office.”

One of these days,
I’ll tire of this
and forgive him.

Or not.”

Intimacy

She knew
what he
secretly liked,

and he liked
what she
secretly knew.

Lost in The Moment

If you're worrying
about what
I'm thinking about
while we're making love,

then
you can't be lost in
The Moment
like I am.

I Couldn't

“First, she told me
her name was Ashley.
The next time
it was Brandee,
and then,
it was Millicent.

She was young
and firm
and flexible,

with clear blue eyes,
and a nape made
for her
long
blonde
hair.

I kept feeding
her singles
and she ate
like a dirty city pigeon,
out of my hand.

I‘d have her lean in
as I pretended to listen
over the mix of
rap-metal
and classic rock,
but I was actually
breathing in her
heady mixture of
stage perfume and
overpriced alcohol.

I learned
she dropped out
of school when
she got pregnant.

She told me
she had the kid,
and a pimp,
and a coke habit,
as she slid her
lingerie’d torso
up against mine,
straddling me
during one of the
many table dances
she performed
under those predictable
red and purple
pin lights.

And I wanted
to rescue her,
to take her away
from all that decay,
to tell her
I loved her
and that I would
always take care
of her,

but I couldn’t.

So, eventually
I left that
smudge
of a town,

and told everyone
when I arrived home,

the agency was wrong,

and she wasn’t
our long-lost
second-cousin.

Now,
I just wish
I could
forget her.”

[For Fireblossom Friday @ With Real Toads ]

That Natural Tumbling

You don't have to
suck it 'til it pops,

or keep on pumping it
like you're performing
CPR on a crash victim.

All those
black lace outfits are nice,
but you know
they'll be torn off
in less than a
minute,

and I love the candles
but don't light them
if it will
break the momentum,

that natural tumbling,

when everything
feels right
and I allow my pulse
to beat
crazy-mad
and the breaths not stolen
are quick
and uncontrollable.

Let me forget where I am,
just let me know
that I am

and that you are
here too.

Don't think about
all the celluloid fantasies
or that article in Cosmo,
any aberrant cellulite
or how you think
I might think
you smell,

just lose everything
and kiss me

kiss me

kiss me.

Gray Orgasm

Sweaty,
chest still heaving for air,
our blood-rushed skin
warm and damp,
the natural, eternal
narcotic coursing through
our bodies,
her gentle snore
confirming
what I usually only sense,

a thought niggles
just as I drift into
blissful unconsciousness,
too late to shoo away:

what if that was
the last time?

[Composed for Fireblossom's Fridays at the Real Toads' Lilypad .]

Finding 1974

Climbing

over the mountain

of memories,

it looks more like

the city dump,

everything tossed

about,

no rhyme,

no reason,

no hope

of ever

finding 1974

and the

innocent skin,

the naive eyes

I once possessed

before the erections,

insecurities,

and self-abnegation

took me hostage

for the next

few decades

and refused

to let go.

Room Service Banana Split Sundae (for Anita)

The only way
to improve upon
a room-service delivered
banana split sundae
is to slowly lick it off
the naked backside
of a freshly
blooming
paramour
in a furtive,
anonymous hotel room
in a city
far, far away.

[Written for http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2016/01/poets-united-midweek-motif-food.html ]