Welcome Home

January 15, 2020

Every mouth you’ve ever kissed
was just practice
all the bodies you’ve ever undressed
and ploughed in to
were preparing you for me.
i don’t mind tasting them in the
memory of your mouth
they were a long hall way
a door half open
a single suit case still on the conveyor belt
was it a long journey?
Did it take you long to find me?
You’re here now,
welcome home.

Warsan Shire

I was mistaken

January 12, 2020

I was mistaken
when I said you
live in my heart.
How absurd I was
when you live in my
fingertips so that everything
I touch is you. How foolish
I was when you live in my toes
so that everywhere I go there’s you.
How senseless of me to say
you live in my heart
when you breathe in my lungs,
walk on my mind, and
drink in my mouth. I came to
pen another poem for you,
but even every unwritten poem
is you.

Kamand Kojouri

melt into me

January 9, 2020

Afterward she lies nestled against me, her hair tickling my face. I stroke her lightly, memorizing her body. I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin.

Sara Gruen
Water for Elephants

Love Poem to a Butch Woman

December 31, 2019

This is how it is with me:
so strong, I want to draw the egg
from your womb and nourish it in my own.
I want to mother your child made only
of us, of me, you: no borrowed seed
from any man. I want to re-fashion
the matrix of creation, make a human being
from the human love that passes between
our bodies. Sweetheart, this is how it is:
when you emerge from the bedroom
in a clean cotton shirt, sleeves pushed back
over forearms, scented with cologne
from an amber bottle — I want to open
my heart, the brightest aching slit
of my soul, receive your pearl.
I watch your hands, wait for the sign
that means you’ll touch me,
open me, fill me; wait for that moment
when your desire leaps inside me.

Deborah A. Miranda

Christmas Orgy

December 18, 2019

Surrounded by women smelling of wildflowers. Daughters, mothers, wives in various stages of undress. In this place, like a shark-filled moat, expectation is running high – but disappointment lurks around every corner.

‘Why do you do it?’ a friend once asked me. ‘Sex with total strangers? Why?’

‘I desire more,’ was all I could answer. ‘Perhaps I’m seeking Narnia, trying to find the right closet door?’

Sweet woman all shapes and sizes in this huge, mattress-lined room. They are full of grace and naughty thoughts. Naked males with hard bodies, some with pot bellies, cocks swaying as they move, offer drinks, cocktails to the women they most desire.

Always, to begin, there is this hesitation. The desire to couple with someone who is the wife, husband, lover of another. Passions held taut beneath loose bellies. Everyone wanting more out of today than yesterday, or the day before that.

A woman with a strawberry birthmark on her thigh kisses me. Our tongues become two snakes making love. Gentle fingers stair-stepping in descent to stiff cock. Teasing swollen head and balls, mercilessly. We crumple together on a mattress and she spreads wide for my face; for my greedy tongue. On the next mattress I see the jutting hip bones of some boy thrusting, his partner old enough to be his grandmother. Perhaps older.

I wonder how many of these women fake their orgasms? Many are here because their husbands are here; it’s expected of them. To give themselves to strangers.

Slow, fast, gentle, rough, naked bodies entwine. The mattresses become swamps to roll in. Constant tugging on my cock as I lick between spread legs – I feel myself stretching and fear I may come loose in her terrible grip –

Saturated with desire so many bodies are now barbarously connected around us.

Tantalized by her soft flesh I drive into her, become one with her. Become a rattle of pleasure deep in her throat. She stretches her white neck back and takes a deep breath once, twice, three times, her hands like small animal claws on my back.

A fiery bubble explodes deep inside my head – the rhythm of her breathing in my ears is all I hear, her face brightening from that moment of bliss is all I see. But I know too she is a simple spark about to go out – it is always this way.

Always, this voracious feeding on vulnerability, this cannibalising of naked souls. We are a room full of Vampires. That and nothing more –

Spread your legs wide –

December 14, 2019

Yes, wider.

I want you to wait for me sitting with spread legs. I want to imagine you that way on my journey home. It excites me; I like it. I want to inhale the musky scent of your sex immediately I enter the room.

I want to see you there spread wide for me.

I want your legs spread so wide because I want you to be completely open. I want you to obscenely expose your wonderful complexity to me.

I want those spread legs not just for my pleasure, on a whim. No, I want them to be a door to your world. A symbol of your submission. A surrender of all modesty and inhibition. An admission of your need for penetration.

And once inside, I’ll look for you, find you, discover you. Understand you.

Unravel that thread between your spread sex, your heart and your brain.

I want to feel that thread enclosing me, I want to wrap myself in your beauty, I want that thread to tighten on my flesh, my soul, my cock. I want to see it, feel it, swallow it. I want everything you are: good, evil, happiness, sadness, illusion, disappointment, love, hate, depth, saltwater, roughness, sweetness.

I want to unravel you. With patience, slowness and perseverance. I want to make it simple for both of us. I want to fuck you ‘till you scream for me.

Kiss me

December 13, 2019

Kiss me, just once,
lightly,
like the tender touch
of a butterfly’s wing,
barely the weight of a leaf,
the flicker of an eyelash –
then listen to your heart race
and die of happiness.

Please Wear Proper Attire

December 12, 2019

I lost my virginity to a blue lake. I was trying to make love waterproof. Water is not the only tongue that can’t resist short skirts. We can avoid the circumstances of beauty until we stand next to a waterfall and realize it speaks in sentences. Milk cartons were built in response to clapboard houses on the sides of mountains. In the surrounding farmland, cows were bored. They nearly milked themselves. This is just another circular story. The house, the cow, the milk, the carton, the house. Just like the woman, the love, the future, the failure, the woman. The safety of raincoats is temporary. How many times have you fallen out of love outside of a bar in the rain? How many times has your raincoat saved you? I swore off men who carry symbols in their front pockets. I know the excuse My symbol hurts, not tonight & My symbol is running, I have to go catch it. Everything is tired of trying to become everything else. If electricity has anything to do with it, I’ll be a good wife and take the blender with me in the bathtub. The shape of the fire will depend on which one of us is turned on.

Meghan Privitello

December

December 7, 2019

When my body had forgotten its purpose,
when it just hung off my brainstem like whipped mule.
When my hands only wrote. When my mouth only ate.
When my ass sat, my eyes read, when my reflexes
were answers to questions we all already knew.
Remember how it was then that you slid your hand
into me, a fork in the electric toaster of my body. Jesus,
where did all these sparks come from? Where was all
this heat? Remember what this mouth did last night?
And still, this morning I answer the phone like normal,
still I drink an hour’s worth of strong coffee. And now
I file. And now I send an email. And remember how
my lungs filled with all that everything? Remember
how my heart was an animal you released from its cage?
Remember how we unhinged? Remember all the names
our bodies called each other? Remember how afterwards,
the steam rose from us, like a pair of smiling ghosts?

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz

My Silence

December 7, 2019

Your vacant eyes
reveal this city:
dim, absent-minded, humid
orchestrating bronchial noises
by night ‘quakes in the face
swash my deep peace
in cells naked gods nudge
borrowed girls with wealth
uncreate their seeds
for hurried happiness
boats toss about on
prostituting men and women..

R K Singh