Plotting for Kisses

November 12, 2019

The girl from up the stairs is plotting for kisses.
While making her lips taste of tea leaves before painting them,
she collects the stormy weather to darken her light eyes with.
The girl leans back and turns her hand into a piece of art,
or a photograph of two lovers.

She slips inside of stained glass and roams through dusk
in shades of purple, blue, and milky white angel wings.
She casts aside her identity for just a few hours
and pretends that she is anyone you want her to be,
while never changing her smile.

You can hold onto her, around the slender waist,
but only with a grip as weak as autumn light,
before she passes back out into the night,
swooning into the pages of history books,
like all good stereotypes.

James Cramphorn

no word in my language

October 5, 2019

if i have a name,
let it be the sound his lips make.
there is no word in my language for this.

Billy-Ray Belcourt
Gay Incantations

After Love

October 3, 2019

Afterward, the compromise.
Bodies resume their boundaries.
These legs, for instance, mine.
Your arms take you back in.
Spoons of our fingers, lips
admit their ownership.
The bedding yawns, a door
blows aimlessly ajar
and overhead, a plane
singsongs coming down.
Nothing is changed, except
there was a moment when
the wolf, the mongering wolf
who stands outside the self
lay lightly down, and slept.

Maxine Kumin

Lips

September 5, 2019

One morning in bed
I felt the blue sky
dance against my skin
like the lips of
anonymous strangers

She kisses my cock

September 1, 2019

She kisses my cock:
chaste little kisses
that stir the blood;
bare purity in those parted lips,
enveloping shadows,
sweet and slow and wandering:
the kisses of a saint,
providing sweet sensation
and a solemn thrill,
kiss, kissing my cock
until I’m finally still.

not done being shameless

August 1, 2019

 

A hand on my thigh. That is what I’m thinking about, most of the time. A hand slipping under my dress,  the other holding the steering wheel, and me,  upright in the passenger’s seat. Fearless. Always fearless in love, like I’ve had practice.  Look,  I know you’re sick of hearing about the skin of it all, but I’m not done being shameless with where I want to be touched. A hand pressed lightly against my neck. Lips grazing the apple of my bottom lip. Your name like a tongue over the ridges of my teeth. Your body like a downpour with me dancing underneath it.

Caitlyn Siehl
Most of the Time

soft graves

December 16, 2018

i wish
to dig
the cemeteries
of my lips
in hopes
of collecting
gnarled skeletons
of the words
i wish to speak

j. p. berame

her mouth shone red

November 4, 2018

Her mouth was so inviting, so swollen, as if for kissing…Her dark hair was all over the pillow, a dark pillow, all around her. Even in the candlelight her mouth shone red, and it was half open like a flame.

Anaïs Nin
Life in Provincetown

A wild thrill

July 29, 2018

She was darkness and he was darkness and there had never been anything before this time, only darkness and his lips upon her. She tried to speak and his mouth was over hers again. Suddenly she had a wild thrill such as she had never known; joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast.

Margaret Mitchell
Gone with the Wind

Warmly moist like dew…

August 3, 2015

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