Everyday Erotica

You could even go so far to use the color formatting:


very
strawy
berrily
funny
red
whipped cream
 
Pedicure

She squats in front of me
black hair strands drop forward
nape bare
lip sucked in concentration

polished nails circle naked ankle
I am dipped into pulsating water
Its too hot
I say nothing

caressing me with creams
Sanding the roughness off my heels
through the fringe of my lashes her haunches tighten
and release


(Well hey, you gotta put your back into it)

He would be under her
looking up under that veil of hair
Or over her
See how his strong hands grasp her
rocking, that rocking...

Damn.
Time to turn off the massage chair.
 
Park & Ride

Sitting shotgun in a dark parking spot
watching dew settle
on the field from
heavy dawn air

Breathing in your
recently showered skin
steeped in the stillness

Sleep-gruff rumble of your voice
mixed with the engine hum
tickled my ear
turned to insistent growls
tantalizing in graphic detail
everywhere you wanted to taste

A hand on my knee
sliding between
calloused fingers took possession
of soft inner thigh
journeyed purposefully upward

Seats laid back
negotiated the dash
and gear shift
pressed against the hood
all fours in the cargo space
we got a lot of mileage
from that van

Left off where you picked me up
coffee and you lingering
on my tongue
watched your taillights
continue the morning commute
still grinning from your cheeky salute
"Call you later, Traffic Jam"





Borrowed some prompts from 5 Senses, but was too slow to post it there
 
Social Irritant

I try not to listen,
but those people next door
are sometimes so loud

that even if I plugged my ears
with balls of cotton
I would still hear their cries,

their bed's squeaky springs.
Perhaps I should speak to them,
to ask, to beg,

Would you admit me as a partner?
 
Motel 6

They woke me up. They weren't loud,
but their sighs and murmurs, the rustling
sheets excited me, their slurps
and slapping compelled me,
so I disrobed and slid in
their bed. I was innocent

but so curious. She was shocked
but not unwelcoming and he delighted
at the unexpected turn of events.

His skin was coppery and smooth,
his black hair thick and silky. I needed
to touch him. She didn't mind. Always
she was a generous woman.

He was in her and on me, kissing
and rubbing me, sucking my breasts
until I cried his name, aroused
to abandon, hearing their cries
mixed with my own.

He was gone in the morning,
and we didn't speak of it until
years later when it seemed mythic
and unreal.
 
Offering

It had been totally
spur of the moment,
an evening of the usual
flirtations,
nothing unusual,
until something about both
her and him,
the way he looked at both
her and her chest,
the way she liked being looked
at by him in that way,
so I nudged things a little by
unbuttoning that dress shirt
of her husband's that she'd
worn for bowling night,
and when she gave me that look
of "You're sure?" I couldn't
help but smile and undo her
bra as well.
That's all it took.
 
Virtual Cunnilingus

1. Wet your finger. Think of it as my tongue.

2. Touch (very gently) the top of your labial cleft.

3. Consider little flicks of your fingertip along your inner thighs.

4. You may need to wet your finger again.

5. Begin to slip my tongue (your finger) between your labial folds.

6. Swirl. Swirl some more. Stop to breathe and appreciate.

7. Repeat steps 2 through 6, while thinking of my growing enthusiasm.

8. Try to coax the shy head from its clitoral hood.

9. Wet your finger again. A lot.

10. Stroke gently along the length of the hood, perhaps gently tapping the head. Listen to your breathing, your cries.

11. You may, by now, know how best to proceed. Tell yourself what you want your finger to do, to touch, how best it can love you.

12. Continue until your finger grows numb. Then continue more.

13. When you are finally satisfied, think of me smiling and kissing your stomach and thighs.

14. Pour a glass of viognier (white) or malbec (red) and call me.

15. Because I'll want then to praise the beauty of your eyes.
 
Tod beat me to the five senses response, so I'm posting my belated one here:

Concierto de Aranjuez

Andrés Segovia once scolded
one of his students
for cutting his nails
but not filing them smooth.

His ear for the plucked string
on a Ramirez guitar was that perfect.
So I was nervous

about my poem, about how
you would receive me,
coming as I did from the wrong coast.
I guessed French press coffee
and OWL Bakery cinnamon rolls,
holding my wet finger in the air

as if that could tell me
how to win your heart.

I found a guy who would rent me
a '57 Ford panel truck,
because that made me nostalgic
for my youth, and I laid out

our breakfast on an Elvis painting

I'd picked up in a yard sale,
because velvet made me think of your hips.
The caramel, though, I held back

to warm while reading you many poems,
sweetened by its sugary scent,
and hoping to drizzle it afterwards over your breasts.

For dessert, of course.
 
Tod beat me to the five senses response, so I'm posting my belated one here:

Concierto de Aranjuez

Andrés Segovia once scolded
one of his students
for cutting his nails
but not filing them smooth.

His ear for the plucked string
on a Ramirez guitar was that perfect.
So I was nervous

about my poem, about how
you would receive me,
coming as I did from the wrong coast.
I guessed French press coffee
and OWL Bakery cinnamon rolls,
holding my wet finger in the air

as if that could tell me
how to win your heart.

I found a guy who would rent me
a '57 Ford panel truck,
because that made me nostalgic
for my youth, and I laid out

our breakfast on an Elvis painting

I'd picked up in a yard sale,
because velvet made me think of your hips.
The caramel, though, I held back

to warm while reading you many poems,
sweetened by its sugary scent,
and hoping to drizzle it afterwards over your breasts.

For dessert, of course.

Kinda wish I hadn’t beaten you to it!

Evocative and well paced,
wonder what your 5 senses would have been?
 
Tod beat me to the five senses response, so I'm posting my belated one here:

Concierto de Aranjuez

Andrés Segovia once scolded
one of his students
for cutting his nails
but not filing them smooth.

His ear for the plucked string
on a Ramirez guitar was that perfect.
So I was nervous

about my poem, about how
you would receive me,
coming as I did from the wrong coast.
I guessed French press coffee
and OWL Bakery cinnamon rolls,
holding my wet finger in the air

as if that could tell me
how to win your heart.

I found a guy who would rent me
a '57 Ford panel truck,
because that made me nostalgic
for my youth, and I laid out

our breakfast on an Elvis painting

I'd picked up in a yard sale,
because velvet made me think of your hips.
The caramel, though, I held back

to warm while reading you many poems,
sweetened by its sugary scent,
and hoping to drizzle it afterwards over your breasts.

For dessert, of course.

And you chose one of my favorite guitar pieces to boot!

I saw Segovia at Lincoln Center in NYC. He was in his early 80s and absolutely amazing.

Thank you for the lovely writing series. It was um exhilarating. :heart:
 
Thank you for the lovely writing series. It was um exhilarating. :heart:
I like writing poems in response to others' poems. Yours were not only very good poems, they were rather. . .
well, perhaps I'll just say that I found your words quite, uh, uplifting. :rolleyes:









Director's voice, off camera: I don't think you can say that on TV.

Me: This is a web site, not television.

Director: Oh, right. OK, then. Carry on.
 
I like writing poems in response to others' poems. Yours were not only very good poems, they were rather. . .
well, perhaps I'll just say that I found your words quite, uh, uplifting. :rolleyes:

....

Yesss your poems, of course, are excellent. I think I was blushing when the nurse came in at one point. Thought I might have a fever, but no. :D

We should cook up some kind of erotic poem challenge where one responds to the preceding poem.

Anyone have ideas just chime in!
 
Lon

We were in the kitchen.
Lon was peeling an orange,
blunt fingers working to expose
soft inner segments, releasing
a fragrant oil mist

and watching me closely,
dark eyes intent as if
I were a prize to be won
that night, a tasty end
to Saturday.

I watched him too
like any small creature wary
of danger might do. He was so
handsome then, Mr Guitar God.

Women fell for him on the regular,
women older, more experienced than me.
Maybe naivety was my appeal that day.

Or not. Turns out he had bet
a friend that he could fuck me.
Lon always did love
a good mind game.

He handed me a juicy segment,
pulpy and dripping.

It's the sweetest piece.

I swallowed it and spotted Rob
standing in the doorway
in his pea coat and knit cap.
We split that creepy scene,
crunching through snow
to the bakery, laughing
at stupid knock-knock jokes.

Later I heard Lon fucked MaryLynn
that weekend, fucked her so hard
he banged her into the headboard.

What a guy.
 
Spring painted with lush bright colors
mostly green onto the sad ground,
and red on snow-pale
whatever we could show the sun.

It wasn't a long ride to the orangery,
the sky of milky sapphire
teasing to wear short peels
more skin hungry for some tan.

Inside you found that fellow
full in bloom with white silk
and a subtle sweet scent
to lift you up on your toes.

The plate tectonics of top and skirt
more than subtle hint what to do.
No white silk there
but the than subtle sweet scent.

The bright red neckline pointing down
pale ripening oranges along the way
surprisingly salty like the flower
that came further down.

The weathered gardener laughed heartily
hearing our joke about flowers and bees
we would tell some potential offspring.

...not sure if it happened that Spring day.
 
New Poem

‘FRANK SINATRA’ SHE SAID/
FEELING GOOD BY DOING BAD

‘so you’re a poet’ she says,
‘does that mean you’ll want
to kiss me before
we fuck?’

Tristan und Isolde
are dead, my love,
there’s just
you and me
and the jukebox

it’s not how
it should be
for you… or me,
but if
cheap happiness
and stolen goods
is all there is,
then
that’s enough
 
5:30 pm

Nature's call still audible in this hi-tech world
we perform our more or less subtle display
opening top buttons of meeting eyes.

Like butterflies, or better, moths we're drawn
to the cold light of the photocopier room
where originals are multiplied all the time.

Breaking out from our business cocoons
we find the common beauty unfolding
underneath the secret second layer.

We don't need to study Loreley's Real Power Safers Guide
"plug in the jack into the socket and start working,
at the end of the day pull it out..."

The hungry rhythm steps up to the eigenfrequency
of the office building quivering and shivering
an earthquake underway in our little world.

Covering up the fresh evidence in silk and satin
we find the button producing some alibi copies
and schedule our next conspiratorial workshop.

Later I can hear your surprised silence
in the phone conference about today's breaking news
"...people ran screaming from the shaking tower..."
 
Love this


Strawberries
with their bright
red seduction have made
their way to the farmers market
picked from nearby morning fields
effortlessly coax my hand toward
their tempting display, choosing
those to invite back to my
place, to be lustily
devoured while
covered in
cream
yes








I don't remember if I've ever attempted a shaped poem before, and now I'm starting to think it looks more like a turnip. I'd thought to make it for the nonette when I started, but that didn't quite work out. This all started because of Harry and his cherries. Fond memories of yesterday's berries.
 
We All Have Stories

Kathy rides the bus
an hour each day
to reach the club
saving her pennies.
Last week the
phone company
shut her off, less
than a month overdue,
but they keep single
mothers on
edge.

Tall and lean and
at thirty-one, yes
still lovely, her
skin bronze
from tanning
salon sojourns
She always smiles
as she dances close
rubbing her pert breasts
against my shirt, her pencil
eraser tip nipples
with their silver
rings just beyond
tongue range.
Then she slithers
down pressing her
body - naked
against my
body - clothed
pulling at my
shirtwaist with
her bright white
teeth almost
mouthing my
crotch.

Her story - high school
gymnastics champion,
cheerleader then
broke her back
but recovered to be
provincial diving champ.
But we all have stories.
Two ex-husbands
one a cop
“never marry a cop
they're always angry
sometimes rough
and after no
support."
Thirteen years, she's
worked one club
or another and
never think
it isn’t
work.

I’d love to answer
her smile, to offer
a shoulder to
lean on or
at least a
ride home.

But I have my
own story, my
wife and kids,
a cat and dog
waiting at home.

After the dance, Kathy
smiles as she takes
my twenty having
tickled my fantasies
for another week
then wanders
through the bar
looking for
another customer.

Until the six-thirty
shift change, when Kathy's on
the bus, heading home to her
lucky daughter.
 
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Nature's call still audible in this hi-tech world
we perform our more or less subtle display
opening top buttons of meeting eyes.
...............................................
We don't need to study Loreley's Real Power Safers Guide
"plug in the jack into the socket and start working,
at the end of the day pull it out..."

.........................................................................

The hungry rhythm steps up to the eigenfrequency
of the office building quivering and shivering
an earthquake underway in our little world.

Later I can hear your surprised silence
in the phone conference about today's breaking news
"...people ran screaming from the shaking tower..."

Seizing love or a reasonable facsimile can shake our everyday lives.

btw I googled Loreley's Real Power Safers Guide and ended up with "Safer® Brand Insect Killing Soap Concentrate ... - Safer Brand " which was actually useful as I had a problem with powdery mildew wiping out our zucchini and squash last year. However there is also a baking soda and non-detergent liquid soap alternative. I suspect Harry would know more about this.

And thanks for your nice words on We All Have Stories
 
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Lying awake, I long
to map your topography
trace each hill and valley
commit your textures
to sense memories
of taste and touch
explore in exquisite detail
your geography
seek those places to
awaken your landscape
draw heat from your center
discover secrets
you didn't know you were keeping
 
Whisper to a Roar

The timbre of your voice
meant only for me
stills me, breathless
coaxes me to writhe
rise up to meet you
melts my inhibitions
into rivulets that quench your thirst
as you feed my hunger
until we distill to nothing
but animal senses
chasing the need
to devour each other
 
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