Archive for the Erotic Poetry Category

I Stare into the Fire

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Appreciation, Bardo Thordol, Celebration, Crossing the Abyss, Dancing in Dreamland, Erotic Poetry, Escape Velocity, First Amendment Rights, gratitutde, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Just For Fun, Keep Coming Back, Knowledge, Love, Poetry, The Id, The Rain Dance, the willing suspension of disbelief, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Vision Quest, What You Have Conjured Up, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 6, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

Late January

In a place where

Winter is Perpetual spring

a tender shoulder

 makes my

mouth

wet

As I stare into the fire.

It is enough to be here now.

Casa Nostra

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Language, gratitutde, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Knowledge, Liason, Love, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Synchronicity, the willing suspension of disbelief, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Vision Quest with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 29, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

Casa Nostra

I died in your arms that night,

and buried myself deeply

between your thighs

as

we fucked like it was our last night on earth

even though I’ve lived like

I thought

I would never die.

Our life together

has been a moveable feast

I call

Casa Nostra.

In a lifetime of searching

I’ve found

Meaning in Love

and Purpose

in knowing

and sharing

whatever

I can experience,

learn,

and feel,

wherever

it all shall lead me.

And when it is finished,

scatter my ashes

over

The Villa Chez Dreamland

but keep Love alive en Casa Nostra.

(Our House).

As we hang suspended in time and space

(to-get-her)

in that one thin moment

as we dance upon the razor’s edge

our mortality suddenly seems so much less tragic

as

our infinite intimate synchronicity

washes over us

reminding us once again

of all that which is eternal in each of us

as well as both of us.

In My Perfect World.

Casa Nostra.

En Casa Nostra

we give without regard to what we get

but we take

to serve as vessels

for the giving

from those we love

as well as those

who cannot give back

so as to give to

the Universe,

that place where

even miracles are mundane.

En Casa Nostra

we are protected

by our fearlessness

because

We may feel pain.

We may share pain,

but we do not fear

being hurt

because we trust

and we believe

that this too will

give us the strength

we need

to follow our hearts

to the Palace of Wisodm

and be prepared

to receive

Enlightenment,

Epiphany,

and boundless Joy.

En Casa Nostra

we are protected.

Our enemies may hurt us

but they probably

can’t kill us,

but if they kill us

they probably

won’t eat us

but if they eat us

they make us one with

those who would

because

they cannot destroy us.

En Casa Nostra

we take no prisoners,

preferring instead

to accept the surrender

of willing hostages

as extended family.

Casa Nostra;

a mansion with no walls

large enough to hold

a universe

in a house as intimate

as two bodies

attempting to occupy

one space

or

to become as

one beating heart.

One Mind.

A place where

you can see yourself

reflected in the eyes

of your eternal beloved

as we Bow to the Divine

in each other

and as adults,

nurture the eternal child

in each of us

as our children teach us

the importance

of all the things we forgot

as we grew up

en Casa Nostra.

It starts and ends with our

Gang of Three.

Apologia

Posted in Acknowledgement, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Drug Experience, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicating, Fun, gratitutde, Imp Of The Perverse, Keep Coming Back, Liason Between Parties, longreads, Love, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, The Id, Thorn Tree in the Garden with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 25, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

Apologia

Even if you aren’t reading this,

this moment,

…these words

this testament

is for all of you,

as well as for each of you…

the heroines

of all my never-ending

torch songs.

Perhaps I wasn’t your best friend after all,

but not for nothing…

you can’t say I didn’t try.

I’m a weaver of dreams,

a conjuror of spells,

but I fear that

the realities

I brought you

did not live up

to the Great Expectations

I inspired

until I had thoroughly

disappointed

the Dickens out of you.

“I’m sorry”

I say

“Is there nothing I can do?”

I ask

as you sadly shake your head (“no”).

(Also not for nothing)

as a small part of me dies

inside.

This is what I do

time and again.

‘til you’d think

I would grow weary of it,

but no, I just grow so very,

very…very weary

of letting you down again.

I didn’t want to be that guy…

after all…

I was the guy who taught you

Grand Theft Auto

(and not the video game…)

The guy who took you

camping, or

fishing, or

smuggling,

or diving

or hunting

or running guns

or forbidden contraband

across state lines,

screwing

like cats in heat

at turnpike rest stops,

driving too many hours

with too little sleep

were it not for

“better living through chemistry”

.

You were the first to jump right in with me

scoring,

or eating

or snorting

or smoking

or shooting

or vaporizing

whatever magic

helped raise the ante

back when it was still fun

to live dangerously and without fear…

walking past chalklines

to do the Devil’s bidding

like it was a game of (hip-) hop-scotch

when copping a feel

or stolen kisses

still took

our breath away.

I was the guy

your parents

warned you about

even after they found me

charming, witty

and bright,

because they didn’t know

I was that other guy…

Of course that was

a big part

of the appeal….

I was the Serpent in the Garden

and you were my

Primordial Eve.

You became my

co-conspirator.

You followed me to

sleazy clubs

in basements

underground

or

practice houses

in bad neighborhoods,

a haunted house

way out in the country

next to a cemetery

where

no one else would live

or warehouse districts

or

wherever I could find a place

to play guitar

so loud you thought your

eyeballs would bleed

and your ears would ring for weeks

afterward,

where we would hold out

like outlaws

day and night.

You went with me

to pistol ranges,

rifle ranges,

and dojos,

living in houses

filled with

guns and ammo

(not the magazine….),

the walls of entire rooms

lined with amplifiers to the ceiling,

guarded by dangerous-looking dogs

who loved you

almost as much as me

and

would have killed for you

just as you would have for me

or I for you

even when it seemed like that moment

was just around the next turn in the story

and there was a knife and a gun

in every drawer

and under each pillow.

We slept in tents,

on floors

in cars and trucks,

or high-rise apartments

overlooking the bay

that we could never afford

were it not for the

generous benefactors

we chose to entertain.

We watched porn together.

We made porn together

and everything we did

was either Art or Music.

We painted everything in sight.

We sketched and photographed

each other

while we played and sang

with such conviction

I don’t know how

our hearts didn’t burst.

We learned to dance

the Apocalypso

on the razor’s edge

‘til dawn

and got up and did it

all over again.

We drove way too fast

through downtown traffic

any time of day

whichever way we were going,

or late at night

along the beach

or up on the Interstate,

illuminated by

flamingo-pink

sodium vapor lights;

stopping on the causeways

overlooking Biscayne Bay

just long enough

to remind each other of who we were

and just where we were

just then.

When every moment alive together

was a miracle.

We fucked on the perimeter road

around MIA

with the planes

maybe a hundred feet

above our heads,

engines screaming

and one eye

looking out for cops

with nothing better to do

than to wish

they could have been us.

No matter where we went

or what we did

it seemed like

I could talk my way

into or out of

anywhere or anything

and charm the birds

from out of the trees,

particularly

if it meant staying out of jail

…or worse

(and most especially if I thought

it might impress you.)

But most of all,

I let every one of you down

in one way or another.

…so many memories

of that defining moment

when you knew it was over,

leaving me to figure it all out later….

I played grasshopper to your ant

well into our winter of discontent.

It didn’t turn out

happily ever after…

it never has

and probably never will,

for me or you….

Maybe it never does.

I just hope you can look back

and remember

those few golden moments we shared

with the same fondness,

with the same lack of reservations

we shared back then

before we gave a thought

to how it all might end,

because it was the beginnings

and everything

in between

that made it all worthwhile

for me…

and each ending too beautifully

poignantly sad

to just be forgotten

back when I was just me

and you were just you

before we ever thought about tomorrow….

If I had the chance

to do it all over again

I’d do it all over you.

It just took me too long to realize

that just not being

a bad person

didn’t

necessarily

make me

a very good person.

(…but not for nothing)

You can’t say I didn’t try.

Quite a few did some of it with me.

A few did most of it with me.

Who can say they did all of it,

and gave their all

with all of me?

(You know who you are,

n’est-ce pas?)

Just you…

Because before there was you and me,

Darlin’

each one of the others

saw something special

to show me about myself

that took me higher,

‘tho some cut me low

before they were thru.

But I cannot deny

each one didn’t teach me

a thing or two

I hadn’t yet learned

so that maybe

it wouldn’t happen

the same way

to me and you.

So here we are now

just you and just me

and those wantonly

willing hostages

whomever

we take

as we continue

together

until

The End.

Requiem for a Kiss

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Appreciation, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Erotic Poetry, Fornicating, Fun, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason, Love, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, The Id, Theater of the Mind with tags , , , , , on June 15, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

That first time

when our lips first met

it seemed as if

they would stay

together,

smashed between us

forever.

Stuck on each other

like love-bugs

on a windshield.

*****

We undressed each other

with lips pressed,

smeared,

wet and

wanton

as if the electricity that powered

our mutual seduction

was conducted solely through our mouths,

lips and tongue

so that we dared not break contact

or loose continuity.

*****

Once engaged and coupled,

our mouths explored

each other’s

neck,

ears,

and face.

Eyes closed,

then

eyes half-opened,

dreamily exploring

the visual landscape

of this new frontier

we had conquered

and claimed

together.

Then eyes wide open

staring deeply,

falling through

each other’s pupils

that engulfed each other

as we jumped

into the volcano,

vaporized;

falling and burrowing

ever deeper

down the rabbit hole

with no way back

and no desire to find

our way home backwards

as we knew this was

exactly where we wanted to be,

forever falling.

*****

I miss

that kiss.

*****

We’ve been down that way

a few times since,

but there can be only one

first time.

Nuestro primer beso.

私たちの最初のキス

Notre premier baiser.

Il nostro primo bacio.

. הנשיקה הראשונה שלנו

لدينا أول قبله

наш первый поцелуй

(Our First Kiss.)

Now is the time to discover

all the new places

in each of us

we’ve overlooked

for too long.

Dare to be.

Dare to acknowledge.

Dare to accept.

Dare to provoke

all the others

we can be

into action,

into being

from out of banishment

and hibernation

from

out of the light and into the darkness.

and out of the darkness into the light

Phantom lovers we can be

to someone we have never

known before

‘though we have been there

all along.

*****

A million new

First Kisses

dwell inside of each of us

if we but set aside

the paradigms of clichés

we have

spun together

and trust

we shall always

meet again

as us,

only different.

My forever lover.

My forever friend.

She Wants to be The Other Woman

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Confessions of a Mad Philosopher, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Erotic Poetry, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason Between Parties, Love, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, Share The Love with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 3, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

There is an old Italian proverb that asks: If your wife and your mistress are both drowning at the same time and you can only save one, which one do you save?
The answer is your wife…because your mistress will understand.
*****

She said
she wants to be
the other woman…
the one I yearn to see
when I can slip away
for a clandestine rendezvous.
Furtive hours
of stolen kisses
that must remain our secret
between we two.
The one who gets excited
to know I’m seeing her.
Mia Cumare.
Mia Innamorata.
Mia Fidanzata.
*****

I said
I guess that means
that you won’t be telling me
how we should spend our money
or argue how to raise
our children
or forbid me to buy a motorcycle
if I should choose.
It also means
you can’t wake up
in bed with me
each morning,
or sleep in late on
Sundays long past noon
or be seen together
in public places,
or watch our children
accepting awards at school.
But my dear
such is not the case.
You already know.
You understand.
In our perfect world
together
in our
House beside the Sea
you get to be
The Other Woman
as you may please
and still come home to me
or
better still
to share
another man
another woman
perhaps their spouses, too…
The circle grows
but remains unbroken…
unflinching fidelity
no lies
no excuses
no regrets
or apologies
required.
And yet it all begins
and ends
with
Me and You.

For Occasional Use Only as Directed…

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Appreciation, Celebration, Collaboration, Conjured Up Next, Cumming Back, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicating, Fun, Goddess, His Penis Her Vagina, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason, Love, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Metaphysical Action/Adventure, Much To Good For Children, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, Sorcery, Spring, The Id, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Tsukimono-suji, Uroboros, Vagina, What You Have Conjured Up, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 5, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

An angel crash-landed

at Villa Dreamland’s

temporary encampment,

The Home for Wayward Souls.

Loosely clad in

terry shorts

and a satin

team jacket

with only a few of the bottom buttons

fastened,

allowing

the free-range puppies

to

wrestle and cavort

beneath its logo.

***

As I wrestled with the gatekeeper

to my realm of Velocity and Power,

she appeared

out of nowhere.

She noted we shared the same brand

and marks;

the co-conspiring

symbols

of

Speed and Mystery.

I was surprised

when I realized

it wasn’t a Raiders jacket

after all;

(as it turned out

she was a stretcher-bunny

long ago and had developed a taste

for icons and talismans that

captured my attentions….)

“What a coincidence…”

I foolishly assumed.

Part naughty tomboy,

part wood-nymph,

her long chestnut hair

was everywhere,

like a lions mane.

Her feline eyes

sparkled slightly with mischief

while she made suggestions

as to how to regain control

of my access

to time and space.

We conferred

on a few points,

concurred,

and then she

set upon the project

as if it was her own

(with my blessing

and assistance).

Clad only in a bathrobe,

my attempts to access

points below the dashboard

did not go unnoticed,

as she smiled slightly, then

sighed approvingly.

Ignition and liftoff

confirmed our success

as she began to close the case,

and I felt myself falling

yet again,

with no sign of impact

anytime soon.

***

This trailer park angel

is a newfound

neighbor,

but she quickly advised

she could not be taken for granted

and had a life of her own,

her precautionary statements

contrasting her jovial demeanor

She warned

“Take only as directed.”

“Use with caution.”

“For Occasional Use Only.”

“May be habit-forming.”

“May lead to respiratory arrest.”

(She already took my breath away once…)

***

“See ya in the post office, kiddo…”

she whispered in my ear.

(What?) I wondered?

“…the rogue’s gallery…

on the wall,

with the other gangsters….”

She winked playfully

and then I knew….

“You owe me one…”

she said.

“If you got the time later,

maybe you can

help me with a tune-up

I’d like to get done

before my kid gets home from school.”

“…Maybe tonight

you can even

introduce me to your wife…

tell her my name is Mata Hari

and we’ll call her Tokyo Rose…”

***

This woman of mystery,

this trailer-park tomboy angel

with slightly singed wings,

a lover of pearl necklaces,

with a need for speed

reminds me…

“In the Springtime

the rains come

and the grass

grows all by itself…”

Life returns.

Baraka Bashad.

When I Read Your Words I Feel So Naked

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, A Womens Flower, Appreciation, Celebration, Collaboration, Dirty, Erotic Poetry, Fornicating, Fun, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Knowledge, Liason Between Parties, Love, Mature Theme, Much To Good For Children, Much Too Good For Children, Naked, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Sentience, Sex, Share The Love, The Id, The Wisdom, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 13, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

When I Read Your Words I Feel So Naked

Breathlessly,

In my mind

I imagine you are there beside me

Naked too,

and on my right

sitting behind me

whispering each word

into my ear as I read you

silently.

I hear each sibilance

as it passes your teeth

each plosive syllable

 as it pops from between

your moistened lips,

every affricative

formed between tooth and lip,

the F’s escaping

like some intoxicating vapor,

the V’s buzzing

and waving their stingers.

I feel you breathing in my ear.

I feel your hair

against my neck and shoulders

as your nipples brush

against my arms and back.

You turn a phrase as if each word

is your own tongue

licking and flicking

inside my ear.

A tongue so long it slithers and slides

all the way

inside my brain,

and coils up like a snake,

(if only snakes could wink

and smile)…

A soft metaphor

lays a gentle hand

upon my thigh

as similes

slowly drag

their nails upwards

while you tickle

my fancy

with innuendos

that hint at promises

unspoken

almost too good

to be true

anywhere but here.

This thing we do with words…

And yet I do not even know

the color of your hair,

be it blonde

or brown,

chestnut,

red,

or even black

as raven’s wing.

I try to picture you in my mind.

Full of figure,

slender,

tall

or short,

dark

or pale

or

something in between…

It matters not,

I realize,

just now

because it

is not

the way you look

that seduces me

so boldly

and provocatively

with subtlety

and grace

as you coyly undress my mind

with words

that conjure

feelings,

passion,

and desire

as yet untasted,

so rigid

and yet so flexible

and willing to be led,

or rather

pulled

the way the moon

will raise the tides

time after time.

Forever.

Now.

You draw me

to a bed

of words

both soft and firm

and lay me down

to wallow in your

imagery,

impaled upon

my imagination…

This thing we do with words…

I wonder how your voice will sound

if ever you should speak to me.

Will it be soft?

or

with an edge

as keen

as the arrows

of a huntress

who shoots straight through the heart,

but only takes what she consumes?

Perhaps a husky whiskey voice

deep,

yet darkly feminine,

or maybe

high and clear

like a fairy’s song

as wood nymph

or siren

might use to call

and conjure

spells

like those that you have cast

on me.

These things we do with words,

my friend

and lover

of confidences

together,

implied

as well as

inferred.

A union of souls and spirits

incapable of jealousies

or possessiveness,

giving freely and taking gratefully

in this world we’ve made

of our own

where writer and reader

alike

slake our cravings, lusts

and passions…

to be heard and understood.

To lead each other

to a place beyond mere words alone,

where there is only knowing.

This thing we do with words….

Like a reciprocated Kiss,

…the only kind of Snowball

that has a chance in Hell,

we pass our words

and images

and idea(l)s

back and forth

between us now,

The Union of the Woman and the Man.

The Union of the Writer and the Reader.

The Union of Truth and Wisdom.

The Union of the Word and the Idea.

The Union of the Idea and the Understanding.

The Union of the Understanding and the Enlightenment.

The Union of Giving and Receiving

freely without conditions or reservation.

What is Love?

You already know…

This is Love.

Pass it on

wherever you go.

The more you give

The more you will have.

Wear it like Sunshine

on your face

so I will know you

instantly

if we should ever meet,

even

if it takes a thousand lifetimes.

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