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Several erotic poems
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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CHANEL NO. 5
Brutal gigs in Screw City.
THRASH-PUNK CHICKS...
Night shades,
Dog-gnawed neon hair,
Finger-painted faces,
Kinky jewelry.
Raunchy nylon strides
Slink on sharp heels.
Leather whispers with lace.
Moving mouths--
Vermillion lips round on Sugar&Mints.
Fruity gum smacks smoke.
Ruby tongues, wet and moist,
Lick switchblade nails
On phallic fingers--
Slashes, Flashes, Trips, Tricks.
Brusque Burlesques sweat
Chanel No. 5.
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The Quest, i
Underground City, underground lights,
Dancing shadows of neon nights...
Blood lushing hot from a vampyre's kiss,
In the Temple of the Mode Modernists.
Lace veils of smoke fever my eyes,
As I dance in a trance, I fly, I writhe--
Shell shock shorn from chance reality,
I shade myself. I dance fantasy.
I lose my mind, I lose my soul,
In a mass of motion, above and below.
The Rhythm. The rhythm. The rhythm.
Stop.
"Come on boy d'ya wanna ride?"
I eye you in the ambience,
A flaming form in the folds of black,
Your hair a midnight raven,
Your face translucent ice,
And a body of snake-waves dressed in black
Satin sashes. Shadow attractions pull and twist;
Flash-suffocation as I reach for you
On the Last Train to Transcentral.
Go
Body to body. Beat to beat.
We bare our teeth as our bodies meet.
Down goes the zipper, up goes the dress.
Remember Luv, we're out to impress.
We wander and we waver in the bucking hot
And I worship your fire with another shot.
I crave your heat, fire of illusion,
Delicious in the scrumptious confusion.
Black Rose, when this dance comes to an end,
It will be time to seek another...
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Going On A Half
And All Too Wondrous
Riia's Song
I
Dance, dance under the calypso moon,
Wearing ribbons of mist and lace of cool
air,
Breast to breast abreast,
Until the morning sun.
Turn, turn through the gypsy moon,
The hip sway the same
But to another tune.
Lips say hello, I am your mate.
II
Passion is a medium,
And Love and Lust are poles.
Sapphines can know only love they say.
Opaque glass facing silver mirrors,
Reflect an infinite chain of images
Revealing only half a wondrous world
Without day. Half of all.
The diamond lone, no foil.
III
Bodies need not touch,
The eyes make the real love real.
Look at me. I want you to like
What you see and want more
Than you can take. Can you see me?
Silence is the kiss of bliss,
But words are orgasm-touchings
Of that I call mind.
Hear my heart? Listen.
IV
Partings are leopards shedding
Spots, but sooner or later,
All...no, ALL...fish drown, and so, so, we must
Leave on cat paws. There is no
Forever, only half-promises worth their
Weight in sugar.
Tears are salt things, dewy, and maybe sticky
And sweet smelling and smooth to press and al-
So tasty, tangy and sorrowful and pleasant Me-
Lancholy. All seasons must dance at the drop
Of a pin. Pin pricks that bleed you anguish.
V
Footprints in the night-tide sand.
Your foot-splatters exhilarate my breath
And you run, run, to me with free laughter.
And holding my hands, you take me into
The warm Aegean Sea with a gypsy tune
Under the calypso moon.
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jc
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