sex poem
I want to pray in a sanctuary where all words are holy
and fill the holes in my chest with your poems
to make my incomplete carcass whole again.
Hold me--
as your verses venture under my skin
and make my limbs drip, heavy--
steady.
Already
my words are thick with thinking of you
my tongue lies tied up
on the bed posts of my mouth
waiting to be fucked by you,
because baby--I was struck by you,
the tones flying off of your tongue
left me bent—black and blue-ming--
You.
Could open my petals up
to believing in the wind again,
and I’m not Pocahontas
but honestly, I just want to paint your body with all the colors of the wind
and drink the sun sweet berries of the earth
to quench my never-ending thirst
because...your looks leave my mouth dry.
And I.
Have dreams of snow-white bed sheets,
raised in rivulets of a sweaty love-feast,
torn to shreds by the earthquake toss of your head—
Our bed.
Would have mountains and valleys
bordered by the oceans of your
she’s-all-states-and-princes I-rises,
the center of my spheres, my compass,
and after you’ve John Donne me till I can’t see straight,
trace lines down my spine
bridging our intertwined
bodies with the length of the golden gate
waiting to cross like a tourist who doesn’t know about calstate—
fastpass me under your eyelids until we fall asleep spooning
better than the fucking rabbit in the chinese moon crooning,
until the rhythm of your sleep-cycle breathing
brings me all the way back
to Earth.
But first.
I want you--
shouting speaking stuttering sliding
your words inside of me,
gliding the fingers of your mouth way down south
until they reach my lips that speak another language
-bilingual-
your fingers give me kisses,
while your lips leave indentations,
prints unique, bound by your double helix, she-licks,
licking me until I scream, reaming me—
I mean…
what can I say in all human decency?
we’ve got to love fast and hard and
I’m not the Bard but,
we’re all living to die
and at the very least I
want to love before I go.
So, please...
Poet,
baby,
Make love to me.
In the name of all that is holy.
and Know me
-in the biblical sense-
Because
whole Moses-oceans will part
when you venture between
my 36-red-sea
breasts
to see if they’re bigger than b’s
but whether you b or I be
that is not the question—
whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the slings and arrows
of your outrageous good looks—
It’s my sanity you took.
So while I’m writing words words words,
my red-sea blood lies un-parted and boiling,
double double toil and troubling
bubbling
up up and over
the aorta valves of my
lonely
virgin
heart.
Well, it’s a start.
