poetry of the Dark, Erotic, Violent, Religious & Macabre

Posts tagged “Erotica

dark lover on a beautiful horse

you will not enjoy this, he alleged

as the inner child died in me

as the inner child cried in me

and the first drop of blood

dribs in the form of a delirium

stranded somewhere

between the oath of evil and

the darkness`s of pleasure

 

the second blood …

it splattered     like a sunburst

because

we want dark lovers

on beautiful horses

but we instead get men

who shower us with flowers

and stand outside our bedroom windows;

 

no doubt

he sees my soul

when he peels back

the black lash of curtains

and seizes that lone tear drop

 

on your belly, he demands my body

a one hand noose wraps around my throat

the other          guts, then splays open my wisdom

obscured by desperation; I need this `just breathe, okay?`

 

and he wants to do me

with a dildo and a vibrator

where one stimulates

and one penetrates

but my flesh is not the digital masque

these buttons that he de`presses

do not send me into a virtual ecstasy

why do you waste your time? I dare ask.

 

but there`s a fault in my system

a pheromone that calls to the unsavory

as he leaves me standing vacant

at the window

struggling to breathe

kicking my feet, pussy gushing blue

as I continue to feel the strangle

of his con`sexual violation;

he was a caller, a gentleman just before dawn

walking down that promiscuous dirt road

where the crossroads of my uncertainty

pointed the way in arrows; he never looks back

 

and I never look forward … I don`t know

if it even was a rape as it felt like winter

in bedlam

 

still … it was something even

if it had no meaning.

 

I light a cigarette          and inhale

because it`s the best I can do for the moment


Dracula in Love

 

 

 

London fog sunrise

bloodstains her pretty hair red;

I want her deathly

 

 

 


Deflower

 

 

 

I am a flower

I am beautiful in your eyes

I smell of everything you lust

above me, 

beneath me, 

behind me, 

you break me

like the stem

once holding the flower

 

 


Domestupidy

 

I can’t take it anymore,

your fightin’ words

riddle like bullets

in my head

 

You stroll across the room,

your bare ass thighs sit

parted on the sofa,

your lips purse

 

I tell you all we’re good for is

orgies and social dinners, but

I’m ignored as usual, you’re

unusual, as usual

 

I tell you, if you love him,

then set me free!  Oh

for fucks sake, stop

fucking with me!

 

I need another drink, another

excuse for you to wallow in

self-pity; and this house of

domesticity has become a

house of domestupidy

 

I’d like to think we’re better

than this so I hand you my

cigarette and tell you to

do that thing with

your gifted clit

 

I hold my scotch breath; I envy

the way your pussy smokes

my cigarette, an obvious

connotation that my

dick is no match.


None

 

one

finger

two

fingers

three

fingers

four

and his hand slowly glides in

in soft rhythming strokes

opening her soul, a universe

his thumb

strokes

her bypass

thus accelerating her heart

from zero to sixty

her lips pucker and disperse

when he shifts his wrist

deep inside of her

she is a beautiful place

a magical place

a princess flushing blush

she is the core of her thrown

she writhes and convulses

her orgasm pulses

and pulses

and pulses

an impromptu dance

her orifice a ballroom

of roses and musk

flirting with his fist

kissing his fist

fucking his fist

and together she bonds them

as one not two

drenching those sheets

in spools of lustfilled tears raging through

four

fingers

three

fingers

two

fingers

one

 

none


Beneath A Gangster’s Fedora

I listened to my heart beating in the depth of my mouth,

my erratic breathing revolving around in my eardrums

as if this were another place, another time, only with me

standing on the opposite end. . .and blood is a big expense

 

How long I’ve been living in my own pool of gangster lust, greed

and revenge never ceases to amaze me, never ceases to question me

each time I hand off my Fedora to the wake of her pleasure

nestled on a spindle without an ounce of regret or the threat of death?

 

I am breath. . .less as my bare feet touch down over

the scuffed floorboards harboring deftly secrets that have

ended in spools of blood from some post-tragic interlude

and I await mine each time we meet like this. . .this way

 

I glimpse over my shoulder, and my belly pulls from the

naked sight of her lithe body lying there on white sheets

soon to be red like the night I broke her ingrown cherry

she could never be a virgin twice, life would be too meaningful

 

There is a mirror standing across the room, my naked body

gravitates to it, my Fedora clutching tight in one hand gently

places it on my head while the glide of my finger across the brim

mirrors the glide of my dick over her pussy to expel those cir-cum-stances

 

She moans in her slumber and her ass emulates against her moan as those

chaotic hips sway one way, sway the other, humping those sheets she calls

his name and whispers my name and shame never becomes her despite

the babies crying downstairs, a couple fighting in the hall, I am fucked