He was horny, slipped his clothes in a second, his eyes and thing went straight!
newspaper business has brought us far
to these territories where desert rivers
descend from huge clouds cultivated
but we live on twisted lips to build
something for those coming in
oh you who love this place
by the tourist book is a man
who loves a woman by
a guidebook of sex positions now
I can’t be
sharing
my body
with you
who’s now a shallow pool
though the room is offices
I can hear them panting now
his saliva wet every bedsheet
he’s your boss
your CEO
I’m quite
resistant
to reform
proposals
it is strange to me that a color means something
by itself, it elicits memories and experiences
orange is my go-to color, not blue or pink
yet did they dress me in orange when I was a baby?
in the fifties? I rather doubt it.
Actually, most of the photos of me as a baby
show me in a diaper and nothing else
and there are lots of them.
When I think blue I think neither boy or girl
I think, sky, the eyes of one of my children and the sea
blue is a color I always reach for when I am painting
for I despise a white background
I have painted more skies and seas than most
Probably fifteen hundred skies and seas
color is important to me;
I would not want to live in a world without it
But I could never assign one color to either sex.
Or all boys or all girls
Since no two children are the same.
Her craft had a sizzle and spark,
Lighting up to cook after dark.
So his brainpan swam,
“That’s one succulent clam!”
A morsel, just right for the shark.
The hum hum of the music
One sleepy face
The shisha lights
You in front of me
Taken
But oh good sex
You took a look at me
I could not stop my smile
Pretended smoking cough
The hum hum of the music
One sleepy face
The neon lights
You in front of me
I smile
Oh smokey sex.
He pays.
He leaves.
And she bleeds quietly.
Some come for release,
others for control.
Some come to forget.
Some to remember.
Some to be punished.
Some just come because it’s cheap.
It's sin.
It’s not sin.
It’s survival.
It’s escape.
It’s addiction.
It’s barter.
It's bargain.
It's need.
It’s ritual.
Here, bodies are commodities.
Sold by the hour.
Measured by the weight, age and colour of the skin,
freshness of smile,
limpness of resistance.
It is commercialisation of desire
wrapped in lace,
sold in whispers,
shared in commissions,
paid in bribes,
cashed in tips.
She lets strangers
from the corridor of silence
enter in the dark...
Screeching beds,
sweat,
blood and tears - at times
between pain, pleasure and numbness...
He comes. He goes.
But the scent lingers around like emptiness.
The curtain falls, when the last man zips,
And I lay my teacup after that last sip...
it wasnt hunger,
not the kind that burns then fades -
but a softness,
a gravity between us
pulling soul to soul
through skin.
we touched without taking,
moved like water moves -
fluid, inevitable,
shaped only by the need
to hold,
not to own
my hands said "stay",
yours said "im here"
without a word.
when we met -
fully, fiercely,
with nothing held back -
it was not fire,
but light.
not a storm,
but rain that kissed the earth
because it loved it.
in that moment,
we were not two bodies,
we were one truth:
that love,
when its real,
has a rhythm
only the heart
can teach the flesh.
No one says my goal is to be an ex addict
Not cursing them for their confessed habit
We all fall short
Of goals my Lord
I confess to wanting sex like a rabbit
In a world of festivities, we prioritize the frivolous,
Elevating Valentine's Day, a celebration quite dubious.
February 14th, a day assigned to love's display,
Yet, I refute this notion, for love should be everyday.
In my culture, this celebration reeks of absurdity,
Promoting premature sexuality, a moral calamity.
Should we allocate a day for love's celebration?
Does this imply we've been fostering hatred in iteration?
Even young learners, grades 6 and above, are caught,
In the web of crushes, a trend that's quite distraught.
In Africa, hotel rooms are booked, a Valentine's spree,
Teenagers dominate, leaving one to ponder the decree.
Are we more Catholic than the Pope, in our fervor and zeal?
Valentine's Day, a celebration that love's true meaning does conceal.
So, if you choose to celebrate, do so with reverence and might,
Upholding cultural heritage, and the sanctity of love's light.
Let organizations, schools, and families unite,
Educating teenagers on the dangers of sexual abuse, a love that's not right.
"Use protection," was her first demand
followed by a long list of what's banned.
By the time she was through
there was little to do
so, I think I'll just stick with my hand!
In The Pantry Where Secrets Dwell
A story now I’ll softly tell.
Of moments lost to time’s embrace,
And passions found in hidden space.
A touch of hard, cool, and wet,
A memory of joy I won't forget.
With every glide, with every thrust,
It wakes the senses and stirs up lust.
On the counter top, a fiery sheen,
Reflects desires, pure and keen.
A silent partner at day and night,
Brings pleasure’s peaks, intense delight.
No judgment, just open heart,
Deeply exploring, every part.
With moans and gasps of glee,
It gets me slowly into ecstasy.
In the drawer, it might reside,
This trusty friend I do not hide.
For in its form, I find release,
A journey’s end, a moment’s peace.
So here’s to nights when shadows fall,
To moments shared, desires are small.
A wet embrace, a lover’s toy,
In a quiet room, it brings me joy.
self disgust
and disappointment
for the slip-up
but I need to know
what cheapens intimacy
devaluing myself
devalues anyone
with whom I
would share something
valuable
it's why
I'm detoxing from
all these dopamine pumps
and anesthestics
(gambling and alcohol)
how could online "intimacy"
not be included in
the mix that
keeps me from
feeling
all must go
until this backlog
can be managed
I looked over my shoulder to look at him again
Though the sky was dark I could still see his brown eyes twinkle in amusement
Perfect pink lips ascend to reveal smiling teeth
He lifted my jaw and kissed me lightly
I settled back into his lap and nuzzled my head deeper into his sweatshirt
His grip on my waist tightened and relaxed
We were rooftop lovers
The passion came rough and fast
Bodies crashing and burning together
The stars our only audience
But after, there was always a certain stillness
A certain silence to our rendezvous
We almost held our breath
Did time exist?
Did anything?
But you & I
The stars and the sky
His head bobs and weaves
whatever the music conceives
Drug-fueled rhythms race through his brain
neural connections moan and strain
His over-30-self hides his face, grieves
at his current edition’s migraines
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