I love the dance of luciferous logolepsy. Words have a power all their own, and like a Hitchcock movie, it is often what lingers unrevealed that yields the ultimate thrill. Good erotica is never crass, and as I hope to illustrate, the cadence of the written word is capable, by guided hand, to leave one breathless and prone. And so I shall adorn you, with words you may have never heard, but with a lingering I hope you will not soon forget.
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A single rose you spied At the tail end of summer I promised you that I would come. I packed my bag and left my grey In trails of pallid cotton candy To take the first train out of Bedlam. You meet me at the station Formalities straight up and neat But your scent Richer than remembrance Left me breathless on my feet. There is a ride I don't remember Food I could not...
Added 19 Nov 2011 | Category Love Poems
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I am the unsent scarlet letter. Tucked somewhere between Revelations and Acts In her family bible. The one you don't subscribe to. Worn at the edges, Handwriting faded...and still looking for a stamp or a lightening bolt from the heavens. Cut me and you will see All the things you have ever wanted to say but were too afraid (to hurt, to risk, to untie your arms). Because...
Added 12 Nov 2011 | Category Love Poems
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And a quick pulse deepens in the sheltered arbor of a dream. And in it, I watch you sleeping in my bed. Rhythmic muscled rise and fall Of a mans soft, deep breathing. The sharp lean edge of a well defined jaw. The angular planes. The memory by rote. I lean in and quietly watch. Spying the pulse beat at your neck. Concentric waves of seisms trembles along the shaded vellum of your...
Added 08 Nov 2011 | Category Love Poems
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There could never be a Silver Bullet Quite efficient enough for the likes of Scarlett. She would have already calculated angle, trajectory and speed For the most efficient of her brontide crescendos. The reducing flame for Cadmium is grey and opaque. How fitting. So just what will be the final heart stopper to the trilogy? Will dandy Rhett be left to take his southern...
Added 07 Nov 2011 | Category Love Poems
| Votes 5 | Avg Score 4.6
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If you remember just one thing.... Remember when she spoke your name In seven different voices. Delicate as an apple blossom. As if you were not flesh and bone But starlight and a million different shades of lavender. Remember her tongue on your skin Lingering to melt the snowflakes. And you may melt a little more Every time you think of her. Dark night blue Is the...
Added 04 Nov 2011 | Category Love Poems
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And I rage for Tino Rangitiratanga How strange it is that I remember a line I read so very long ago. "Bees in Mykanos hum in a minor chord" And I am still here in this unsteady place of ebony water and bull kelp. From where I stand with spine to rope, I catch her in the act. Head tossed to a throaty warble- eyes closed- Undisturbed by silence or squall, undisturbed by the...
Added 31 Oct 2011 | Category Love Poems
| Votes 8 | Avg Score 4.75
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I want you most when the she wolf howls a savage song of lust and longing. When thunder detonates my core Fusillades and salvos slam my weak defences. I want you most When wild and pelting rain licks and stings my skin trailing liquid tongues of ecstasy When lightening bursts in atmospheric tandem with passion and release to vanquish the need I want you most when the...
Added 27 Oct 2011 | Category Love Poems
| Votes 11 | Avg Score 4.73
| Views 1,029
| 9 Comments
There is a yellow paper origami bird that sits on my dashboard. It smells like the sun. Citrus with overtures of vanilla. I'm growing terse, this shows itself in light. Not how it pools and dimples, but how it shreds. And the "thisness" shows thin in all I have'nt read, all I still do not know, and all that I am or can ever hope to be. Equal parts of sun and shadow, eleven...
Added 23 Oct 2011 | Category Love Poems
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And the sharp dark corners of winter unfold Chiaroscuro and creases and uncertain lines. He does not know me And yet I draw him My own contrived deity. His words stained His hand the plot of Anna Karinina. Not knowing I threw him away Then drew him again in Rodin's Thinker. Again.. a star, light lost. Again.. a fish, swept transient. But he was not any of these He...
Added 22 Oct 2011 | Category Love Poems
| Votes 3 | Avg Score 5
| Views 519
| 3 Comments
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