- Erotic Poetry
- The Sun Knows It's Hot
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Click hereYou know I feel your eyes on me
And I hate it
that you know how easy
it would be to slide between my thighs
because I can't stop
my fucking hips from moving
or my core from trying
to put out this fire
with a flow of slick wet
Damn my nipples
for peaking against my shirt
against my will
creating a circuit of craving
that electrifies my skin
Fuck you
and your smug chuckle
as my legs part
to soothe the swelling ache
Teeth clench my bottom lip
as I try to remain silent
No, I won't look at you
refuse to see the hunger that burns in your eyes
concede the tenuous grasp
on my control
I'm going to pretend
that I can't already feel
your grip on my hair
teeth rasping my neck
thick fingers slipping effortlessly into me
I hate it
that I revel in this blistering need
while you're still across the room
and I don't know if I want the torture
to end
then I hear you stand
- COMMENTS
I like this one a lot; it's dirty and smart.
Poem as object, reader as voyeur. You perform this one while we watch, and the heat of that is real, you taking us through it puts us right there.
At first, I wanted that last line to be by itself, so it would have more power, be more of an exclamation point. But on a second reading I realized how quietly subversive it is to space those last five lines out. You spend the poem building the tension, frustrated with waiting for the release, resentful of your powerlessness at the same time you're not sure you want to end.
And then, with that last line, you leave us where you started, on the other side of the page - which is a very large room to be on the other side of - tables completely turned as that chair slides back. The heat of the poem still hanging in the air where it will stay, all tension and no release... It's a smart, sly, fuck you that more than pays us back for our smug chuckle there in the middle. It's very punk rock of you. Well played. : )
Good, this page isn't made of paper, as it would have self-ignited after the first lines and left shaking hands charred.
Good, this screen is flat, otherwise the blazing chant would be inscribed on my retina.
Good, cold clear nights give birth to stars so I could cool down in the end, one for each finger that walked over the magmatic stanzas.
Thanks for sharing