Poetry

Sonnet 18+
by Ashley Lister © 2013

Shall I compare thee to a porno star?
Thou art more lovely and more sexy too:
I've yearned to have you naked in my car,
And I would really love to service you:

Sometimes you let me glimpse your muffin tops,
Your shorts reveal your sweet and cheeky cheeks,
The view's enough to make my loins go pop,
And make me long to have more than a peak:

But I know you're no exhibitionist,
You'd never ever play games of team tag,
Not even if I got you truly pissed,
Because, I know, you're really not a slag,

So long as I can hope there's half a chance,
I'll dream about what's there inside your pants.

Sunday Worship
by Rachel Green © 2013

You visit late tonight and wax regret
of our affair. Too sordid, you complain,
your parish would not understand and yet
my dick is buried in your arse again.
This is the last, you promise me, that we
can ever consummate our love but groan
anew while lips and tongue coax semen free
of stiffened cock. I swallow hard, atone
for some imagined sin; a Catholic
at heart you crave the bite of thorny crown
to drive perversion out. It makes you sick,
you claim but I'm your Friday meat to down.
And then you're gone and leave behind the scent
of Heaven and a little sweet torment.

intoxicated by you
by Malcolm Miller © 2009

how could I concentrate on the performer yesterday
when you slipped off your shoes and flexed your feet,
        your naked feet?
You were engaged with the performance,
you curled your feet, lifted them, pressed tiny toes
in line against the carpet, made exquisite curving shapes
        with instep and arching sole
that stole my heart, until desire to touch, to kiss,
        to feel and fondle and caress
filled my distracted mind to bursting point.
My desire to make love to you, experience the feel
of your amazing body, flesh and skin,
explore with kisses, hands, mouth and tongue
your naked loveliness was overwhelming,
a painful pressure fuelled by my love for you
that gave my lust a desperate urgency
and a drunken feeling of disorientation
that intellect is helpless to resolve.

Ghost's Request
by Raziel Moore © 2013

Leave a window open for me
I don't really need it
It's not like closed entryways or
physical barriers matter
anymore.

But there is no art
no poetry
no message to
slipping silently through glass
to haunt you
when the creak of a frame
the billow of a curtain
can show you I'm there
If you look and listen
just right.

Next Story
by Raziel Moore © 2013

I don't care what implement
you choose to use

Quill pen, razor blade
cane, thorn, paintbrush
icicle, ember, chocolate, needle

Write your next story
on me

Still Life with Coffeecup
by Raziel Moore © 2013

I see her in the coffeeshop
in the morning un-made-up
hair unkempt sleepy eyed
unfocused and think

This is how
you would look
after I
finished with you.

Considering les Fauves
by Nettie Kestler © 2013

She wakes before dawn breaks and lights a candle
to soothe her eyes.  What point is there to rising
except that one must, as one must clothe oneself
and go about the duties of the day.

Fresh fruit sits on the table.  She pours the coffee
from a sterling pot.  A china cup takes
the heat, the gold of its rim her only sweetener.
It would be nice if the starlings were here to sing,
but they've escaped their clutches, fled the hedges.

They do make a day sound more apologetic
than it truly is.  But silence is nice as well
and the day will spill over her fast enough.
She leans back, cup and saucer in hand,
her silk robe spills and catches at her nipples
letting the sunrise paint her areolae pink.

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