Tag Archives: lust

Portense

By fever, and sappy resin, proof positive that bodies, in thorny solder, invent new ways for souls to portend and commit arson.     Advertisements

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She

She, the wrinkled pool of lusty glaze and somatic charge, of aural bouquets teasing cherry-bled sound and fragrance from whetted lips, fasting to shape a comely beckon, moon-fed by dark.

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Mend

To possess, in eyes leveling a raised smolder, here, there are no rules or fences, only a blatant running of stitches to the sun’s sheerest mend.

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Whet

It’s funny how lust secretes its stories through text whetting metaphors.

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Initiate

It was only when her thighs caught fire that he began to understand the laws of arson as practiced by goddesses imitating sirens.

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Satyr

I found him, wanting, satyr’s swell of thorny play– fondling fresh, green grass.

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Savor

It is that mouth, pursed, sentencing savor to burn, to kiss, between lines.

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Noveltease

Tuesday afternoon, blowing off work to find his lover, in bed, fondling Madame Bovary’s text under the covers, literary flint and tease sparking his novel request–May I read between your legs?   (Photo by Henri Cartier-Bresson)

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Tryst

Kiss me one last time, a Trinity collapsed– blown smoke and mirrors.   (Photo by Brassai)

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First Time, Forever

(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    What are we gonna do with ourselves Daniel?    Like right now?    Like ever. Are you gonna go to college?    I don’t know, but I don’t think so.    Why you’re smart? … Continue reading

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