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~spring 2005~
The Problem
with Porn
I’m not much for pro basketball;
6-6 250 are not numbers in my world,
and I will not make as much money
in sixty years as Kevin Garnett
makes in as many minutes. I travel
to five different cities in a year
and don’t have a girl waiting
in any of them. But there is ecstasy
in sliding left at the top of the key
and draining one from sixteen feet
over the outstretched hands
of an opponent, and the pook
of a ball on string is as sweet as silk
sliding to her ankles. When I pivot
and point at the guy who fed me
the ball I am saying “thank you, buddy,
for making this moment real.” My girl
has small boobs and gags
when she blows me, she won’t eat
pussy or let me cum
on her face. But when she lifts
her nightgown hem and smiles
I know my timing
is just right, and when I ride
her bedspring rhythm
and smother my groans
in the side of her neck
I am saying “thank you, baby.”
-Erik Michaels
Renewal
with impatient loins, slow
flowing
bloom
burst nipples
and
snow melt eyes.
She
turns my snow to dandelion fluff
peels
away dark barren layers
to
find me pink and waiting.
Her
tongue is butterfly wings
testing
and teasing,
giving
life.
I
grow and stretch to wards the sun.
She
smiles and settle
taking
me in her afternoon hands,
a
pleasant somnolent bath
of
lustful attention.
Then
she,
who
has been neglected during winter,
draws
life from me
with
her mouth,
her
fingers,
her
fertile core.
Honeysuckle
dwelling.
Tim McGovern
You Came to My Bed
I slept,
last night, with the front door unlocked.
I didn’t mean to, but it slipped my
mind.
I also left a light on in the kitchen,
which may have had an effect
on things, because
you opened the door and gazed in on my form.
I
cracked an eye, to see you seeing me
cold, half-covered, naked in my bed
—
man that I am, clothes rumpled on the floor —
and full of tenderness,
you came and lay
beside me, simply, and sighed.
I smelled
wildflowers from miles and miles around,
felt feathery wisps of newborn
leaves, warm zephyrs,
as you touched my face and whispered some
unknowns
that stayed behind. Those breaths were made of spring,
that’s all
I know. And then there came an instant
when half your skin meshed oh!
with half of mine…
I pulled you close, with hunger, love and need,
and
breathed you in, exhaling all my pain,
taking you in love, and giving
mine...
and we’ve never even met.
© Tom McDaniel,
2005
Hind Brain Secret
send me up, kneeling,
teeth on silver buckle of Orion's belt
waiting for that low down
crawl and growl
that only comes in the
burn of solar winds
pelting skin into submission
space, void, vacuum.
Cassiopeia
Sagittarious
aim both gaze and arrow
while whisper and press,
claw and clench
send a cerebral cloud
into reptilian crawl.
deep and low down sounds
that come only from that place
between teeth and
surprise introductions
to that deep beast
inside mirror glare recognition
~jennifer vanburen
Just
words and invitation
arouse electric desire
in my sleep
I hold your information quiet
you have spoiled me
tonight I just long for you, just you
out from zipper, out for me
for me
a cock hungry woman
not a poet, just a whore
taking you in my mouth
by the book, on my knees
as you hold hands tight on hotel radiator
looking out the window into the parking lot
not scenic, just an industrial park
truckers and travelers sleep and pass
this is not a destination.
nothing grows here except
highway rumble.
and in my mouth it is just you
not a poet, you
raw and real
uncomplicated by adjectives
and symbolism
nothing to post
pretend, prepare, picture
just you
out of denim
into mouth
as long as it takes
just give me your cum
I will take it without asking for salt,
fantasy or friendship
you can come loud and
hard in my mouth
truckers and travelers might hear,
but that is to be expected
it is every day
it is not poetry it is just sex
pounded hard and loud against glass
clouds and drops
fist and knuckle
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