EROTIC POETRY by Kathleen K.. underground writer and indie publisher of Bedside Readers for the Adult Mind
Announcing the publication of ARCHING OVER – Collected Collections of Graphic Poetry
Available End of Summer 2013
At the end of the day, snuggled in your bed, reach for something different to read… thoughtful, evocative, fertile with feelings. This collection of poetry is sexotic and brash, yet tender and yearning. Poetry like this strips away the exposition to focus on the sublime precision of fantasy and memory. There is no distance between the reader and the writer, we’re the watchers and the watched. We’re drawn together by the thrum of heated hearts heaving. Not suitable for some, appreciated by others. For the rowdier reader.
i don’t give a dime for your reputation
as i have no intention of enhancing it
you can tuck away your social position
bury your money
hide the finery
come to me naked
only then does your desire show
this one isn’t for them
it is for us
and it is for us alone
the first thing you removed
was my necklace
the beads were hot to the touch
and when cupped in the palm
of your hand radiated
they were scented
suddenly you wanted to eat
i don’t know whether to believe you or not
when you say you think of me
you claim it makes your cock rise
as you remember
and things we’ve done
do you think i’m going to hush you up
when you tell me that even as we speak
part of you hardens
as part of you softens?
don’t i know it?
part of you lingers within me still
i may be a fool to listen
but of all the words you could pick
you seem to know which ones will ring in my ear
i purr beneath your hand
stretch out, lay belly up
scootch a little this way
scootch a little that way
quit moving altogether
am rigid, silent
alone at the end of the road
hoping you’ll bring me home
it is electrifying
to trace the outline of your body
with my eyeballs
had i thought of it before
i’d have understood the clothes you wear:
the loose pleated pants for those strapping thighs
and high tight cheeks:
open necked shirts for the expansion of your chest
and those big square shoulders:
underneath it all a jock strap
because nothing so precious
should be without protection
i fondle my breasts for you
lick my finger, rub my nipples awake
let you look, look at my bare breasts
let them spill down my chest as I stand
let them ride high as i walk toward you
let them hypnotize you with their heavy sway
i know that you like
i press the vibrator
against the bone, along the crack
past the first hole, not quite to the second
and hold it there, tight there
until i come with a shudder and a gasp
your eyes glitter, your hand plunges
i feel hot, i feel open, i feel everything
i wonder what you see when you pull me apart
a mirror can’t tell me
you have sounds but not words
you look long & deep
before you immerge
you look so closely i feel your eyes on me
Of all the marbles in the box
you are the one I feel like rolling
in the palm of my hand.
I want to feel you.
The smooth wholeness
balancing at the point of being you,
set in motion
by me being me.
I’ve never loved me as others have.
How could I possibly dare
to warn you… they say I should say:
I have extreme feelings for you.
We’ve agreed to a sexual friendship
unlike any we’ve had before.
I promptly leave town
(on a pre-scheduled trip)
and unhinge my heart
to allow the circumstances
of love evolving.
No need to hurry, it is in every way
a matter of relishing.
Pounding salt/water energy
carving the earth
etching my heart.
Life coursing to and from the sea.
People on journeys leave their homes behind
but carry their thoughts with them.
Inside me a flicker
But, first, the past:
A long-held love reaching its best conclusion –
a heart reconstructed from promise to fruition
by grafting pieces of mine to the strong empty chambers
he presented me way back when.
Our love powers his leaving me.
“Go. Go – before I don’t let you
leave as easily as this.”
“Go. Go – I can’t bear it.”
That decision made
a hundred times a hundred times
he didn’t take me.
How often, how many, how deep,
the times he crawled on me?
How can it be
those feverish vows
No. They’re going, like he’s going.
not away – just deep deep inside
to give us the wait of experience.
I was wrong, sorry even then.
But, oh, so sorry now.
I could have been kinder
expressed all my feelings.
Taking for granted, as granted.
The grant now revoked.
A new treaty.
All those pent-up kisses
And to him, I say: you fucking fuck,
terminating | cauterizing
what should have been
as nakedly ended
You deny the only fact
there ever was –
it was always ours
to make and break.
It was always ours