Tag Archives: erotica

Till Winter Solstice 2011

Thank you for following this blog. I appreciate your support. This blog will resume Winter Solstice 2011…consider the time between as poetry’s space on the page since:

…it is silence that exposes our fiery hearts to serpentine tongues,

silence that would strip our marrow if not for the pulsing muteness

of flesh kneading flesh, of snakes and stars and moon-shackled seas.

(excerpt from “If Not for Silence” )

The painting is part of a larger watercolor that I’ll post in the future.

Zoe, the main character of my novel-in-progress, continues to photoblog at bonegirlpix.wordpress.com

Supple Wings

Supple Wings (excerpt)

…Sean leaned past me, barely brushing the front of my body as he reached for the corkscrew to my right.

His touch was light, less pressure than one might feel as passengers squeeze past to get off a bus, but it entered like a flame to kindling and ignited a pulse that echoed like invisible sonar mapping shelter, food, mate. Pheromones are tricky. Like light waves they can’t be seen but can burn through a person with the intensity of sun through a magnifying glass. You can’t see it coming, can only beg for mercy if mercy’s what you really want.

For the entire story please go to

http://www.cleansheets.com/fiction/weaver_02.21.07.shtml

or support independent bookstores and get Hot Flashes 2 through www.bookpassage.com

Thank you to the editors of CleanSheets.com and Hot Flashes 2: more sexy little stories and poemsfor publishing this story on line and in print, respectively.

If Not for Silence

If Not for Silence

In their mad Sufi dance words whirl off tongues

loose as hot snakes as we struggle to speak with rudiments—

mostly we quarrel, walk away, but sometimes manage

to weave them like a lovers’ embrace beneath that open-voweled moon,

which vacillates between  the startled suck of air through pursed lips

and a night so long that, shy, she slips beyond the sun’s unerring watch.

Words electrify nerves till air feels like a panther lapping our luminous skin,

but it is silence that exposes our fiery hearts to serpentine tongues,

silence that would strip our marrow if not for the pulsing muteness

of flesh kneading flesh, of snakes and stars and moon-shackled seas.

Thank you to the editors of Hot Flashes 2 for first publishing this poem.

Hot Flashes

Inception

Inception

She asks,

wants him

to be the first.

As if the other

were a ripened peach,

easily bruised,

they time their movements

to the ancient

pulse of

hearts

then

seas.

Sharp tears through

hidden flesh

steal her breath.

They stop,

begin again;

relentless clock counts towards curfew.

Soothed by his hot sweet breath,

she rests in his embrace—

linear time shifts to the relative distance

between innocence and experience;

she arches,

accepts whispers

fingers

lips

as he eases her through

surmountable pain.

Her chrysalis rips,

new life emerges:

the harsh sun

scent of clary sage

wings drying in a warm breeze.

Thank you to the editors of Hot Flashes: sexy little stories and poems for first publishing this poem.

Hot Flashes

Satsuma

satsuma


Satsuma

Crescents of tangerine cool nipples

that purse like lips as

O of navel grips its slice &

taut shiny glans raises its

section to the sun, hot through

blue-green leaves of eucalyptus;

tongue slides between citrus & skin,

belly arcs smooth,

teeth release juice bursting

through this moist cavern,

tongue, lapping in slow pulses,

swallows wet open flames.

Thanks to the editors of HOT FLASHES: sexy little stories and poems for including this poem.

Hot Flashes

Left Coast Writers

January 17, 1991: this endless war

91

January 17, 1991

The day after war begins I
reach to hold, be held
beneath the crescent sliver of waxing snow moon
I feel your chest press   retreat   as we embrace
silken hair weaves through finger-
tips. Men and women die
in a city no longer theirs   no longer
home. Your arms wrap me
as water holds wreathes
and Iraq retaliates,
missiles strike Jerusalem,
ten year old girl cries within the brown
mantis face of her gas mask.
Pressed peach of our cheeks
parts my lips near the tenderness of your neck—
I want to feel
your breath on my tongue
your tongue as I breathe.
And what of those in Baghdad
no warning?

Thank you to the editors of We Speak for Peace and Literary Well/Pozo Literario for first and then reprinting this poem, respectively.

http://lit.carayanpress.com/eweaver.html

Simultaneity

horse closeup

Simultaneity


When you touch me—I am

breath rather than a woman breathing.

One thousand wings, a single beat,

split sky with summer rain.

Breath rather than breathing

fills the empty glass.

Split sky with summer rain

to reveal horses carved in stone.

Fill the empty glass

with wine of roses, lilac, heather;

reveal horses carved in stone

but not hands that formed their symmetry.

With wine of roses, lilac, heather,

toast grass that fractures concrete blocks

but not hands that formed the symmetry

of streets concealing streams.

Toast grass that fractures concrete blocks

beside the woman reaching towards you;

on streets concealing streams

she begs for food, shelter beyond grasp.

There is a woman reaching towards you;

her face is old, possessions few,

as she begs for food, shelter beyond grasp,

and I see you, I see myself within her mask.

Her face is old, possessions few;

she came to laugh—she came to love,

and I see you, I see myself within her mask

reflecting how the earth breathes.

We came to laugh—we came to love;

one thousand wings, a single beat

reflecting how the earth breathes

when you touch me.

~ Thank you to the editors and staff at Screbendi http://scribendi.unm.edu/ for first publishing this poem.

Graffito

Graffito

Three distinct letters,

discrete as whispers
yet stark as sunrise,
stain this park’s
concrete wall.

S insinuates
the dark entrance,
secret from those
passwordless,
but once in, one
snakes along this
sinuous passage

toward E,
which sighs
like a wind-filled
cavern
in the fold of a word
so bare
it exposes the language of pores
opening like stomata
along nerve-laden skin,
of tongues probing
tasting moistening unveiling
revealing the voracious
pulse and press of pelvis
belly
even neck, bared
for the thin membrane of skin,
primordial as sound rising
from ancestral marrow
formed of molten rock and sky-filled sea

before X marks the space
within and between.

Thanks to the editors of  HOT FLASHES: sexy little stories and poems for first publishing this poem.

Hot Flashes

Left Coast Writers