Like a phoenix to a flame he comes

Swearing up a blue streak
The grain of his outer staff
Perfectly matching my inner sculpture
I weather the frothy current
Tinkling down the esophageal path
In a flight of carnal – carnival – carnivore joy
The apparition of the newly dead bird laid to rest

But then phoenix rises

National Poetry Month 2020

I Remember

I remember
that first night
the feel of his hair
intertwined with my fingers
the touch of his skin
as I grazed against it with my chin
the yearning in my bones
when he held me in his arms
the pressure of his lips
as his tongue grasps with mine
the taste of his kiss
and the scent of his hair
the way his body feels
pressed tightly with mine
the heat between our bodies
invigorating, and passionate
the ripples of my flesh
as his hand glides over my breast
as my next pulse quickens
I’m numb to all
but the sense of pleasure
beneath his softened lips
as the growth of passion exceeds us
need turning my voice hoarse
as I realize the noise I hear
is naught but my moan of his name
the steam rising from our backs
the sense of power
flowing through his limbs
eagerness withstanding
the warmth of his breath
around my nipple, gently sucking
the trace of his tongue
as it glides down the slope of my stomach
the softness and the passion
as he brings me to heightened ecstasy
setting each nerve on fire
the firm grip of my hands
as I bring my hips to meet his
clashing gently in the night
to bring our souls home
again and again and again
feeling the nod of his head
and the arch of his back
under the strokes of my nails
feeling the beat of his heart
as it beats in rhythm with mine
we have had many
such nights since then
but that first night
yes, oh yes
I remember


dVerse ~Poets Pub | Open Link Night #160

To Be Or Not To Be Guilty…

In the past few weeks, there seems to have been a spike of discussion online and in real life of females who have Friends With Benefits (FWBs) versus “a real” relationship and whether or not it is settling. I find this uniquely interesting as it is mostly the females who felt a sense of “less-than” or guilt for their choices. Most males do not feel any lessening of their self-worth for having FWBs, let alone guilt. So why are so many females so hung up over it. For simplicity I am going to mostly stick with the cisgender heterosexual monogamous relationships as I write, honestly because it’s easier, but the  subject crosses genders, sexualities and poly/mono -gamies.

Just as I had to work out my own issues, everyone must decide their sexual comfort levels that for themselves. I am not providing a How To on getting around/past/over said guilt. This is simply my two cents on why so many women seem to have this guilt in the first place. Your mileage will definitely vary.

I think a lot of the “guilt” some women put on themselves about sex outside of a relationship and/or marriage is rooted in the things taught to us growing up. Whether covertly or overtly a lot of it comes down do modern society’s taint that sex should be about love. In short, women should only be having sex with the person in which she shares mutual love. And if the mutual love is there then they should be married. Blame the “happily ever after” Prince Charming fed to little girls through Disney princess animations and every romantic comedy where gal gets the guy tropes as adults. Unfortunately, these far from realistic ideals of love and romance become so ingrained in our psyches, that come adulthood if it’s not Fourth of July fireworks, swelling arias, heart beat skipping breathlessness 24/7 it’s then it is somehow “less than” and is therefore settling.

Every female that reaches adulthood has heard “If you’re good enough to have sex with you then you’re good enough to marry”. While more experienced females, married or not, tend to have less of a bias on the subject, it is still very hard for most young females to work through the duality of wanting to satisfy a basic need versus “what would Mama think?” It is a grace to the modern times that couples who live together have far less of a stigma now than as few as fifty years ago. That we are now in the 21st Century has very little bearing on these core beliefs handed down to us through the ages since Adam and Eve.  And speaking of the First Couple… Compound all of the above with the thought of many religions which equate, and condemn, sex outside of the marital bed as being a sin.

The magic of the marital bed, in and of itself is funny as it does not 100% absconds one from the guilt of sex. I know many women that have been married or in long term relationships for years, but still will not have sex in their parent’s home when going for an extended family visit. I can pretty much guarantee that 90% of the time it is the female who has the hang-up about it. And 90% of that 90% is due to the fear of what their dear moms would think. These are from women who clearly did not arrive upon this earth via immaculate conception, yet the very thought of their mothers even thinking that they themselves are doing the very thing that gave them life, though they have every legal and “moral” right to as a married person, still makes them uncomfortable.

And while according to the adage the numbers of “size” doesn’t matter, oh but the number of partners a female has seem to do. Even a woman who is a serial monogamist has this magic intangible number that suddenly transforms her from  someone continually looking, but failing to find love, to becoming something…else.  A woman with one FWB is merely is not even pretending that what she is doing is about finding love and at best is “settling”, at worst she too becomes the ambiguous “something…else”. However, females happily engaging in multiple FWBs may then have wonderful pseudonyms from trollop to whore attached to their deeds as the classic double standards of the Madonna/Whore syndrome rears its nasty little head. Because oddly enough, even after all this time, since Eve said “Yes” oh so long ago, the onus to say “No”, to resist temptation – especially sexual temptation, is almost always on the female. Thus, those of us who can’t or simply won’t resist are in the wrong.

After all, we all know boys will be boys, but  good girls don’t.

When society in general has managed to create this dichotomy that glorifies and vilifies sex, even for those who have “the rights” to do it, really, is it any wonder so many women have guilt?


That’s my two cents for today – come see how others are slicing:

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

Tuesday Slice of Life Writing Challenge – Two Writing Teachers


Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: I’ll Be Damned

So, a guy emails me through an online dating site:

“I am going to assume that my profile is too casual/risqué for you, but I thought I’d shoot you a line anyway. (You have a fetching smile.)”

Of course I check out his profile. He states he wants a FWB, not looking for serious dating and is desirous of a woman with intelligence.

Got it – he wants a fuck, just not a dumb one.

My response?


My dentist and I thank you.

“Check you out!” as the kids say, throwing down the gauntlet on the opening play.

If I respond in the negative I come off as looking prudish, yet a positive one is indicative that I am open to only being someone ‘beneficial’. If I am open to such with you, who else have I been beneficial to? Providing I am someone simpatico to your intelligence and views to be worthy of said fornication.

Damned if I do and damned if I do. Fiddley-dee, whatever is a woman to do?

Oh, I can pick up that gauntlet and cyber strike you across the face with it. (Insert emoticon with tongue sticking out here.) [<– Yes, I actually wrote it out as such.]

Ya gonna take that?


This is not to say I would or would not go for a roll –or a few- in the hay with him. He is attractive and arrogant and just the sort of ego balloon I like to stick my pins in and pop.

Regardless, one has to prove worthiness of my wrapping these thick juicy thighs around, and that ain’t the way, Bub.

Losing Score

Smoke filled rooms stage the plays
Gyrating bodies form a human maze
The next face may be for always
Looking for true love through the haze

Words barley audible through the din
As if what’s wanted is conversation
And if it doesn’t work tonight, tomorrow try again
It doesn’t take much persuasion

Another night of pretext, a major pretension
A small piece of latex, the true intention

Variations on a theme standing still
The titles change, the players remains
Clubhouse, disco, honky talk, bar & grill
And the morning’s desperation of remembering names

Another night, another chance to explore
Last night found what you were looking for
Hung out, now hung over the cool white throne
This morning finds you still all alone

Smelling of cheap everything, feeling cheaper all the more
Playing a game, that guarantees a losing score


dVerse ~ Poets Pub |  OpenLinkNight Week: 125


You knew she was trouble when she walked in
Got quiet like a whisperer had spoke
With legs up to there, this doll was no joke
A quick glance from under my fedora
Face of an angel, but a body of sin
She was the box and I was Pandora

A tempest of whispers spread through the club
The slit of her dress was up to oh yeah
And not a thing underneath but pure air
That outfit was custom made to adorn
And where the babe walked were the whisper’s hub
Fitting her curves like nothing ever worn

Dress held together by a simple gold link
Even Frail Freddy rushed to take her hand
Just a marionette at her command
As he guided her to a stool on stage
Not a man in there had senses to think
As she crossed her leg with a perfect gauge

It felt like she looked each man in his eyes
Her liquid voice melting over their soul
Her descant was love gone out of control
Her notes downright gritty or raw and lonely
Yes, each man begged for her songs reprise
But she had her sites locked on one only

Deer to headlights I was trapped in her gaze
She pointed at me and crooked her finger
A beauty like that you don’t let linger
I stood giving my trench a little tuck
As she disappeared in the smoky haze
Half-hearted wishes grumbled lucky-schmuck

We rode each other ‘til we were cryin’
She never quite spoke, her words in sing- song
And she was saying things I knew were wrong
Like her husband she wanted me to kill
I realized she was a modern siren
But she knew she had control of my will

Her husband, I was to shoot in the head
When we met up later on in the park
After midnight when it’s quiet and dark
She had sung, I should have done as was told
She’s surprised when I shoot her down instead
I hardly heard her song, I had a head cold

I watch the glow of my cigarette tip
As her husband leans over and just smiles
I hadn’t seen him do that in a long while
He don’t smile much as leader of the mob
Yes, the start of a beautiful friendship
Paying me for the first of many jobs

Have NO idea where my muse pulled this craziness from. I’m just rolling with it.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight: Week 96

Le Petite Mort

You take me
With skill,
With strength
With the power of lust

Knowing what you want
And how to get it

To feel the power of your body
Against mine

Head thrown back, body arched
I feel your warm breath
Against my thighs

Just before your lips
Reach the ridge of mine
I watched you
gently blow
Like a too hot cup of coffee

Your hot breath sliding over me
Feeling like soft silk exposed
Making my body respond with abandon

I sense nothing
But you and the promise
Of your body to mine, taunting me
To think of nothing but

The moment

The moment when my body meets yours
In a crashing wave of exquisite pleasure

The kind that rips
The satiated breath from our chests
Sweet reminders
Of all that was said and done

Making us feel so alive
We could die

Le Petite Mort



dVerse ~ Poets Pub : OpenLinkNight Week 74


Long Fallen

Painting of street worker

It’s Autumn, where the verdant leaves turns gold,
And goldenrod leaves quickly become old
And those old leaves soon become just like me
Something broken and crushed, something empty
Long fallen from the grace it used to be

Hard to believe, less than eight years ago,
I think eight, I’m not sure, the years blend so
My employer came to me one down time
And said I wasn’t pulling in the dimes
I’m a utensil that was past my prime

That as such made me particular waste
And was let go from employ with due haste
Youth started its slide from my once young face
I knew the rules, there was no pleading case
No chance of rescue in this youth built place

I started at fifteen, oh such a knave
But had a knack for knowing clients’ craves
I worked there before I had license to
Attained status, before my year was through
This job was all I ever knew to do

The cache of being ‘personal escort’
I never knew a life without support
That cache provided me some global treks
Spinning clients through my erotic hex
And I won’t lie; I damn sure loved the sex

I joked this job was custom made for me
Their faces at the point of ecstasy
And as conversant in Sun Tzu as Mr. Magoo
My clients soon found out I had smarts too
And for the price, little I would not do

Out lasted many who’ve come through the door
Damn lucky to be there at fifty-four
But like my concaved waist, it couldn’t last
My job choices were very far from vast
Don’t have much future because of my past

I’m offered some dinky job on the side
But I still had a little too much pride
To be a has-been hanging on the scene
I remember how I treated has-beens mean
When I once ruled the roost as its main queen

I’m treated like someone they’ve never known
When I tried to hold some clients on my own
With individual contact of each
A beat down was the last lesson left to teach
That everything I had was out of reach

I’ve gone from elite, to stripper, to street
Where I fidget on very tired feet
Jumping from each nameless and faceless mate
Wondering just which day will seal my fate
The seasons are my only notes of date

And it’s Autumn again the leaves turn gold,
Slowly turning other colors they grow old
Long fallen from the place they used to be
What time has washed away past their glory
And then die, a cruel metaphor of me


dVerse Poets Pub ~ Poetics: Autumn Chill is in the Air


Anything goes

That was his deeply growled whisper
As she, hungrily cupped the sides of his face,
Kissing him roughly, deeply with need
Her mouth singed with the heat of his passion
A smoldering inferno that pulsates
With each extended digit
That careens into her

She lines kisses down him neck
As he nibbles the base of her throat
Goose bumps trail down her arm
She anchors him against the wall
Undressing the rest of him
Hot candle wax drizzles down the center of his chest
She tracing her fingers through it, marking her name upon him
Hearing his breath tremble inside his chest
as he expels throaty moans

Pulling back, her husky breath pants in his ear
The scent of his cologne floats in the air
His lids droop with pleasure
As she teasingly barbers him with her gentle grazing
Around the ring of his empire
The tastes and smells of him whirl through her
Driving her even wilder

Drawing his mouth to every part of her body
She runs ruby red nails along his spine
Her vision grows hazy and she starts to sway
As he pays particular interest in lip service
to chiming the tiny bell that hangs
Just inside the arch
She tries to breathe him in-side her

She feels his arms grip her tightly
as heat pours out of him
Her craving still unsatisfied
Anything goes, came and went
The promise of satisfaction unfulfilled

Still she moans the words
He doesn’t want to hear
And insists he takes what he has earned

But he knows…

He guiltily leaves his unearned fee
On the dresser by the door
That has barely closed behind him
When he hears the battery-operated hum


dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 54