What Matters

Gray Matter:

a) To know what we are doing here.
b) To know what it takes to hear your hoarse cry of what’s mine.
c) To know the touch of your goosebumped flesh so prime.

Pink Matter:

a) The feel in depth of what I’m doing to you there.
b) The sense of heat from your breath against my spine.
c) The copper tang taste on my lips from your bite sublime.

Indigo Matter:

a) We deign to call out the deities to compare.
b) We give envy in the scent of us to those divine.
c) We acknowledge their rhythmic moans as comets come in time.

What Matters?

a) In gray dare.
b) In pink shrine.
c) In indigo chime.

Answer: All of the above, my love.

At Real Toads we’re asked to use a new form -well new for me- The Multiple Choice poem.
The challenge is simple. Write a poem in the form of a multiple choice test. The whole poem could be a test, or you could insert a multiple choice some where into the normal structure of a poem. Since we’re still in February, I went with that loving feeling (with sincere apologies to the Righteous Brothers).

Imaginary Garden with Real Toads – Out of Standard: Multiple Choice


dVerse ~Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight #190


In Deep Repose

Dressed in Luna’s glow
Fingers following her thoughts
Loving in deepest repose
Where Sol cannot see

National Poetry Writing Month 2016 – Day 10

The Jue Ju

This Chinese style poetry is one of the oldest of the Chinese patterns and in the 3rd century AD the Jue Ju was very popular. Jue ju meaning curtailed or frustrated verse, does not aim to tell a story, but to create a mood. Often carrying “suggestively erotic themes” it does in the most frugal way imaginable, and with a high tone.

A jue ju is only four lines of five or seven syllables each where lines should be same length and is
often erotic.

Take Me Home

You run your hand just slightly over my curve as though wanting desperately to touch,
but just not quite ready to commit to the act.

Yet, before I can exhale from the kinetic energy that runs between us from that
almost touch, you take me in hand totally,
and totally breathless, I sigh.

Soft and pliant to your administrations as your fingers alternately
grip me possessively for I am no one but yours;
you knead me solidly until I can do nothing but yield and then
you caress me in tender mercilessness.

Completely without care you lay me down before any who care to witness.
Completely wanton I am spread wide for you as you layer temptations upon me
in what feels like a never-ending circle of desire.

I am lifted, transported and though expecting it, am still totally unprepared
when subjected to the full force of your heat.

Your fire that surrounds, fills me, fulfills me; until it feels like
every square inch of my body is bubbling in throes of the ecstasy I am.

Still quivering, you pull me just from the verge and I want to cry
from this cruel game you play, easily slicing into me knowing
I am too far gone to protest  as you take me in to your hands yet again lifting me.

Even if I could, any such dissension is immediately silenced by the sudden feel
of your hot breath across my fevered surface as you lower your tongue
to the tip, slow torturous circles testing, tasting my flavors.

And just when I think I can take no more, I am plunged into the ecstasy of your mouth as
little by little I am devoured by your desired until I am naught by a memory.


You question my hunger for the freshly prepared pizza slice in front of me that sits untouched.
I wipe the crumbs of the slice that is now memory from your lips and assure you that my hunger
is for something else entirely.

Seeing the expression on my face,
you raise an eyebrow quizzically, knowingly…
and I answer…

“Yes, take me home”

Going off the eaten path this evening…

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight 167

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

Pony Girl

We your mares tremble with unbridled desire
As you pace among the stalls trying to decide
Loves lost, loves gained, with sweet inquire
I alone have learned the lesson of quiet pride
I hear the call of your voice, but I still my head
For the taunt reins on my collar steady me too
And with blinders on there’s something to be said
For letting my eyes alone implore for a feel of you

As I exhale slowly enjoying the feel
Of the swell of my breasts constrain
Against the solid bones of steel
The supports of my corset’s main
My cups near overflow the leather
Giving you a most delectable view
You smile at my subtle pull on the tether
Knowing I drip just thinking of a feel of you

My wrists are love bound of course
And well trained, where you lead I follow
I am lead to sup from your source
A drink I so greedily swallow
And your liquid kisses dot my face
Oh what is a good submissive to do?
For I don’t want to squander a single trace
Of even the smallest feel of you

In the heat of moments found using weighted dice
I chomp at my bit feeling my tail unfurl
The tugs from the clips on my lips do entice
As you saddle-up me – your wanton pony girl
At last my love, my master it’s me you ride
It binds me through and through
Making every synapse of my insides collide
Now complete and full with the feel of you


Going way off-track with this one

dVerse ~Poets Pub | Open Link Night


Before her a split path is laid
A deep decision to be made
One road only affects her now
The other risks her days and how
Naked she rises and finds voice
Arms open he awaits her choice
Motherhood? Won’t chance that call
Instead down to her knees she falls


Today at dVerse ~Poets Pub, we’re asked to write about roads, and further challenged to do so “anywhere your eight lined muse leads you”.  For some reason Robert Frost popped into my head regarding choosing paths. And while hardly the path less taken my muse, in customary ornery fashion, goes off the beaten one to choose the emotional road instead of a physical one with a take on the modern joke regarding a female’s choices in the moment. And just in case it still eludes some, the title of the poem is the medical term for swallowing.

Yeah, I know, I wonder about my muse sometimes as well…

National Poetry Month – Day 21

Richard (the diminutive)

When he knocks,
My doors open
And I let him inside
For I am alive
By the power
Of his breath
That inhales
And exhales
In tune with mine

He kisses me,
Yet he has no lips
He fondles me,
Gripping me tightly
Yet he has no hands

Beauty redefined
His distinct touch
Ferries his intent to me
If I sleep, he woos me
Should the blaze of passion strikes
And revels in gregariousness
When I rise

And yes, I rise
And yes, I crumble
And yes, I rise
And yes, I crumble

I know him deeply,
Just as
He knows me deeply
From his many visit
To my halls

Until I’m done away
In colorific splendor

But he knows how to mend
when I falter

For with a gentle kiss
My doors open again


National Poetry Month Day 9


Across the bar, I saw you standing there
Just out of the light’s glare partly shaded
Struck by your beauty, all I could do was stare
And you stare back with intent, but I was jaded

From the same flowers, different weeds
We were a pair of living contradictions
Your alabaster skin versus my well tanned
But you aim your look at me with conviction

You started to say something to me
But realize the music is too loud
So you mimed to me your destination
And wound your way through the crowd

I follow through the din of partying bodies
To the bathroom down the end of the hall
You didn’t hesitate for even a moment
As you reached around me to lock the stall

I was filled with words, yet could say nothing
High as a kite from the essence of you
You smiled like the cat caught with the bag
And proceeded to make dreams come true

In a desire that so overwhelmed me
I mulled but one thought, to get inside
Of your heart, of your soul, inside of you
Totally stripped of that thing called pride

I was afraid you would think I was crazy
But your kiss removes all other thought
Tipping a pretend hat, as I reciprocate
In your kiss I’m held, entrapped, caught

I was so beyond any reason or caring
Held in your grip of the perfect feel of tight
By the time you spring your truth upon me
I was more than ready for your bite

I roared with the shock of the transition
And an ecstasy that blew away the rest
One swift move, I impaled you to the door
And gave you a nice dose of what I do best

Someone banged the door just as you moaned
And moan with each recoil as my retort
Still riding hard, I bring the banger into my fold
Knowing I’d just passed some test of sorts

It’s been decades since that glorious night
And I only smile when I’m having fun
My true enjoyment? Adding to our guild
So if you ever catch me smiling – run!


What can I say? It’s almost Halloween…

 dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight

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