Tag Archives: making love

In The Water of the Styx

Mississippi, dog days of summer,
the dogs of hell ever on our trail,
in a run down rural motel we hole up.
Bathing each other, me and her,
in the shower, in the cold waters of the Styx,
bubbling up in the well of this motel.
Clean, for the ceremony, the only ceremony,
I kiss her head as the waters flow over us.
Sins don’t wash away, but uncleanliness does.
I lay her on the bed, naked and vulnerable,
and I come to her, bashful and shivering,
our lips tremble, and they meet in a kiss.
Dogs of hell come close, all the death trip
of gold and power and sadism that clouds
even the holy men, the men that seek God.
They will take us, me and her, Rebel Angels,
wanting to break the game, end the cycle of death.
Our Savior was crucified for trying the same.
We make love, holding nothing back, nothing in.
Trying to break through corrupted flesh
and black hearts and the endless death dream.
Trying to find the stars, the supernova where
Our Lord forged us in eons past, to the moment
God spoke and all things, Good and Evil, came.
Flesh that forgets that it is real, forgets it’s feel,
only us in red giant forges and in the God whose
breath makes you weightless forever and all time.
Make new life in a bad dream that is meat space,
that is weight and gravity and want and pain.
That is all things that fall, fail and pass away.
Still shivering, even after heat of passion
and the forges and the swelter that choke us like tears
and make us unclean again in grit and dirt.
Maybe a child will come, another toss of the dice,
in the crapshoot that is existence and loss.
We kiss soft, and innocent. The Ceremony is done.
The dogs of hell are here.
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Interlude, Small Town, Kansas


Goddess Gives Me Sleep

Long, black hair, and buxom.
Tight teal tank top, strained.
Cut off shorts, frayed, worn.
The S shape, the ample flesh,
warm and soothing, absorbing,
the softest sanctuary in this Eden.
It’s an Indian Summer, a reprise,
and she is the Goddess of Summer,
and of Sleep, as Samhain comes  now.
She leads me by the hand, up stairs,
turning back, smiling, ass scissoring
under that tight and worn denim.
The best part, all that can be is now,
in this moment, before She Sleeps,
and the spirits return to us, one night.
Naked, she is on top, kissing me,
her warm breasts flat against me,
holding me down, to be absorbed.
She is the Big Spoon, holding me in.
Samhain comes soon, and the lost come,
to the orange bonfires, to chill of this life.
Her flesh enveloping me, making me whole,
mounds of her breasts, pooch of her tummy,
warm and safe, as Samhain, and winter comes.
She is the Goddess that gives me Sleep………

Harsh With Peppermints

Her breath was hot and wet,
Harsh with peppermint.

Her hair fell loose, veiled our faces,
As the stars sighed and were spent.

July 6th, but still fireworks explode,
Low rent razzle dazzle in the night.

She is thin, small chested, taut wire,
And a new Athena now in my sight.

This is life wanting to plant seeds of death,
To make and nurture an inevitable loss.

I am a pilgrim of pleasure, devoted to her,
Ignoring the light reflected in her gold cross.

Her hand is sweaty, moist, in my own.
She hums a love song as we walk up stairs.

On her thin, hard bed we quietly make love.
Passions, like angels, are made to be pairs.

The Little Death of Icarus


Making Love On A Sunday

The sun is golden and warm, as we undress out of church clothes.

               You back is pale and soft, as you strike a statuesque and awkward pose,

               Pulling off your cream stockings, and then sit down on the edge of the bed,

               Your coifed black hair now wild and free, all pretense at perfection now fled.

              

               I strip on out of my pants and underwear, and sit beside you, kiss your cheek

               And touching your belly. You giggle, and lean into my kisses, no words to speak.

               We lay down, man and wife, another altar in a private place, flesh and spirit one.

               We make love in the hazy and soft sunlight, in this tenderness, a baser thing undone.

 

               Holding each other close, hearts racing, and sleep coming to seal the afternoon,

               Our bodies one flesh, and made new and holy as the world passes on without a swoon.

               You turn you face to me, and I kiss your lips, and we smile and laugh, so endless, so clear.

               We fall asleep in an embrace, just a temple for us in this bedroom, where all days disappear.

 

              

Summer Blooms

We lay in bed together, naked, the windows open,
a slight breeze to stir the hot, oppresive August air.
She is smiling, running her fingers in my hair, tender.
I’m shaking, excited, scared. She takes my hands in hers.
“There is nothing between us. We are together and one.”
She puts my hands on her small, firm breasts, kisses me.
She pulls me tightly to her, and I lose my breath in the touch.
We make love, softly and carefully, two flesh made one soul.
The sun bright, the wind quiet, the air stiffling, the dream whole.
Afterwards, her head resting on m arm and chest, my head on hers
she sings a song, sacred in it’s brokenness, it sorrow and hope.
My heart still races, her breath still wild and ragged.
We are one, there is nothing here between us, in this hothouse room
and our vulnerablity in the light and in love, in the summer blooms.
I kiss her head, and sing with her, a hymn of the left behind and pure,
a hymn of a more ancient and whispering god, of love for love, for kindness.

Entwined In Light

Long dark hair on golden brown skin,
flow over bare breasts with nipples
soft and pink as rosebuds.
 The skin clean and clear, no rain,
just the bright golden star casting
glory upon our youth.
 We lay side by side, both of us naked
from the waist up, silent in the light,
silent in the sweet afternoon.
 And soon, upon our hot beach towels,
we make love, and become one and whole,
forgetting in ourselves, finding death.
 Rosebuds will bloom, flower so brightly,
and for a season they will be desired,
and then be cast aside.
 Naked beneath the sky, skin radiating,
another sweet afternoon passing on,
another day that can be nothing else.
 One last time, make love, beneath stars,
our souls scattered and entwined with
the ancient light.
 Stars too pass on, light reaching from death,
and warm in each other’s arms, in tender submission,
we fall back to Earth.

November Light

Absolved from feeling, in the early morning.
Cold November light, watery and thin,
trickling through bedroom windows
as we make love, flesh forgotten, flesh denied.

Holding in the sounds and cries, keeping quiet,
even as we melt like candle wax from the flame
of love and desire, spilling onto the sheets
and the floor, to harden into brand new shapes.

 Even as we lose ourselves, even as November light
crowns our skin with the gentlest or reprimands,
we listen for the high spirited sounds of morning cartoons,
meaning our daughter is awake, and this must end.
 Burying my mouth in her kiss, we cum together,
and slowly the flame that melted our skin snuffs out,
and the smoke of it still lingers, in raging, happy hearts.
Souls made new shapes, growing closer around each other.
 November light, casts porcelain quiet upon her face,
the sweet cold of the fading year, the light that remembers.
Those sounds of cartoons come, and we leave our reveries,
and dress, and return to the mundane world, the weight of flesh.

Starless Curls

She let her coal black curls down,
let her bleak tresses drop from
the braids and ribbons so formal.
 A deathly river flowing over
her cold, snowhite back,
draining into the cream sea of the bed.
 Her breath troubled, her skin cold
in this winter room, January solace,
as my fingers tentatively touched her.
 Lovers now, nothing left to lose,
naked in the hope of tenderness, warmth,
her let down hair the final surrender.
 I place my body against her back,
bury my face in those starless curls,
kiss her neck, feel her shudder and sigh.
 We climb under thin blankets,
and, turning to face me, she softly kisses me,
and then we become one flesh.

The snow falls on in the night,
the winds blows silently in moonlight,
and the sun fights it’s way back to the sky.