Erotic poetry

RED CORAL

RED CORAL

she came to me
wearing an anklet of red coral
her hair sea-wet, like
a goddess from the Iliad
or Odyssey

everything about her seemed to rhyme
seemed in time

to some
secret rhythm, in
tune to some
sacred music
that I, or
indeed any
mere mortal,

had ever had
the pleasure,
the exquisite
pleasure,
of hearing
even a single
note or
phrase or chord before

and though
the ocean was distant
I imagined her
riding the
waves naked
but for her anklet,

the wave
breaking

at my front door

Standard
Erotic poetry

FEELING TEXTY

FEELING TEXTY

you switched
off the light

so I could not
read my Derrida
(pretty basic
textual strangulation)

leaving me no choice
but to feel my way around
his oblique discourse
in less
than obliging darkness

and you
taking you cue
from the pages of Sun Tsu

to launch yourself in full
soft assault

Derrida to
derrière

signifiers slipping everywhere
as you deconstruct
my binaries
against
the grain,
from centre to
margins

hurl me
into
endless sexual aporia

at least
I hope it will never end

Standard
Erotic poetry

DAMAGE

DAMAGE

I am going
to seduce you
with the poetry
of Pablo Neruda

read his words so
sensuously
(paying special
attention to open
vowels, sibilants
and plosives)
that they melt like
warm
chocolate
in your mind

Yes, I see
that it has reached you;
is getting
to you

your feel that warmth
as it
flows across
dribbles down

there are spaces
where every word of Mr Neruda
has been
calculated to be
so
deeply appreciated

places
where you

cannot resist

their special
surreal fire

these the spaces where
quite naturally, this poetry
is headed

wrought to occasion such
exquisite damage.

Standard
Erotic poetry

ULYSSIZER

ULYSSIZER

I am Odysseus
I navigate your storms
circumnavigate them all
all your
islands of terror

islands
of pleasure

was Calypsoed by your
soft beauty
found moments
of respite, time
to be tranquil

fell victim
to your Circe magic
was spellbound
until your witch love
charmed
and restored me

heard the insane beauty
of your Siren song
allowed my ears
to be
tortured by
the exquisite music,
celestial poetry

eventually
finding my Penelope in you
you in
my Penelope

slaughtered each and
every rival

by way of indicating
rumours of my
demise at
the hands of Poseidon

distraction from the
purpose of
my return by

women seduced by
my story
my
reputation

so exaggerated;
but then why
should
they not be?

Standard
Erotic poetry

Le Poète Foncé

Le Poète Foncé

I drag the dark poet off to bed
that she might dream violently

even in her sleep
she spawns words that
conspire with each other to form a net
stretching out, across the waters, trawling

for whatever might lose itself in the lace, the silk, stick
to the Velcro, hook itself on
those sharp little, bright-steel claws

I will not struggle, so much
is a given

I cannot escape

she need not concern herself that, like
a sea-snake I will find a hole big enough
to slip into (but I mean `through’) so
fish-clever, smart-scaled and oozing slipperiness

she tells me
all things considered it
would be far less
hassle to

simply tickle me
out of the water

catch me
in her fingers. Take
me in hand.

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