I lick the pain from the surfaces
Of your restlessly questing mind
I digest the depths and breadth of you

Licking your identity
off of your back
Tracing your spine –

Turning – and sucking the passion from your belly
Rising and kissing your nipple concealing hands
As they open – drink in your thoughts from your breasts

Releasing your belt
Your jeans pooling on the floor –
tracing your furry glory
the hard wet button
the saturated lips
through the fabric of my dream

Seated – on the edge of your chair
Throwing your feet onto my shoulders –
sliding the last gossamer sheen of cloth
along your long legs
reaching down and opening your petals
pulling me in with your ankles behind my neck

I suck the juice of your lyric
Taste the savory fluid of your spirit
As it falls across my tongue
Caress moans – and sighs – from your lips

Rising to my knees –
Penetrate to the core of you
Write sonnets and compose airs
In the depths of you
As you carve street poems
And hard steel thoughts
Across the surfaces of me

Later – running the late night streets
Like wolverines
You suck songs from me
On your knees in a dark alley
And later – I stroke epics from you
On a car bonnet
Your skirt around your hips
Bare feet spurring my back
As late night clubbers
cheer me on
And applaud the eloquence
Of your passion
And take up the glorious chant
Of your long – slow release

And we rise –
into the high
forgotten spaces
of the city

And I strip you naked
For the cool breeze
to tease your flesh
And watch as ecstasy builds
A crescendo of wanting
A libretto of need

We fuck like animals
Flailing away at each other
You pissing vitriol at the city below
Me, feeling your rain on my thighs
And your pleasure in my mind

Later – the skies open –
and we sit naked on the roof top
Letting the clouds and rain
Cleanse us of a madness so intense
I fear for my ability to return
And you weep like an ecstatic child
Who’s had way too much candy

And later again – your room
And I lay you out on your belly-
And stroke and lick your spine
As you slide into a deeply sated sleep
And I retreat – satyred
Into the city
With your song on my lips
And your scent around me
Like an erotic halo


October 2010


15 Responses to “Lick”

  1. Outstanding Brother Phill. I love your creativity here but most of all I envy you your energy! LOL. Brilliant Work!

    • Only a very small fraction of the story is mine res… another coupla parts pilfered tales – and a few parts poetic licence… with a dash of fantasy thrown in to tie it all together. :)) I’m NOT that energetic

  2. One of my favorites of yours πŸ™‚

  3. If only more people saw intimacy so poetically, there would be less pain in this world.

    • Thanks Tanya – that’s very kind of you to say and so true – or with humour…

      Lord Chesterfied said of sex:

      “The pleasure is momentary
      the position ridiculous
      the expense damnable
      but still the best alternative to use your spare time”

      • oh my… very true …although I think I know some books that are better than sex. lmao. Suppose the response would be…then you have not had the right lovers. πŸ™‚

        • Well – ummmh- can I borrow your booklist?

          I have to wonder when someone says anything is better than sex. Is it the euphoria they’re talking about? The messiness or lack thereof? the underlying commitment?

          I know loads of things that are at least as good as sex – and usually not as sticky. Playing music with the right group mof people can be an incredible “high”, Catching just the right phrase in a poem… masturbatory – I know – but still… a great meal – listen to RL Burnside’s version of Chain of Fools or Rolling and Tumbling – that IS sex. :))

          • Read The Plague by Camus. Very very masturbatory material. (ahhh you are bringing out my dark humor. πŸ™‚ This is pretty cool.

            • I tried Camus once – but at the time there was a rather alluring young lady hanging around (sometimes quite literally, she was a German acrobat) who looked particularly fetching in her many camisoles. I thought to myself – Camus – camisole – I thought that at least once – and opted for the camisole clad lass with mad clear blue eyes. Go figure.

              For dark masturbatory stuff – I doubt you can go past
              “Madness, Murder and the Oxford English Dictionary” – renamed to “The Surgeon of Crowthorne” for its American audience. Excellent book!.

  4. Camisole entered the language in 1894 according to the OED, or so Wiki says. the fine print in my copy of the SOED is a bit hard for me to read at the moment so I’ll believe Wikipedia I think. The Plague was published fifty years later so… there’s every chance camus was faced with the dilemma…

    “Write The Plague – get the plague – write The Plague – get the plague”

    I’m not sure about “bodice ripping” though – surely Camus was a bit of a snag and would’ve simply talked her out of her undergarments rather than simply ripping them off… though that may be “projection” on my part.

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