Sexual Poetry by S. A. Griffin


remember when I fucked you
on top of the Biltmore
or when I fucked you
and we were caught
bare-assed on your floor
or when I fucked you
so hard
at the foot of my stairs
you cried
and told me it was because it felt so good

you sucked my dick once too
all the way from

now that was poetry

you were Minerva
I was
you read my tarot
I wrote you love poems
we cried and laughed

and spoke of dead fathers and
South Dakota
and I said that
I loved you

You'd never admit to the last one,
would you?

CUNT PUSSY DICK COCK FUCK POEM "Hi, my name is Jim. I am doing this show on HBO and I was given your name and told that you are an erotic poet." he had left a message on my machine a few weeks prior but I just blew it off "I am sometimes accused of that, yes." "Well, we do this program where we showcase poets with background and images. So, what is your stuff like?" "Well, I dunno. Why don't I recite a short piece and you tell me." I rap off a short sweet and to the point set of words which include slap bite and bleed "We have certain perameters here at HBO and we really have to draw the line at violence and. . ." "Well, it wasn't about violence. I have another piece about obsessive fucking that is 3 or 4 minutes long." Yes, well I need short pieces." "I don't have anything for you then." "Well, maybe you could take my number and if you know of anyone that writes erotic poetry you could have them give me a call." "Yeah, sure." I write down his number and hang up I am always suspect of anything that dares to call itself erotic bad television and a t.v. dinner can be erotic honest poverty a crusty towel by the side of the bed a street corner in the middle of the night hinged on a slight rain fog on empty roads that stretch forever like a tense lion kitchens or bathrooms are sometimes especially nice flannel nightgowns and cold cotton sheets charged with anticipation as couples conspire to satisfaction but there is generally very little to arouse in poems poets or poetry that carry the warning erotic like drinking light beer or decaf they often have little ability to stimulate inebriate or liberate the senses
YOU COULD MEASURE MY PASSION WITH A STICK I want to solder your nipples to my eyeballs flatten your best intentions with my throbbing ballpean then cut your tender heart with a rusty chain saw and sip up all the blood with a straw I want to stick a cordless power tool up your butt change your locks with a plastic butter knife and hide the keys I will not bathe for weeks I was just kidding when I said that fuck man, we've been reaching since we started this this isn't about sex and anger is it?
AT THE CORE OF LOVE if you let me slap your tits so hard you swear they'd never stop shaking I will let you crop off the crown of my cock with your teeth you could then watch the blood gush freely and I would die like a bright red rubber balloon left untied at the end nail me to the cross bitch I'm begging for it if you don't I'll climb up and figure out a way to do it myself
I ATE FIG NEWTONS UNTIL I PUKED back when I was a kid sitting in the pantry I downed 3 or 4 pounds of the gooey things never ate them again in fact I can't stand the thought of them did the same thing with meatloaf and pizza when we are together she and I we just can't seem to do it enough I get down there into her little cookie jar and blow the dust off eating her has the feel of a good book a classic with the musty smell of gold leaf I work the corners and study it well commit the best of it to memory then we fuck make love long and hard we do the old in and out sweat like summer in the south then she sucks me until I am crazy and I mount her like a dog ingorant to anything but her box as the cars roll by the time ticks away the neighbors argue and children poke and play the grass grows a little longer and we just can't do it enough she wants me to cum like a whale on a roller coaster ride so I roll her over and give her my ticket for the big ride and I watch only imagining how good it is she quakes like a volcano that has been inactive for years she seems to have a fault line running thru the continent of her body the landscape of her cities collapse and burn we lie in the ruins my dick is getting raw but her tuff little pussy is ready for more so am I I got over on the meatloaf and pizza took years but I still cannot stomach the thought of Fig Newtons she tells me I am with her on the clock we are caught somewhere in the difference between us I tell her the same we call our obsession passion we binge and purge and it hurts so fucking good that I don't think I can stand to go thru it again until the next time when I can work her with my fingers she does her levitation thing and we are trick together she told me that she found my fingers on her shoulders soft bruises like the dark spots on a banana we call them love

All material copyright 1997 S.A. Griffin