The Gap, Australia

#5872 Jan 28, 2013
She told me..........

"Your wonderful......a thousand times I've thought of ways to capture you're heart with my charm and wit.
And all the while I'd never dreamed that
Your luscious d ick and the base of it would be the key to everything.
As odd as it seems, I've mastered
My feat with my tongue's magic tantalizing
Your meat and his two pals – my best friends,
Because life would simply be dull without them.
I love how your moans turn me on as your balls
Twirl in my mouth and you threaten to c um – again.
It's okay. I'm ready to swallow – again.
No matter what you need, do you think I would stall? No!
This body is yours, my tongue, my face,
my ass, my clit.........,
Every hole (if you can fit).
Trust me with every
Part of you, and I promise by the time I get
Through you'll be in love.
A thousand times I've thought of ways
To capture your heart with my charm and wit.
But lo and behold, all this time, the secret was the
Head of your d ick ... and the shaft ... and the base ...
And two attachments (my best friends)... and then,
To my surprise, you fell in love with my clit.
So now, not just you, but certainly I too have
Given up my heart and all control to the one who makes
Me c um like a geyser and fills my holes with eight inches of wonderful."

The Gap, Australia

#5873 Jan 28, 2013
The tongue flicked
Then also licked
Taste, soooooo fine
Better than wine
Fragrance never forgotten
PLEASE be wanton
Kisses all round
Lightly touch mound
Drip of nectar
Juice makes beggar
Moment, took forever
Mouth contacted flower
Pleasure beyond belief
Sensation, ecstatic relief

The Gap, Australia

#5874 Jan 28, 2013
Most peers of my poetry
called me a woman hater.

I had a sex indulgent life all the time
that’s true.

But I don’t recall any bad memoirs
with my dates.

Like beating them,
using bad, vulgar, disgracing words.

Most of the time
they begged me to f uck them
sweetly, fast and slow, even coarsely.

I was in teenage business for quite a while
I went after every cock teaser
I lost the count of them.

I took them to diners,
I took them food courts,
I took them movies, country clubs
I gave them soft loans to buy
what ever they want.

I played tennis with them
I made love with them
at my small unit.

I didn't use them
as a sex object
both side had good time.

Sometimes they hitted my door
at the middle of the night
with tears in their eyes
they wept on my shoulders
I petted their heads gentely.

I fixed them breakfast trays
I made them coffee.

I didn't interrogate them
like their fathers
I didn't judge them
for their bad behaviors.

I kept my silence
I gave them relief all the time.

My dates were free like birds
I didn't own them
I didn't ask for love
I didn’t suffocate them
with my presence

I gave them space and time
they did whatever they want
they slept with other guys too.

I advised them
have a good education
get a well paid job
leverage your time
don’t depend on any jerk
don't have kids
sleep with many guys
enjoy your life.

I am not so fast these days
but I still prey on natural busty teens
they still drive me crazy
I still enjoy to screw them.

I hope god grants me
immense power and energy
to screw them for ever more.

Maybe I am a woman hater
maybe not
But I am sure one thing about myself
Here on Topix Offbeat,
I am a public enemy number one.

The Gap, Australia

#5876 Jan 28, 2013
In that silence
That is only known to you
In the moments late at night when you are alone
When all the world seems to fall away
And your bed becomes an island in a sea of nothingness
Just you and the shadows
No prying eyes watching
Do you think of me?

As the cool sheet slides across your bare skin
And outlines your every curve
Your every move
Causing it to move in unison
And slide across you like ocean waves
Do you wish I was there?

And when your hands become restless
And begin slowly tracing circles on your stomach
Making you jump as they find that sensitive spot
Along your side, just above your hip
Your heartbeat beginning to speed up
Anticipation for what’s to come
Do you imagine that I’m there?

As your hands travel higher
At first just brushing the curve
Then rising
Cupping your breast
Feeling your heart race beneath them
Gently pinching your nipples
Between your thumb and forefinger
Do you pretend these are my hands?

And then as one hand journeys onward
Back across your stomach
Your thighs
Previously clenched shut
Granting entry to this most welcome invader
Do you want me now?

Brushing through your tuft of hair
Then slowly grazing your clit
You bite your lip
As one finger slowly slides inside
Then two
Do you wish it was me inside you?

Your breath comes in gasps
Your heart, pounding
Your back arches
Your body quakes
Pleasure explodes within you
Your lips part as you cry out
Do you call my name?

One last shiver runs through you
As a sigh escapes your lips
Your breathing steadies
And your heartbeat slows
As you drift off to sleep
Do you dream of me?

The Gap, Australia

#5877 Jan 28, 2013
Gentle gently pushing through the dark, your mouth my mouth, tongues dancing like. fire. snakes. sensual snakes.

alliteration can bother me but not tonight. old motions, old emotions, new movements, never the same pattern, you know my body, my buttons, what to push what to stroke, there aren't really any switches though.

pulling my hair gently but firmly makes stars pop out behind my eyes. just like when you touch me. down there. something I was ashamed of once. one time. strange body, strange strange strange me. Im strange, but its ok.

I make love just the same, and you and I make LOVE. its different, not just a word, an emotion an action. your fingers can be maddening and you know it, slower slower slower. make it fast, I want it hard. you are so much more patient than me. makes me want to scream.

fuck is such a dirty word for something so beautiful. make love not fuck, fuck is such an empty word. words words words. different words drip past my lips like thickened honey, not quite clear are they, your name, your name echos in my brain as you push your self into me.

I stretch I scream I moan. I cant take it but I need it. like I drug. but its good for me. good drug? I dont know, I dont know a lot right now. just that you know a lot. too much. too much about me as you move light and strong. inside. I need you. I need this. like an effing jigsaw.

I moan you moan. its like a song that only we know how to sing. thats where real music is made. in the bedroom I guess. or wherever. against a wall on a bed-car-kitchen-bathroom-theat ure. I dont care. as long as its you you you.

close close too close it feels like falling as explosions explode behind my eyes and everywhere else tingles. blood quickens. I learned that my brain stops, maybe thats why its so overwhelming. sometimes tears flow. I dunno why. your turn your turn. your breath catches onto my name as you flow, flow inside me like a river thats meant to be.

we aren't just two people when its both of us. we're one. such a cliche. I love you.
I know. you too.

Level 6

Since: Jan 12

Location hidden

#5878 Jan 28, 2013
Just sex there isn't much poetry
make as sultry
but it only ...nothing

The Gap, Australia

#5879 Jan 29, 2013
one guitar

one flower painted jug


until my ink

leaks the boundaries

causes the guitar

to stretch and grow

to nurture life

within its woman curves

and music

exploding from unattached strings

my jug would not hold water

the potters’s hand has strayed

from off the wheel

the painted flowers grow

rampant on the page

but my soul



and zizzes

The Gap, Australia

#5880 Jan 29, 2013
QuiteCrazy wrote:
Just sex there isn't much poetry
make as sultry
but it only ...nothing
My ninety year old landlady who lives downstairs
speculates as to what sort of wild animal
is pilfering through our garbage at night,
leaving trash strewn across the driveway.
There’ve been wild turkey sightings
in the neighborhood, she says, but it may be just
your average flying-fox or possum. Lately,
the only feral creature I know of lurking
these grounds has been inside the house;
didn’t she hear it last night, clomping up
the staircase, rapping on the door?
And then, bestial grunts and moans, thuds
of his feet again, the scuff across cement walkway,
fleeing back into the night? Between this time,
it was I who was the animal, watching
porn stars lunge their naked asses
at one another like primates, until
she was in heat herself, bending over
to be mounted—nothing tenderly human about it.
Maybe that’s why when the chic I was dating
months ago asked to be exclusive, I felt like a dog
being ushered into its kennel, moving backwards
into the steel cage obediently, curling into a ball,
heaving a sigh. But what’s the alternative?
I could do what I’d been doing, living as a stray,
fucking mutts in alleyways, gazing up into their eyes
looking for affection like scraps of food snuck
under the table, withering to my bones
with starvation. No, I told myself, this
is better, the shelter you’ve always wanted.
And yet, days later, I found myself at his doorstep
after picking up another roving tramp the night before,
waiting to be let in as if I’d been at play and then caught
in the rain. My landlord chatters on, wonders
what kind of strength those turkeys have,
because They’re HUGE, she says, Have you seen them?
and it’s as if she doesn’t see me,
the wild thing in front of her,
and I’m relieved; I start to pick up the pieces—
damp cigarette cartons, shredded plastic,
crusted Kleenex, torn condom wrappers.
Don’t worry about it, I tell her,
I promise I’ll clean it up, next full moon.

The Gap, Australia

#5881 Jan 29, 2013
Head out the way you came
and I promise to forget the last hour.
I will roll up the minutes
like a stretch of unbaked dough,
pulling the sticky remnants from between
my fingers.
I will wind your voice up
like a fishing line,
the bait, the hook
tucked safely in the coils
until I’ve forgotten them.
You can erase the footprints,
I’ll leave that to you,
pick them up one by one,
with a spatula, with a finger,
as you like.
And when all traces are gone,
when your presence has been carved
out like a jewel to leave a dark hole
where an eye should be,
only then will I throw you
a smile, a sigh of
relief to land like a bird
on the branch of your shoulder.

The Gap, Australia

#5882 Jan 29, 2013
You claim to know what to do
about the undulations
of a wild fish in your lap
slicing you with its gills,
imbedding hooks from its previous battles
into your cracked palms.
Look at this monster, you call
as you pluck it from the lake.

Unafraid, you begin the ritual
of salvation, gently lowering
it into the water, steadying
your arms above the force
of its grunting heft. Flickers
of green light its scales
as you massage the gills,
motion the head and tail
back and forth—a flash of silver
streaks beneath the boat
and it’s gone.

But what do you know about
a young girl in your lap, wild
with desire and skin
so clear it’s as if you are the first
to touch it? Faced with that frenzied
struggle, that raw hunger, you’re momentarily
paralyzed, can’t discern the beast
from the girl, so you seal her mouth shut
with your mouth, offer your tongue
as bait, and try to anchor
the quivering mass by rocking
it across your thighs—all flesh
and floundering limbs—until you can’t
take her terror anymore,
shucking out the cherry in one swift thrust
like a gutted pike.

There’s no trophy to commend
this feat, nothing to mount on the wall
and prove that you un-demonized her.
If only you could freeze those lips
eternally at the stunned Ohhhh
of her final cry, brush the dust
from it day after day with your fingers
or lay her out on the table like a feast
to savor and share, if you could simply taste
that part of her that’s impenetrable,
maybe then you’d feel like a real man.

The Gap, Australia

#5883 Jan 29, 2013
To the sex organs—
tight fit of shaft and slit,
the lilting thrusts, spongy G-spot touched
to titillation, tongue to tit,
tongue to clit, prying fingertips.
To the frenzy, the easy abandon
of reason, clothes ripped, stretched
and strewn, oh, the intoxicating
power of it, dropping to my knees,
spit and friction.
To its inelegance,
the pulsations that push
through the groin, plow through
the tip and release, oh,
the tension of it, tightened ligaments.
To the fluidity, sticky
splay in an array on my skin.
To its refusal to rely on love, oh
no, a hero needs nothing but itself.
To the crushing crescendo,
grating, gyrations all alone, but
not lonely, that hum and buzz,
cure-all, end-all, be-all.
To the one thing that makes me call
God’s name in praise, oh, oh......
oh, oh, oh.

The Gap, Australia

#5884 Jan 29, 2013
She said....
"I’m naked in bed next to a man
who continually disappoints me;
angry at him, but he doesn’t know it.
I want him to hold me, but he won’t,
because he never does, unless
he’s fucking me.
I’m blaming him already
for the days to come,
the way I will walk through
the city in my blurred flesh perception,
unable to see anything after him—
every man a shadow,
a trigger, every hour
a countdown until the next fix.
I turn away from him in bed.
A half empty bottle of wine on the windowsill
that the neighbor’s lights shine through,
so when I squint it radiates
some ethereal glow, and I think
it’s beautiful, my bottle and its moon rays,
my man and the illusions we create together.
But I’m intoxicated.
And he’s asking me what’s wrong with me.
I can’t articulate what I see: my mind
is moving too fast and his hand is moving so slowly
along my ass, and I can feel him hardening.
I don’t want to lose the meaning, the moment, that anger.
So I start to think about middle school,
my science teacher with his prisms, shining lights
through cut glass to make rainbows.
I figured that anything we found beautiful
we manipulated into being, which made life
all too logical and sad. My lover is whispering
some promise he won’t keep again
and I’m telling him to go away, leave me alone
with the bottle, but I’m kissing him, and wondering
if he would look at it straight on, squint a little,
what would he see?"

The Gap, Australia

#5885 Jan 29, 2013
I’m the future, a sniper
camouflaged, crouching
in bushes, my forefinger
on a moment, waiting
to transform that grey matter
you spend your whole life
trying to understand,
into a red mess
in your lover’s lap.

They accused me of being a serpent,
some kind of beast
that would devour her.
They called her a sucker.
I’m no criminal.
My tale belongs to everyone—
love makes all monstrous
and lust transforms us
into distrustful fools.

She wanted it.
She never questioned, never felt
anything unnatural
in the way love flung itself upon her—
no form, logic, explanation.
Asking why is silly—like asking
why we let oxygen surround us
when that’s what keeps us alive.

I had no underlying motive.
Do you think I wanted to
give up my form?
No senses? No self
in the name of love?
What can I say?
My weapon misfired.

Listen, I know love
better than anyone,
its gutters, gritty alleyways,
dizzying mazes. I knew
that pang I felt in my chest
when I first saw her was precursor
to a long and slow decay.
How else to preserve the trance, to protect
her from the fear of loss, unless
to never let her see
what she would be missing?

The Gap, Australia

#5886 Jan 30, 2013
We are all
mass assassins,

she declared,
serial killers.

As a flower,
she would have been

a tulip,

with decorous hints
of pubic hair.

The Gap, Australia

#5887 Jan 30, 2013
As she sits beside me,
I am a peripheral thief
Stealing stares
at the bloom of her eyelashes.

Her apparel varies so from day to day
That it is a game to guess her dress
And what might be underneath--
scheming; plotting: how they might be

It is a thrill baiting eaves for her to take;
Snatching the visceral code
of her conversation to another.

I lay back to admire
her desireable vagina,
Envisioning her perfect ass.

I covet that gem of a moment
When she flicks her hair
Flashing clavicle and kissable neck;

When she speaks I sneak a peek at
The phantasmagoria
on the sheen of her lips.

So I call myself kin
to the best of thieves,
Because she will never know.

The Gap, Australia

#5888 Jan 30, 2013
She lies on the bed with her head turned
to the wall and her body flushed
with light.

Her breasts hang
and rest by her arms. He will paint
them like this. He will leave
their shapelessness on the paper
and everyone will know the size
of her nipples,
the protusion of her hips
and the colour of her pubic hair.

'It doesn't matter,' he says,
'your head is turned, and
they don't know who you are.'

Her thighs - just starting to dimple
- spread on the blanket and her ankles
cross over.

She worries about pins and needles;
that she'll have to shift.

She will try
not to think of it,

She will try
not to feel his eyes searching
her nakedness.

The Gap, Australia

#5889 Jan 30, 2013
slick as a prick
dripping with
your juices
this pen slides
along the page
painting your body
in words
all pink
and drenched
in sweat:
sheets and
and yellowed
I want to
write you
and read you
over and over.

The Gap, Australia

#5890 Jan 30, 2013
the woods are empty
at this hour
as I watch the sky
turn orange and purple
like the face of a mother
about to give birth.

my c ock in hand
I stand
on the stone jetty
watching the blossoming
of color on the lake

smooth motions greased
by spittle
bring me to ecstasy
as I f uck the dawn

the wind blows back
some of my jism,
staining my pants
no problem
they'll be off
and in the laundry
before anyone
will notice

the rest of my wad
floats on the water
until it is nibbled at,
then swallowed by
what looks like a carp
and probably is
as no mermaids
inhabit these waters

the brown sand
that draws the bikinis
from mountain towns
is four miles away
but the vision of their skin,
some pale, some tan
is in my thoughts

as the Lady Dawn
walks across the horizon
trailing rainbows
of celestial c um

The Gap, Australia

#5891 Jan 30, 2013
we’re textures groped in dark hallways for


she always split her infinitives and spilt
her drinks. he drove through the center
of the abyss of california. it was
filled with dead call-boxes and skid mark paths
leading through broken dividers and into


the air is illicit. the san pedro towers
coughing on their own smoke.

they came to in each other’s arms where the
sand meets the boardwalk. waking up
or being born. at night, it looks like
the edge of the


he let the dying waves lick his ankles.
thought he could maybe disappear into the
black but it wasn’t black. the ocean only
reflects the sky and you always wash up


The Gap, Australia

#5892 Jan 30, 2013
Within the bistro courtyard,
Camille contemplates her near-empty martini;
the first half turned to piss, what remains, bleary.
A thin slice of garnish floats in pale green vodka.

Soon she will swallow the juice in one motion,

a lemon slice joining others beside her glass.

The night is successful: live music, a table-mate

grinning, knowing, as she inhales the last of her drink.

Warm and tipsy, his hand
is a perfect fit between her legs,

the blues guitar player riffing

as a sliver of moon rises through cypress.

God, his fingers feel good.

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