help [me] overcome
\\myself//
reach }}inside{{
pull me
_out_
let me ~run~ my fingers
down. your. throat.
I want to
________f
_________a
__________ll
into the **magic** of
your •eyes•
while I +ride+ you
into |o|b|l|i|v|i|o|n|
by TARA CARIBOU
© All rights reserved 2017-2020
“Tous les genres sont bons, hors le genre ennuyeux.” (All styles are good except the tiresome kind.) Voltaire, L’Enfant Prodigue, Preface.
My dearest readers, I submit for your judgment my new collaboration.
Well… I should admit that erotica isn’t my forte. That’s why when I received a request about a collaboration from eroticmusings my first thought was something like, ‘Какого хрена…’ But later I scratched my nape and mumbled, “OK, let’s try.” (I’m bold unbolt after all!)
I can’t say that it was easy, but it was great fun nevertheless. Thank you, eroticmusings! (And I’m sorry if I was too dominant here.)
A dank day. Rain gives the leaf slaps in the face
exactly how you slapped me yesterday.
I obey you. Rain drops seep through foggy lace.
Reality sinks like a castaway.
A cuneiform flows along your spine.
Your Code of Hammurabi is fair and plain.
Guilty as charged! I’m naked and supine.
You enforce a judgement with serene disdain.
I recall menthol smoke and a ruby trace.
Silk fabrics. Ice cubes on the sweating tray.
Long viscous waves of desire softly erase
friable mounds of anguish along the way.
My heart rhythm gasps with a rapid splitting sine.
I squirm in a climax. Again… and again.
Last lines. I jerkily empty a glass of wine.
I’m ravished by my favorite novel and rain.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & EROTICMUSINGS
© All rights reserved 2015
Petra inquired “Anyone home?”, and in getting his “All’s well in this well”
in reply, she asked “What you do?”, received a sly “Well, well manager”
and yelled “Well, well, well! How rude! Are you token rodent that purrs?”
“Drop dead, my friend” he mumbled under his breath, and said, “Hell,
I guess, princess. See all the sixpence?” She sputtered, “Demon spell
make you toke too much! How ass hat know Petra Princess? Know her?”
“All princesses are no more than a purse! If you lead a horse to water,
you can’t make ’em drink!” — “You the whore who needs help, infidel!”
“I’m the virgin bastard of Cheshire! I have heard of you! The Empusa
with the flaming ash-blonde locks!” he spoke, and she, flattered, said,
“You have sexy dirty Medusa hair too, so Petra not stone you! Umm…”
and petrified, Bastion heard “Sacred Loti, for the girly boy!” with dread
as she returned tumbling head o’er heels o’er the edge like a lush-klutz
hush-hush lust-drunk — Because fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & RY HAKARI
© All rights reserved 2015
Italian-adopted Princess of Florence,
Petra the Opera Prima Donna Slavic,
a feline-fearing alluring Ailurophobic
soon passed Cheshire’s abhorrence,
and with whims of a fetish sixth-sense
for hatted men, wished to fish and fix
the Tomcat from the well, blowing dick
of the puss in boots deep in sixpence.
When she tilted her face down the well at sunrise,
dawn’s disc lit her ash-blonde hair up, like a halo
and the feathered musketeer-hat man, surprised,
felt aggrandized by the Angel, whose cheeks glowed
at the fallen Seraph as well, who though circumcised,
obviously had personal demons he needed to let go.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & RY HAKARI
© All rights reserved 2015
Within the English Province of Cheshire,
Sacred Lotus flourishes along the mire.
Beneath the Cattails, up Lotus’ holed lace
a little boy once tilted his curious face….
Sometimes the Sacred Loti makes scared boys
unable to count to ten, wind-blown, maladroit.
For Bastion though, close only counted in horseshoes
(and hand grenades, which made him afraid), whose
fear of holes and need for control, was never dulled
no matter how many blanks he filled… not until grown.
Sometimes Noblemen are bequeathed ignoble fortunes,
if the Bastard’s slung arrows of outrageous abhorrence…
Such was the illicit got lot, of the Noble Bastard Bastion of Cheshire
in scorning horned redhead Romani’s fiery desires, who after awhile
with amourette brunettes, dark-haired donnas who Amaretto-binged
(after they spilt their guts, just for him to jilt their milk when he split),
hell-raised a harem’s unquenchable revenge against him ’til the poor
Cheshire sour-puss’s head curiously dropped down dead… premature.
Pissed off bombshells led by a hush-hush Slavic blonde mistress
fueled by rage and Vodka to the cooch-tease with the coin fetish,
with a candlestick, snatched his Lota lamp bank; Rubbing limp dick
to the nymphets who wished to get laid, Bastion could only get lit
putting coins in puss-purses, infuriating the reverse gang-rapists
smashing the flaccid shell of the nervous turtle lacking firmness!
Left shortly with a healing chode, he slowly hit the road, not heeling
those daughters of Achilles, who couldn’t snatch the snapper weenie.
No longer playing pipe, Full Monty python no longer dancing pantless,
in quicksand sinking, bit the harem heels crushing his head, heedless.
Sometimes escaping out the frying pan, just means landing in fire.
Sprung free, he quickly jumped down a well he wished to fill higher!
Within and throughout the English Province of Cheshire,
Sacred Lotus flourishes along the mired, long admired
Sixpence desires, which more than once made a dent
with heads and tails in the Tomcat’s smile, at last rent.
Sometimes the wide abyss of heaven’s holey gate opens,
to rain misfortune thick upon Bastards with slot tokens!
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & RY HAKARI
© All rights reserved 2015
unbolt me 