The heartburn of a hedonist

bloody hands

In a world of wide open spaces,

And boundless freedom,

I am enslaved to foolish fantasies

Swimming in red wine

Trapped in a bottle.

 

A hedonist and a rebel,

My hair knows no authority,

Entangled in the fingers

Of a thousand lovers,

Invading bars and motel rooms,

Dancing wildly in the streets for thrills…

 

Yet all I long for,

Is to find sanctuary

In you.

 

The artist in me loves the architecture,

The political activist in me despises the oppression

Through which, such splendor was created

Built brick by brick

Upon glistening backs,

Marked with red stripes

Broken.

 

Isn’t it funny,

How we all get off

To the sting of whips,

And the confines of chains.

 

Acid churns in my belly,

My racing heart bleeds fire,

My hands are stained

I am guilty

Of selfish whims

And destructive indulgences

Notice me,

Love me…

Lest I hold entire cities hostage.

 

Give me your eyes,

A gateway to the secret garden

Of your mind

Where I may plant visual memories

Burning with an eternal flame

Taunting you,

With recurring persistence,

To madness.

 

Give me your lips,

So that I may forever wear them around my neck,

And savor the warmth of your breath,

As I drown in all your kisses…

Laced with betrayal.

 

Tragically,

History with you will never be made,

Even though it feels like I have loved you

With all the love,

Of a thousand lifetimes.

– The day Notre Dame burned

Sessions of intimacy

I always knew you were watching me,

And that I had begun to raise the tides

Of your intoxicating  blood

Coursing

Pulsating

Through every organ

In your body.

Yours is an invasion

To which I respond

By spreading open the floodgates

To the haunting cry

Of my insatiable desire.

Release.

I never expected the truth to manifest so intensely,

So passionately…

With my fingers sliding beneath

The red lace of my knickers…

They say I’m too young to love you…

I guess it’s a good job,

That I don’t love you.

It’s more than that…

It is the very law of nature.

“How many orgasms have you had today?”

He asks…

“Three so far,

But the sight of your ecstasy

Will induce many, many more…”

“I want to taste you.

I want to taste myself,

On your lips.”

The Aphrodisiac of Infidelity

To be honest…

You arouse me

Immensely.

But you have made yourself

The guarded property

Of someone else,

And I am trying

As hard as the parts of your body

To be a good girl

For a change.

– The words that launched a thousand illicit ejaculations

What drives us to caution those who want us, but are prohibited from having us?

Is it an act of moral conscience, or manipulation motivated by lust?

We all want to be exempt from accountability…

Try as I might to live by a strict code of consideration for the deluded souls who enter relationships believing in a happily ever after whereby their partners fuck them and only them for all eternity, experience has taught me that infidelity is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

I remember, his hand on my knee as he whispered a bitter protest in my ear. Earnestly, he insisted that in another life he would have pushed me up against walls and induced tremors through the earth of my flesh by way of his tongue slicing through the jungle…

Making me sing symphonies, loud and fierce, past the point of no return.

“No, I’m not a home-wrecker.” – The biggest lie I ever told. Subconsciously, I always knew this to be true…even as I begged him not to touch me.

This is where lines begin to blur, for what is the point of consent when we are forced to belong to someone else by the union of ‘true love’?

I am no longer ashamed of the supposed sins I commit, nor will I deny myself pleasure.

Life is too short to regret our indulgences.

PS. And I think secretly, we all get off to the idea of a really magnetic soul leaving their significant other (even if just for a moment) to hungrily devour us inch by inch, top to bottom.

Sex Stories

I have so many sex stories.

I have fucked a mechanical bull once,

No really, he was a Taurus,

An algorithm,

Operating on the data

Of far too many porn films.

 

I’ve had hate sex,

Those sessions are always fun.

A perfect storm of strangling, choking,

Biting, clawing at lightening bolts,

Of revenge,

Entangling

In ecstasy.

 

I have made a man whimper,

The star was born…

Announcing his arrival

In 3, 2, 1 format…

Exploding all over the stage

In clumsy abandon.

 

There was passion in Porto.

I’m sorry Paris,

Maybe someday,

I will set your streets ablaze

Allow roots to grow in my heart.

But the volcano erupted,

Elegantly,

In Porto.

 

Oh how we fucked

Dancing, intertwining

Watching our bodies burn,

From our reflection in the mirror,

Kissing every inch of my flesh,

Worshipping me.

 

I am writing a book. I cannot promise it will be completed in a year, or even a lifetime. That being said, I am baked, and I am shooting to profit from the universe of my infinite imagination.

Not to mention, I think society could benefit from these tales of vulnerability and desire. I have learned so much from my encounters, and being in the presence of naked women and men. The human nature is as evil as it is ridiculous, and one can act wisely with resilience to withstand the consequences of their own honesty, both with themselves and those around them. Others foolishly bulldoze their way to the destruction of the planet, and all living beings.

I am so fortunate. So very, very blessed to have acquired this insight into the psychological makeup of humans in their most raw and honest form.

To be continued, maybe…

Reborn

I have been with you

Through the snow,

Through the great depression,

Through the isolation

Of the soul.

 

You have been reborn,

And I with you.

We are consumating our love,

Once again…

The sun against my flesh,

Mounting your peaks,

Digging my fingers into your soil.

We are of the same spirit

You and I.

 

Spring has sprung.

There is a tree growing inside me,

Cherry blossoms blooming.

You planted your seeds in me.

I am growing.

Bilboards of what could have been…

cropped-30706326_10209362289733343_1606737984208809363_n1.jpg

I don’t know why

You erase me from your grasp,

Only to slice off your own misguided hands

And regret your negligence to touch me

Ever.

Lust, you visit me at 4:00am…

Begging for forgiveness,

Demanding attention .

Why do you say goodbye,

Only to exceed the speed limit

On highways to nowhere?

Saudade is your soundtrack

As you drive past the billboards

Of what could have been.

Idiot.

Growth is inevitable, or is it…

Wasteland

Some people grow

Like evergreen trees

A hybrid of eagle and wolf

Soaring

Carrying others to safety

Free from an oppressive past.

Technology, evolution, science,

An alliance

Of progression.

 

Others choose to remain trapped

In the past,

Bitter from the rigours

of climate change.

An apocalypse,

Fear of karma

Crippling guilt…

And decay.

 

The irony is that in seeking to protect themselves

from the ills of the past,

Those who stunt their own growth

Do to others, 

What they fear will be done to them. 

Jumping the gun. 

Proactive. 

Slaughter.

 

The circle.

In dedication to a force of nature

Nude male photography by @uncorps

This poem was inspired by the one and only @Un.corps on instagram. His abstract close-ups and full bodied self portraits (both censored and uncensored) display the best of the male anatomy whilst expressing the most earnest and passionate of emotions. Most notable however, is that his face is never revealed in his work.

His manner and mystery evoke the most intense pangs of lust driven by curiosity towards the enigmatic and the unseen. Whether it’s faith in eternity, electricity pulsating through the body or the howling winds of nature, we are all driven and moved by a force which cannot be entirely recognised. For this reason, my words could not be contained.

The citation to Frida Khalo is a nod to the works published in her once secret diary, which have undoubtedly influenced the overall literary flow and style of this piece. I wanted to keep the emotion as raw as possible, which means the lines do not follow a set or predictable structure, and the words – compulsive and uncontrollable – ryhme at random.

On short, these words convey the anticipation and adrenaline that accompanies everything we desperately want, yet cannot see in entirety.

 

I want to swim in your veins

As the tides rise.

He is faceless,

Yet I can feel his hands.

My hair stands at attention,

He is inside me

All over me.

“He is me.

I am him.” – Frida Khalo

 

Keep me on the edge of darkness,

I don’t want to be illuminated by your eyes.

I want to watch the rainbow of you,

Dancing across the sky in flamingo motion.

Movement. Dance. Emotion.

An eruption of Cumulonimbus clouds

Oozing from the sky.

 

I observe you.

I want you.

I cannot see you.

But I can feel you.

The electricity.

Desire.

Fire.

Magnetism.

A tree sprouting from the earth.

Hands guiding me to dance

Upon the fields beneath the heavens.

Spring is here,

Guiding me to feel the petals

Caressing my fingers

Kissing my face.

 

Nature.

Rush hour.

A journey through time

And space.

All the dimensions,

I want to feel you.

More than I want to see you.

You’re giving me life,

Yet depriving me of sight.

Adrenalin.

You are life’s greatest mystery.

 

The unanswered questions

Lay in the abyss of your face.

One can hold out in faith

In the hopes that they

Will be welcomed into heaven when they die.

In you,

I find the hope of everlasting life.

Over, and over again

As I summon the angels

To fuck me in the dark.

You are the angel…

A faceless angel.

 

You are energy.

Life force.

Gravity.

Unseen concepts.

You are love.

You are life.

 

Feelings do not have a face,

Neither do orgasms.

 

You are the footsteps approaching,

From down the hall.

Anticipation.

The ocean churning

In the depths

Of my orchid blossom.

Rising in ecstasy,

Collapsing in spent

Serenity.

Rocks breaking my fall.

Spasms.

Vibrations abound.

 

Your frequency rises

When the sun goes down.

Your colours glide like rainbows.

Butterflies.

The universe.

 

Touch me.

Guide my face to the night.

I want to feel you.

 

You are hope in infancy,

An embryo in the womb.

I swim in murky depths

To find peace with you there.

Before life matures us.

 

Your moods are as ambiguous

As the darkness which conceals

Your face.

 

Your blood is my blood,

Coursing through my veins.

Crimson tides on a canvas.

If your rivers,

Ever run dry,

I

Will most surely die.

 

You are

My eyes wide shut,

Shielded in leather

Begging

For your fingers around my throat

Fire blazing down my neck

Kissing my back.

Perspiration.

Elation.

Over, and over again.

I am you.

You are me.

 

He represents,

The very length of this poem.

And the words,

My words,

They keep flowing out of my mouth,

In rapturous abandon.

Surrendering to oxygen.

Breaking against river banks.

Quivering with pleasure.

I cannot stop,

Like a waterfall descending,

Climaxing against the earth’s firm flesh.

 

Pink,

Blue,

Yellow,

You are fire.

So warm, yet so dangerous.

 

A silhouette against the open window,

Making love to the sunrise,

Ecstasy.

A powerful entity…

Energy.

I am you,

You are me.