Do Not Start at I.

this is not poetry
this is not erotic
there is no poetry or erotica
this is text
usually black
usually on white
it is your mind
that makes poetry
that makes pictures
that makes erotica
out of text
text is mute
text is dead
we are alive

the rain is falling frozen on the skylight, scattering and shattering in little, soppy crystals that die slowly in the night. She smiles at me in the dusky room, as I lie on top of her. I kiss her gently, trailing kisses across her smooth, virgin skin towards her small, soft breasts. She gasps in pain and pleasure as I bite her nipple a bit too hard. Her hands are in my long hair, losing themselves. I look up and gaze into her eyes as my hand trails up her velvety thigh towards her fluffy pubes. Gently I caress her pussy as her body shivers. A finger slides inside her tight wetness, another slides into her ass. She roils beneath me as we kiss, my tongue embracing hers, my hands penetrating her. She bucks beneath me. I am the explorer of an untamed land.