tagErotic PoetryLadyboy Lamentations & Other Poems

Ladyboy Lamentations & Other Poems

byCal Y. Pygia©

LADYBOY LAMENTATIONS

Bells chime,
Pinging
Against the dark silhouette
Cut out against the stars,
And I rock
In my chair,
Looking out upon
The garden of stones
And the pathway to nowhere
And nothingness
Beyond the flowering plants
Of the bright, cold desert,
Wanting you
More desperately
Than I ever wanted anyone
Or anything before,
Except my breasts.

A DREAM COME TRUE

I am anxious, frightened,
Afraid of shadows,
Fearful that flitting bats
May snare their talons
In my hair and bite;
At each new menace,
I shudder and flinch,
As I do when you
Reach round my shoulders,
Arm slithering
Like a snake,
But when you clasp
My breast in hand,
I know that all is right
With the world, even if
A head, on screen, explodes,
Crimson in the darkness
Of a director's wet dream
Come true.

A BLESSED CURSE

I might love women
Better than men,
Or men better
Than women,
But I have tried,
And can't decide--
The charms of both
Charm me more
Than either should,
And I am lost among
Breasts, labia,
Clitorises, vaginas,
Buttocks, penises,
Scrota, and testicles,
Wanting, now, this,
Now that, and never
Fully satisfied,
Which is both
My blessing and my curse.

TELL ME

That first night,
After our first time
Together,
He said, to me,
"Tell me,"
What you think,
Now that we've
Made love,"
And I said to him,
"I think all men
Should submit
To anal intercourse,
Taking a cock up the ass,
For, otherwise,
How should they know
The pleasures
That we ladyboys
Have learned to love?"
Although, since then,
We've made love
(As he calls it)
Many times, he's never
Once asked again
That question--
Or a single other thing--
Wise, it seems,
To the ways
Of ladyboy love.

NOT EXACTLY A COSMO KIND OF GIRL

Write of others things, my critics say--
For critics love to haze--
But I persist in being who and what I am,
Writing not, as they may think, for them,
But in a journal of self-discovery,
Much as Mark Twain wrote A Tramp Abroad,
Following the Equator, Life on the Mississippi,
And Roughing It, or, for that matter,
His largely fictitious autobiography;
I am Magellan, circumnavigating the globes
Of breasts and buttocks upon a frame bedecked,
As well, with both cock and balls, in a sea
Wherein no land's in sight, and, so, compass fixed,
I sail upon a voyage which is uncharted
But for these verses. Couldn't critics wish me
Bon voyage instead of insisting that
"A broader scope" would be more "cosmopolitan"?
After all, despite my buoyant breasts,
I'm not exactly a Cosmo kind of girl!

MY NAKEDNESS

You saw me, lying, naked,
Belly down, legs bent
And calves raised, waving
My feet as if their toes
Were golden grains
Within a sea of wheat,
And your sailor's eyes,
Ignoring the bunched
Muscles of my calves,
And my foreshortened thighs,
Targeted the mounds
Of my buttocks, smooth
And firm and tight,
And your gaze was not offended,
You say, by the cock and balls
Dangling
Between my legs
Or by the stark nakedness
Of my masculine femininity.

STOOD UP

Stand me up,
At the mast,
With my arms
Stretched apart
And reaching
For the moon
And stars; I want
To be your figurehead
If I cannot be
The first mate
Of the ship
You sail, O captain
Of my shemale fate.

PRETZEL SHAPE

A woman, female
Or shemale,
Is never as complex
As when she's bound
And gagged,
A pretzel shape of pain
Bent with mad desire.
FACING THE TRUTH

When you said,
"Let's go!"
For the hundredth time,
I replied,
"I have to put on my face,"
And you said--
Do you remember?--
"That doesn't matter."
I thought I might as well
Wear a bag over my head,
For all you care
(But I am too good
And beautiful for that).

A MATTER OF FOCUS

Most of the time, photographers get it
Right, their light and composition
Enhancing the beauty of their model's
Flawless loveliness, but, occasionally,
The angle's wrong or too much is made
Of a single part, whereby the whole
Is ruined, and the model is disgraced,
Although the artist suffers no lasting effects
In the dark room of such caricatures.

Ladies, if, like me, you doff your clothes
For the camera, make sure, like me,
You retain the right of approval,
Or you, someday, may become
But a living parody of yourself,
Because of a photographer's momentary lapse
Of judgment or concentration, for
Focus, in photography, after all, is all.

HANDS

Your hands close, tight
Upon my breasts, hurting me,
But I still feel you,
Deep inside the depths of me,
Hard, thick, and plunging fast,
Desperate with need,
And when you come,
I'm there with you,
In my nipples and my ass,
One with your hands,
One with your cock,
One with the semen
Launched from deep
Within your frantic balls.

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byCal Y. Pygia© 0 comments/ 4996 views/ 0 favorites

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