- Erotic Poetry
- Mother, What a Lover You Were
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Mother was the first to invite me in.
The antique bed, I remember, held
the warmth of her perfumed body.
And jasmine sat on the window sill.
The TV shed its blue glow
over our naked skin,
casting our shadows on the wall.
She took my cock in her hand
and moaned so softly as we
discovered sin. Both afraid, each taut
moment, that dad might walk in.
She caught my tongue between
her teeth and held it there
while her hips moved up to meet me.
Her breasts were like warm, soft pillows beneath me.
The ball game went on for hours.
Dad called out the score.
And, tight within, I came again,
wet with her and hard....
It was only years later she whispered
in my ear that Richard was not my brother.
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