- Erotic Poetry
- Quiet
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Summertime. Hammock in parent’s back yard. Crickets. Fireflies. We have to be slow and still-ish too. They might be able to/probably can see. Quiet.
Spiral staircase. To the belltower. I wore a dress for you. On my knees. Hands bracing against the cold hundreds of years old limestone walls. GOD IS WATCHING. Quiet.
Train. To Paris. Brussels. Somewhere in Italy. Wherever. No one in the seats across from us. I don’t know if I can do this. Maybe just a hand job under my jean jacket. But it’s making me so wet and wanton touching you. I sit on your lap. I am so nervous. Quiet.
Ferris wheel. Is that dangerous. Or even possible. Quiet.
Swing. Small neighborhood park. Pre-dawn light. Facing each other. Swinging. Slowly. Quiet.
Museum. No. Gallery. Gagosian. Which city. Who cares. Bathroom in the back around the corner. We both go. They obviously know. Or guess. Or are lobotomized. Don’t care. It’s so sterile out there. It’s so abandoned in here. Virile. Lascivious. Depraved. Maybe we are loud here. Fuck it. Quiet.
- COMMENTS
juliettegreenabout 7 years agoAuthorThank you for reading, visioneer. And thank you for the support!
visioneerabout 7 years agoAn interesting style, and quite erotic. You set the moment and leave the reader's imagination to fill in the details. I hope you post more.
