Erotic Poetry:

This page is 18 years & Over only. As it is erotica, it contains graphic and sexual content.

Samples below

  • But At Night (audio available)
  • Sensate
  • Maroon Cotton
  • Cancelled Season
  • Monday’s Dream
  • Cost of an Angel
  • Dismissing the Mid-summer’s Dream
  • Tongue In Cheek
  • Geraniums
  • haircut
  • lunch break

But at Night

(click on title above to hear the soundcloud audio file)

Yes, I’m a liberated woman,
working side-by-side men;
pulling my own weight.
I’m one of the guys.
During the day – listen to my opinions.
You damn well better be politically correct,
          treat me as your equal.
During the day you damn well better treat
          me as your equal.

But at night –
          I want to let loose.
But at night – take me and give me your demands,
          take me and give me your aggression.
But at night – rage your passions;
          twist my hair and pull back my head.
Take me and pull off my clothes;
          let me feel your hard hands claim me.
But at night – let me feel your mouth on my thigh;
          let me fall on my knees, you standing in total trust.
At night, I am not your helpmate;
          I am your opposite, your challenge –

And in the morning … you damn well better
          treat me as your equal.


My petal’s sensual flame.
Thy passion rose in it,
drunk on
a river of secret honey.

Maroon Cotton

Maroon cotton
          over worn jeans;
his fingers find
          my covered folds.
Exploring I take
          his mouth and taste,
my fingers tug
          at his cotton.

Impulse flares;
          it is mid-day,
there are no familial
          duties to fulfill,
there is no reason
          for false resistance.
We fall into bed
          fall into each other;
maroon cotton and jeans
          tumble to the floor.

Cancelled Season

I know I should be ashamed of myself;
          I picked “Joey” up at a Laundromat.
Oh, I know I should remember his name …
          whatever it is …
but he stood there looking so young and Italian,
          an actor besides …
the resemblance was uncanny
          to the character!
And I thought I could use
          a friend like him.

I admit it was shallow of me,
          going for a face with no apparent mind.
And, really, I didn’t feel the need
          for intriguing conversation.
I was thinking of a season,
          not a long-term contract;
a handsome face to look at in the evening,
          a young stud “in the sack”.

A shame, since he thought so slow,
          that I dismissed his thinking entirely;
did not see his enthusiasm for me
          spin off to something more
until too late, until it was clear he thought
          us more than friends, thought I was his.

I’m sorry, “Joey”. It’s a shame, really,
          but I must cancel our season.
I’m looking for entertainment
         not a commitment.

Shallow; I should remember that a man
          is so much more than just a pretty face.

Monday’s Dream

I had a dream about you Monday.
         I dreamt that we were walking along a small stream
         in some mountains and came across a meadow.

And we laid a blanket down
         I laid down, eyes closed
         soaking in the morning sunlight.
Then I could feel you unbuttoning
         my sweater opening it
         felt the light upon my skin,
felt your skin rubbing my breast,
         felt your hands stroking up from my stomach
         across my nips to my lips and then back down.
I finally opened my eyes
         and looked at your face,
         your tiger eyes.

And then you kissed my neck,
         one of your fierce kisses of yours
         that make my thighs gush.
You tugged at my jeans
         I opened them and you slid them off
         leaving me trembling in the morning sunlight;
You spread my thighs and slid right in
         filling my slit up with your cock
         and you stroked me so nice;
I could just feel you sliding in and out my slick snatch
         feel you rub my clit
         each time you went deep

and that’s how my dream faded …

With us twining until nothing existed or mattered
         but the warmth of the sunlight
         the heat of our twining.
Your thighs inside my thighs, you above me
         your hands holding onto me
         and your sweet cock filling me urgently.

With us twining until nothing existed or mattered
         but the warmth of the sunlight
         the heat of our twining.

Your thighs inside my thighs, you above me
         your hands holding onto me
         and your sweet cock filling me urgently:

Even awake now

I can still feel you on me.

Cost of an Angel

angel, can you smile
when you lack a sensual flame?

i do miss that familiar joy;
how life becomes a beautiful surround
i can linger in
after that flight of rhythm & touch.
it is no blessing, is it,
to exist in a body
isolated from the world.
devoid of passion;
a life of purpose
is damning without desire.
the lack of which strips a caress
into a soul-less touch,
the worshiping kiss of the mouth
into a platonic peck,
a shout of celebration
into a whisper that fades
until no more.

i do not believe denial
is good for the soul;
it becomes stripped of essence.

those who love me, deny me; taking
enforced celibacy as sacred inspiration.
reducing  heaven’s gift of joy
into a guilty service.
a hungry soul stripped
into a pale shade
that will run after you no more.

i wished to fly
but not at the cost of leaving the ground.
angel, you should have warned
that my wings would only come alone
and the smile would be bitter.

Dismissing the Mid-Summer Dream

You encapsulated me in your fantasies
         and I … I would not dispel them.

You allowed your heart to be seduced
         by my softness, my yielding,
         my willingness to enjoy the moment.

You delighting in my somnambulant eyes,
         the moistness of my lips,
         the way my nipple puckered against your tongue.

You’ve taken our movements;
         added import & drama to our words
         and elevated them to a set stage.

You … drunk on being in love …
         did not notice that
         I was just along for the ride.

You were the bird I held lightly so,
         and wanted to be held by;
         a pet, nothing more.

But a quick-silvered, winged creature –
         I would not be held onto.

I was eluding fantasies of my own making.

Tongue In Cheek

Determined, my flesh seeks out your flesh,
         skin on skin.
My hard member seeks out
         your secret spots.
“There, touch me there” you plea
         and I comply, working your body.
“Deeper” you plea, and then descend
         into wordless moans and pleadings.
“Lower” you plead and I go down on you,
         working your flesh as you tremble and moan,

until I can go no more.
         “I’m sorry, Honey” I apologize;
I can never
         last long enough
to bring you satisfaction.

Bemused, I roll over & wonder
         when our late night twinings
produced such sexy moans
         and pleadings from you, my husband,
as did my knees and elbows

         giving you that deep muscle massage.


I won’t plant geraniums
because there’s a ‘ho
         in my garden.

Sightless Vera was rumored
         to plant them,
a bold Edict
         against the white house
their brick planters delineating
         straight lines of the porch,
until her husband,
         Harry, died.
That is what the neighborhood
sightless Vera was rumored
         to plant red geraniums.

I go with native plants
         & purple wild roses un-pruned.
To the neighborhood I am the lady
         who changes the garden with the seasons.
The brick now planted
         with white jasmine trellises
shielding the visitors from view,
         visitors un-rumored, unsighted.
A wanton rose, flying
         from bee to bee;
hand trowel, hoe and seed packets
         strewn among the beds.

I am not sightless;
         I won’t plant geraniums
because there’s a ‘ho
         in my garden.


there’s time i want to take
some scissors to your hair.
slice it there at the neckline,
exposing our pale skin and
the blush of hair leading down
to your back –
then i could trail it with my lips
sliding down the landscape of your spine
suckle behind your ear,
swirl my tongue on your salt sweat;
my mouth full of your taste, i could
follow the salty line down your languid back,
my smooth fingertips trailing;
i want to take your spliced hair
and with my short fingers employed
ply it into a pliable silky rope,
use some loose strands to whip the ends
so they won’t fray; a smooth thin lariat
ripe with possibilities, like a prize;
i want to pull your arms up and with your hair
pinion your wrists to the chair
and while you’re so trussed inn that position,
fettered & forward,
trail my nails to your taint.
nip your buttocks.
watch you skin tense & release,
tense & release.
take my hair
in my milkmaid hands,
ply a cooling nest of strands,
cradle your sac in my hair.
as my teeth graze,
wrap my auburn netting around your shaft,
the silky red strands rolling as
my hands suckle your cock
as you tense & release.
tense & release.

lunch break

let me be your pb&j
unwrap me & place me before you
let me be what you reach for at noon
with both hands
let me fill your mouth and get your saliva flowing
i know i could taste like autumn
taste like roasted nuts & harvest berries
salty & sweet on your tongue
like innocence and starbursts
like your first girlfriend
i could be the cream you like off your teeth
i could be summer days when your heat bubbles under your skin
and all you’re thinking of is sliding into cool water
remember how you would slide your tongue between the slices
lap a smackeral to tease yourself with

and if you want pb&j as a midnight snack
         i volunteer for that too