I don’t write a lot of poetry. Still, in time, I do expect to have enough to publish a book that no one will read. I’m being honest there. Hundreds of poetry collections are published annually and their total sales hardly reach the figures of some truly horrendous romance titles.
Anyway, here’s a little free verse (that means it doesn’t rhyme or follow any set pattern) poem called “My Brother’s Cock.” It’s the sort of thing that you’d hear down in the Village back in the ’60s, usually with bongos in the background.
My Brother’s Cock
Rising,
Ever rising,
Flesh towering o’er golden thatch,
Rampant power,
Thick,
Hot,
Sibling’s delight,
My brother’s cock,
Responding,
Growing,
Purple knob twixt open lips,
Filling my mouth,
Head bobbing,
Rod of steel,
Animal heat consuming,
Fingering,
Stroking,
My clit on fire with his touch,
His magic cock
Filling my mouth,
Sliding in,
Sliding out,
Flesh gliding wetly,
Tongue swirling,
Deep, deep kisses,
Sucking,
Loving,
Fuck society,
Fuck stupid rules,
Our lust predominates,
His cum bursts forth,
Filling my mouth,
Taste of salty nectar,
Spilling out,
Drops on chin,
Splash on tits,
I hold him in,
Keep him up,
His fingers probing deep within my cunt.
With sudden thrust
I push him back,
Down on the floor,
Giant rod rising,
Tempting,
Soon deep inside,
Stretching,
Sliding,
Delighting,
I fuck my bro,
Our secret ritual,
My cunt alive,
Throbbing,
Clasping,
Pulsing with lust,
Drawing him in,
Teasing,
Keep him up,
Tightly squeeze,
Feel him now,
Feel him grow,
Tremble,
Shooting forth,
Gushing within me,
Sensation growing,
Peaking,
Body shaking,
Quivering,
Hard to breathe,
I collapse in joy as he subsides.
When I write stuff like this I feel like I should be wearing sneakers, black slacks, a black turtleneck with an ankh necklace, and a beret. Tight turtleneck, and no bra. Sort of a depraved Laura Petrie look (that was Mary Tyler Moore on the old Dick Van Dyke Show, for you youngsters). Or a young, depraved Diana Rigg, which might be a better metaphor, since Dame Diana has done depraved to perfection in more than one role.
I do still have some ankh jewelry. I love the symbolism. The ancient Egyptian symbol of life, as they like to tell you. Think of the arms as round and the origin becomes clearer. It’s basically a cunt sitting on top of a cock and balls.
I should now go write something profound. Or raunchy. I can never seem to make up my mind about that. Maybe something profoundly raunchy?