In the opposite sex...

Simply write a poem as a Man if you are a Woman..and vice versa..

I am looking for power in brevity and creativity creativity creativity....
Beauty in imaginative metaphor and euphamism will be preffered over explicit terms...
No more than 200 words please..
Poetry only...

2 entries
New or old fine...
2 weeks..

Example piece..homoerotica...written from male perspective...

shake

I shudder groan and my rush..
feels like expelling lust demons drunk off love...
My deep thrust into him...
Letting out my roar..
I pour my seed...
He needs it and so do I
to lift our ache
With cock quake in vehemence...
as i go down and catch on my tongue
every drop of his sacred semen...
I kiss his mouth
... giving him off my tongue...
He sucks me  
.....giving him off my prick...
And he walks away...
satisfied with himself..
I stay... lay with hands crossed behind head...
Utterly satisfied.

My Time Spent on Goddess

Beauty in her shiver shake melt into Me.. as well her wild tattoo’s..and i neglect to feel it fully..later remorse..
 
but while distracted purely...
 
There lives a Goddess and she is writhing for me on this beauty's inked back.. Red mouthed slightly parted…  
Her many hands beckon...
 
And i aim for my divine fantasy...
 
My spent semen arches and catches her ruby lip.. Swear i catch a lick in her smile..
And as my cock beats down i love to watch my drip blurry her blue lines of sapphic curve…  
 
Would be Nirvana if the dancing Goddess and I were allowed totally undisturbed…

feathers on the dance floor

I'm still hungry  

hungrier even.  

sucking at the last vestiges of white Peruvian candy lingering in my nostrils and my fingertips

I see  

the lines are clearly drawn.  
concentric circles that shift and bounce off each other with every beguiling smile and outstretched hand.  

"Would you like to dance?"

"Hello my name is ...  

Greta

Sveta

Loretta."

or whatever you've branded yourself with for tonight on that damn tag.  

All I think is

That's nice sweetie but I really, really don't give a shit.  

predators and prey exchange  roles with the pulse of every techno beat  
as each once lonely school boy tries to slit the throat of the last forty years of a hermit's life to watch the coagulation of his emptiness and her lust for zhyttya ... life.  

any life.  

the masked become naked  
truths take on a warrior's armor.  

me, I'm here for the same reason as these other jackals

the taste of sweet hungry young піхва ... pussy.  

sure, maybe I'll make her my wife  
but first she's gotta prove she can be my сука ... bitch.  

nonetheless I was not about to put her on display like the matryoshka dolls here  

teetering to beats of hope as Peter Pan and the lost boys played air guitar to Springstein's "Born in the U.S.A".  

we left.

together.  

quietly.

she thought my suite at the Koklen  
looked like cotton candy  

something for a princess.

she stared dreamingly out the window towards Primorsky boulevard and Deribasovskaya  
letting the ambrosia I'd given her seep in.  

we were now disrobed of our armor and masks seeking purification through lust.

I let her stand there naked looking out the window and moved behind her so she could feel the grind of my hips moving to a new melody.

I slowly sank to my knees behind her  
kisses along her back descending  
like quarter notes over her porcelain sheet  

seeking the taste of her квітковий сік ... honey.

she arched her back  
and let my tongue take her willingly.
her moans writing yet another song  
that her hips swayed to.  

I stood up and let her feel the fire she'd stirred.
my wetness lacquered her full осел ... ass.  

I spun her around and took both sides  of her face in my hands firmly

and asked her if she remembered what I promised at the dance hall.  

 "Da ... Vy miy anhel oznachalo, Marie, shchob zvilʹnyty mene ... Yes, you are my angel, Marie, meant to set me free."

Vy poletyte zi mnoyu Nataliya ? ... Will you fly with me Natalia?  

"Da" she sang.  

And we did.  

Tara bleeds ashes

branded Thomas Anthony Rampersant  
resurrected as Tara

Diva.

born of the old south
i could not rise
from the shackles and sermons
that cursed me

my body was carved
long
lean
and luxurious
working the shrimp boats
in the harbor
from age 9

while friends and brothers
suckled on beer and football
from sunrise until dying day

i watched Ginger and Fred
in gramma's trailer
a 13 inch world
set on her kitchenette table

but Tara burned

emancipated in the north
through lessons at Ailey's

yet I was never good enough
for the company

but I had to eat, so

I danced for women
I danced for men
both wanted the same thing
but men paid better

and promised even more

though many hid in the same lie
I once did

they were your

brothers
fathers
husbands
lovers

and for three minutes in a darkened corner
their throbbing indignation
was set free against me

within me
within him

Im no longer a PYT
just another old bitch
who needs his ART

But I still dance
as Tara
Drag Queen supreme

Some nights I'm Diana
Other nights Patti

But I cherish my volunteer work
at the senior center most

In full drag
I waltz with those old men
who remember Ginger and Fred too


http://d3qke3e8pe2nmf.cloudfront.net/wp/docs/2014/07/Serena-ChaCha-Perfect-Red-Lips-Drag-Queen-Makeup-Tutorial-Featured-Image.jpg


*ART - HIV treatment,  also called antiretroviral treatment (ART)

Stoked to see you here Lobo..always love your singular style...will be reading and commenting soon...

Just wanted to thank you for the start!

Indian Mound Woman

Turquoise sky shines above me
like a crystal sphere of blown glass
Forest below is a dark ocean of green
Chlorophyll colors stream into my eyes

I feel  waves of exquisite bliss
penetrate the core of my feminine essence
I gaze down from atop the secondary knoll
of Emerald mound
My solitude is complete with me alone
upon the nipple
rising from the breast of mother earth
I descend the stairs
to stroll the grassy ceremonial plaza

My body is bathed in June heat
Thin summer dress clings to my moist skin
My adobe curves smolder
with the golden heat of creation
I shed my shoes to tread the Indian earth
in barefoot beatitude

Anonymous said:<< post removed >>

Lol..renovation...dig that. Cant wait doll...thanks..

Thank you John my love...for your beautiful entry...so happy to have you here...

Lobo! спасибо кукла for this titilating piece ..you never ever dissapoint..

Curious as to what promted you to write this..it is divine...smokin hot...there is a bit of femme bitch roll eye towards silly boys and their play that adds heat to this...where the fuck does that come from...hmmmm? Lol

teetering to beats of hope as Peter Pan and the lost boys played air guitar to Springstein's "Born in the U.S.A".  

we left.

together.  

quietly.

she thought my suite at the Koklen  
looked like cotton candy  

something for a princess.

Oh this vulpine grin...you sly devil...

Awesome...
Спасибо 👼👼👼👼👌👌👌👌

But I cherish my volunteer work
at the senior center most

In full drag
I waltz with those old men
who remember Ginger and Fred too

Mmm..Lobo sweet...a little choked up. You might have just described my Uncle who died of aids...a drag queen...circus contortionist...and ballerina...

I love that this had no "queer" stereotypes...that you gave him so much heart and showed humanity...not sexuality or Ru fucking Paul..just a boy who is different with a big heart and horrible disease...
Again...would love to know where this comes from.
Just lovely..

You have outdone yourself...thank you..

My body is bathed in June heat
Thin summer dress clings to my moist skin
My adobe curves smolder
with the golden heat of creation
I shed my shoes to tread the Indian earth
in barefoot beatitude

This is exquisite..
And if i did not know who..I would have no doubt in my mind this was written by a woman...

The language and sensation on body...the color and feel of Earth...

Oh i love her shedding shoes and totally grounding herself..

Just gorgeous...thank you thank you..

A perfect selection hunny...

Pound of Flesh

And so it begins
again
this cycle
of bloodletting
of sloughing off
any possibility
for new life

Obscenities mumbled
under breath, though
not for long
your hearing being
better than mine

You're very loud and
clear, if not very original
in your disdain
for both me and my
imaginary equine companion

I jump on his back
and head for the hills
but you cut me off
won't let us through
the past

We ghost over
every horrible place
we've ever been
reliving without understanding
how we got here

Until finally
we exorcise our demons
in the only way we know how
and you thank god
I'm hung like a horse

calamitygin said:Lobo! спасибо кукла for this titilating piece ..you never ever dissapoint..

Curious as to what promted you to write this..it is divine...smokin hot...there is a bit of femme bitch roll eye towards silly boys and their play that adds heat to this...where the fuck does that come from...hmmmm? Lol

teetering to beats of hope as Peter Pan and the lost boys played air guitar to Springstein's "Born in the U.S.A".  

we left.

together.  

quietly.

she thought my suite at the Koklen  
looked like cotton candy  

something for a princess.

Oh this vulpine grin...you sly devil...

Awesome...
Спасибо 👼👼👼👼👌👌👌👌

This piece was one in which I truly wanted to flip the scrip' ...

We've all seen these commercials ... (East European singles looking for North American husbands) ...

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=pCOeEIcldgc

... I wrote this with the premise of 'what if the story teller was a riuthless high powered business woman - who at end of working 12 - 15 hour days - wanted the same thing as her male counterparts ... Hot sex with a woman!'  I wanted to voice her perspective on what she viewed as weak and desperate men, and her cunning in understanding that at a social event with a pool of young women, surely they'd be one or two that would prefer the sexual company of a woman.

calamitygin said:But I cherish my volunteer work
at the senior center most

In full drag
I waltz with those old men
who remember Ginger and Fred too

Mmm..Lobo sweet...a little choked up. You might have just described my Uncle who died of aids...a drag queen...circus contortionist...and ballerina...

I love that this had no "queer" stereotypes...that you gave him so much heart and showed humanity...not sexuality or Ru fucking Paul..just a boy who is different with a big heart and horrible disease...
Again...would love to know where this comes from.
Just lovely..

You have outdone yourself...thank you..


Ru Paul ... I don't have the legs ... This piece came out of a little bit of everything ... Like my grandmother's gumbo.

- I was hanging out in NYC and saw a poster for a drag show, and it made me think of a fun night I had in Key West.  I'm not gonna front, because I'm secure with who I am ... Bottom line those performers were on point.

- shrimp boat reference a nod to the hard labor involved in that job ... I've known men like that

- Fred Astaire & Ginger Rodgers ... As a kid I used love and sing too the classic Hollywood musical, saw the Alvin Ailey dance company when they visited my school in 6th grade, and fell in love with dance ...

- I've lost too many friends and family to AIDS; my daughter worked as a preventive counselor for teens for a while, and her and I have marched here ...

https://ny.aidswalk.net/About

Like I said gumbo, love the most important ingredient