Hot Stuff Poems

Valentine

(this is how a man or even a woman for that matter should fall in love with a woman)

The supine stretch
Of a smile
A mile of succulence
Your lips
I could reach my
Fingers through
Thorns merely
To bring back
Your brush
Of a kiss
On their tips.

In a place that
Time hollowed out
An Oolitic
In the sun
I bathe
In your sight
Move like a babe
In your womb
Am alive
In your light

I needn’t know
Your direction
Doesn’t love
At it’s liberty
Go them all?
I open you
Like a gift
And, flung
Open to you
I fall

I could do this all night long / All night long I could do this / Do this? I could, all night long. / This I could do all night long. / Do this? All night long? I could.

Its what I do when I do it
And when I do it’s what I do the best
Because a poem is like everything else
And everything else is like my vagina
And the way its like my vagina is
All I ever get out of it
Is just what I put in

And what I put in my vagina must
An inspection, a through scrutiny
Indeed in every featured detail pass
It must be exactly right in its shape
And in every number in its notes
And in its rhythms its measures
And its beats

I don’t want to hear it no
Don’t want to hear no
Pussy wussy hair pie hootchie cootchie
Split tail strumpet cunt hot twat
No poon tang groove thang gang bang
Its not a box ITS NOT A BOX!

It’s my vagina mine alone
To do with as it pleases me
Which it does at times and yet
At other times it’s only trouble
In fact it crossed my mind one time
I believe when I was giving birth
My vagina might just be more
Trouble than it’s worth.

You touch my panty drawer you’re dead


I don’t want to hear it no
Don’t want to hear no
Pussy wussy hair pie smootchie cootchie
Split tail strumpet cunt hot twat
No poon tang groove thang gang bang
Its not a box ITS NOT A BOX!

My vagina’s not a saxophone
Playing out your snappy jazz
My vagina’s not a wicker basket
Or some such other item up for grabs
My vagina’s not a horn of plenty
A cornucopia of copulation
My vagina’s my vagina
I’m its keeper not it’s slave|
Virgin, lover, mother, mensturation,
Maybe masturbation, menopause
And that’s the end of that its final.
Period. The end

Plesure
(A Valentine)

If it pleasures me
I will
As you ask

I will open up
My legs
To you
My mouth
My naked breasts
Trace me
O hungry eye
Outline me
Shoulder
Belly soft
Hips and deriare
I will
In this shade
Of Cypris
Bring
Your hands
Under
The weight of
Your eyes
To me
And surrender
Any private
Pleasure

If it pleasures
And if
It pleasures me

Just say twat and watch her fling
her dirty finger like a dagger

When she’s talking to her GYN
She’ll call it her vagina

To her lovers it’s her pussy
Because that’s what they prefer

Mixed company it’s her cootchie
Or some such thing like that

Of course it’s nothing but a cunt
Beneath a rival girl’s pubic hair

Yet if she needs to mention it to mother
She’ll just brusquely say "down there"

Ms. Sharon Showers

She introduces herself well enough

Well, she introduces herself and that's enough

Introducing you to your first time

Seeing a young woman in a wet tee shirt

Immediately you find your self saying

It's nice to meet you... Sharon

She laughs shyly

And she tells you she lives

In the complex

And even if you don't really need a bath

You tell her how

It saves water

Even if you stay in for hours

There's much to be said

For Sharon Showers

A Nice Pair

A nice pair a very nice pair

She had

A nicer pair than mine

I was very jelous of

Her pair

Her pair looked so sublime

A juicy pear would not as sweet

Be as that pair of hers

O the way she bounced along

In the open air

Her pair always got attention

When she went anywhere

Her legs so smoothe and slender

Her waist firm and trim

Her pair was O so perfect

On a whim

They always got the woos

And  wouldn't I be a happy girl

If I had that pair... of shoes.