Above the Waist

Your fiery tickle

Above the waist, in cream lace
Rolling in pleasure

Unleashing Desire

Unleashing desire

My water spilled twice today
No man left untouched

Purge Puddle

This urgent birthing,
I require words for,
which would outline its origin,
contain its meaning,
explicate its reasons.
Except, none of this exists.

Only the sensation,
hunched over in preparedness,
relentlessly contracting organs,
and the relieving movement
as the effort comes hurling forth,
a reverse slide of wet color.

This, its only known connection to words.

Reasons to Cry Over Spilt Milk

Spill me like a plastic pail of milk,
reluctantly spreading its rounded reach.
Surface tension momentum
until, relieved, it cascades into a crack,
into place, as by design.

With its path precise now,
it effortlessly courses,
forging its extent further than before.
A rebellious backsplash leaves its mark outside the line,
a reminder of a time once beautiful,
"accidental" fruitfulness.
Where admirers congregate,
surrounding the tiny droplets,
projecting their dreams upon its shape.

Does this serve you, my friend?
Or else, what is it good for?