It’s time for a little summer doggerel, just because. These two poems were first
published in the too hot to handle volume, Coming Together in Verse, edited by the fabulous Ashley Lister. I don’t do much poetry, because I find it really intimidating and downright scary at times. Fiction is much easier. But I happened to be inspired for this anthology … though some of you may question my inspiration as you read. But everyone is entitled to a little filthy silliness at times. The first poem, Stalking Your Scent is more serious, though far sexier, I think, being fascinated by the world of scent as I am. The second is just inspired by the joys of riding dodgy busses. Enjoy!
Stalking Your Scent
I stalk your scent, the wolf at midnight, mouth open to enticing aromas as you writhe beneath me in the dark, as you kiss me and embrace me at your rising from tangled sheets and carelessly tossed clothing unaware that I sniff, that I breathe, that I test you like my unsuspecting next meal.
I stalk your scent day in, day out, my own scent driven by obsession, heightened by lust. I eat from you, sneak from you, steal from you what makes me want inside, need inside, burn inside.
I stalk your scent and mark you with mine, your throat, your heart, your cock. I possess you in the blending of spice and earth, of tide pool and storm, until I recognize myself only in the context of you, until I am contained only by the boundaries of your redolence.
I stalk your scent in the sleepless hours, riding you to exhaustion, thieving the perfume of your lust, to wear in secret, to flaunt in public. I crave your smell each time I touch you, each time I fuck you, each time I eat you, ruthlessly eat you, tasting and sniffing and lifting my hips to tease you.
I stalk your scent through the years, taking you in like the breath I breathe, no longer remembering a time when the smell of you didn’t move me, arouse me, quicken me.
I stalk your scent on the written page, olfactory after-images elusive and defiant, words lacking bouquet and base note for the depth of my obsession, for the heart of my need for the smell of you against my skin, you in my embrace, you replete in the sweat of sleep and the ozone of dreams and the promise of waking to take me again.
The Dodgy Bus
I always ride the dodgy bus no matter my destination.
Though the windows rattle and the floorboards shake,
I ride without hesitation.
Ignoring the stench of the oil and grease, I ride with enthusiasm,
Cuz it’s only on the dodgy bus I get the best orgasm.
Once onboard, I head for the back, as always is my habit,
Where the seats vibrate and shiver and shake like a really Rampant Rabbit.
My man-spread’s quite unladylike, but I open my legs real wide,
Ignoring the stares and the dirty looks. I’m only along for the ride.
While others get quite anxious, their stops anticipating,
No one ever guesses I’m just here masturbating.
The lack of good shocks makes my tits shake, the vibrations, they tickle my clit.
I’m an expert at finding the sweet spot on the naugahyde seat where I sit.
I don’t care if it’s cheap or it’s pricy, don’t mind if it costs a good sum.
Though I may not get where I’m going, I always have a good cum.