ChloeBeaumonth

Here I allow you to put your lips on mine, With the kiss of the long-lived comrade or with the kiss of the new husband, For I am the new husband and I am the comrade. Or if you prefer, push me under your clothes, Where I can feel your heartbeat or rest on your hip,

It was a spring day, a day for a setting, when the air smelled of dressing room, a day to blow or be blown; When I came back from eating I turned the corner and there On a nearby staircase I saw him standing, alone. ¿Who says poetry has to be eloquent? Auden’s poem about giving a blowjob to a stranger on a beautiful spring day is ferocious and disconcerting, like the best encounters.. "'¿Do I suck your ass? '” whispered. Moved the limbs in assent". We ask that Auden be included in the

Whether we find what we seek or not, it is useless in biological terms. Sex just because? What a disgust! Millay’s work predates the sexual revolution, but much of her writing deals with sex and desire with refreshing candor. Work.

From the dark side of your skin you light me up. Let me be the wolf Shadow of thirst and dog and hunger that enters the night of your body with wet, wobbly steps through your uncertain forest Your smell of sea guides me to your waves To touch the rising moon of your smile. Let me know with tongue even the deepest darkness, the quietest, and invoke with repeated movements, rituals like howls, the full moon of your body, that carries me to you as if it were me, in your hands, water that you turn into a lit tide.

I'm the bad girl in the story, the one who fornicated with three men and took horns from her husband. I am the woman who deceived him daily for a miserable plate of lentils, who slowly stripped him of his goodness until he was a black and barren stone, I am the woman who castrated him with endless gestures of tenderness and false moans in bed. I'm the bad girl in the story..