Abstract With Ayana

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(Editor’s Note: For this piece, I enlisted the help of Ayana aka Poetic Heroin. All we did was go back and forth with whatever we were inspired with. This is the result.)

Remnants of you fragrance my face
Scented conversations below your waist.
Lips under my navel whisper about how good you taste
The pleasure crawls up my spine and lays across my face

Tingles chased by searching palms.
Traveling new paths to a familiar destination

The high our bodies is chasing only comes down when we spill.
Fina & Till
Signatures inked across hips to seal the deal.

Love vibrates while the ink is still wet,
Our breathing indicates we aren’t finished yet
Drawing with frequency, colored moans and words.
We paint art that can be heard.

Abstract lust, rare visuals. Skin happily covered in sticky residuals

Keeping us glued to the canvas to continue the ritual.
Bow before my temple.
Let’s worship the deity that brought us together

Together we’ll pray, push, & pull.
Arrive to a joyous gallery, for admirers to see.
A display of intensity
Starring you & me.

Truth Or Dare Response


Ha, ha, ha.
You and these games.
Sure, I’ll play.
You prance across my mind more than there are seconds in the day.
Nano-eternities, the length of each thought.
I ought to dare you–
Since you’re being so bold
I’ll kiss your set of lips where stories unfold.
And dialogue consists of slips of the tongue
Yeah. This game has just begun.

Truth be told, I want you to submit
On your knees in front of your king so you can serve me properly.
You get on all fours and listen to me bark orders from behind

Dare me to bite?
I dare you not to scream
Sink my teeth in your desires that needed a vampire to bring them to life.
I want to taste your…
Well, I already have.
I’ll feast on your flesh until sunrise.

If you dared to stop, I’d motivate you to continue
A grab
A smack
A forced arch of your back.
Rolling until tires go flat.
Ride until you overheat and let off a little steam.

This much is true.
I crave you.
Urges to test your body’s threshold for pleasure and pain.
But you insist on these games.
Fine, I’ll play.
Your turn…



Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
In vacancy, wanting to meet turns privilege to greed.
No need to romanticize these thoughts.
Absence also makes certain body parts grow…longer.

…And painful
I claim to be in control of my emotions
Yet with her not close I yield to the craving of her flesh
Now that I finally have her here, she must experience the anguish I felt.
I must return the favor with fervor,
Bind her frame, then free her urges.

Long after farewell, it begins
In a chamber without mental inhibition, wrists and ankles are imprisoned
No touching.
Her skin on mine is missing,
So she has nothing to help her brace what I had to endure.
The coldness of loneliness is gradually being overshadowed by the warmth of stimulation so pure.

She can bear it. For sure.

Moments pass as remnants of her and I dance across her eyelids
Cravings build. She requires me to converse with her above and below her waistline.
For tongue and lips to devour lips and thighs.

Sleeping, provides no relief, and it is worse while awake
I orchestrate the time between breaks so the misery lasts
The more she aches
The more she begs me to take her body into my grasp and reciprocate this feeling I have:
To pay her back for my suffering through passionate thrusting
Until tormented orgasms causes her to shake.

She can bear it…I hope so, for her sake.

Desire in her sighs,
Fantasies intensify with every exhale
Every deep breath,
Increases the need to make me understand the depths of sexual distress I caused
By exploring the depths of ecstasy in her walls.

Lust tests her sanity
I tease her with her own wishes
Hanging them over her head, so they are impossible to reach
Just like I am.

Distant lover, releasing the passions in her heart.
Beyond her range, yet still within her sight
She yearns for internal massages
Absence makes carnal passion grow stronger.

She can bear it…no longer

Wanting to take matter into her hands
The ropes restrict her.
Screaming, writhing.
Not knowing whether she needs to be released, or restrained tighter to further push her pleasure past previous limits.
Freedom in bondage
She opens up while restricted.
A slave to her arousal.
The evidence is in her quivers.

She loves the torture
She loves the pain
She loves that I know she loves it
Because only I can make her feel this way.

She can bear it, until we meet again.


Speaking To Fantasy


My voice paints the picture
The two eyes that blink have no bearing on what she sees with the third
She hangs onto my every word
Ready to receive in the position she prefers
Back on bed,
Legs waiting to be spread
Not yet.

She calls me a tease
But teasing means I will not follow through on pleasing
I guarantee I will seduce her imagination.
Dictate to her my choice of her fantasy, then have her craving it.
The best way of explaining it:
I am going to mindfuck her brains until she overloads
On passion and feels me in her erogenous zones.
In my most soothing tone
“Are you wearing any clothes?”
Her response, “no,” with a moan.

Envisioned kisses so tempting, self-exploration has already begun.
Attempting to mimic the feel of tongue on clit with spit and her thumb
She borders on ecstasy. Squirming, trying to escape from it.
But the amount of control she has on her arousal is none.
Her thighs quake and I can feel the tremors in my cheeks.
Orgasm number one.

Her eyelids shut
Her third as open as her thighs are. With lust
She has become drenched in the images she is hearing.
I am giving her the greatest sex she has yet to experience.
In my most soothing tone:
“How far do you want me to go?”
Her response, “deep” in between groans.

Combining what we have done with what we will do
She can feel palm and fingertips around her neck.
She shivers from visualizing me restricting her ability to move
Pinning her in the position she prefers
Back on bed. Legs on shoulders. Feet by head.
Her hips shake and I can feel the tremors below my waist
Orgasm number two.

Both eyes open, filled with desire
The third blinking, sexually inspired.
Now up on all fours
Bolder and unleashed
Moans now growls as lioness looks for a place to sink her teeth.
But she still listens to me
In my most soothing tone:
“Do you want more?”
Her response, “Yes” louder than before.

Submissive curves in her vertebrae
Her anticipation turns her room into a blur.
Restrained in the position that I prefer
Back in air. Legs still spread with my fist full of her hair.
The thought of pulling it,
Her fingers attempt to get where only I go
Wrists try to mimic the rhythm in my stroke.
Her body vibrates and I can feel the tremors in my soul.
Orgasm number…everything she has left.

This is much better than SMS
I speak images more vivid than MMS
S-E-X narrated to her mind
Erotica whispered into her ear to the tingle in her spine
So she climaxes over the phone.

In my most soothing tone.
“What will we do the next time we are alone?”
Her response, “Everything in this poem.”


I Don’t Know…

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I know how to touch
But I am not too sure what will happen when I grip
And every inch of where in between.
Caressing your frame according to your need
In order to succeed,
I must listen for opened screams from your mouth that creams
Moans replace exhales as foam forms beneath,
Dampening the garments you wear

I know how to kiss
But I am not clear on what will happen when I place my lips
Every inch of where in between
Tasting your frame at the seams
In order to succeed
I must feel when skin responds with heat
When the wetness you secrete begins to produce steam
And we have the vapors from the passion in the air.

I know how to stroke
But I am uncertain of what will happen when I insert and reach
And every inch of where in between
Pleasured friction of cave walls when they squeeze
In order to succeed
I must observe what causes your tremors to increase
Deepen and retreating to a repeated rhythmic beating
That triggers your releases when peaking is too much to bear.

My aim to be strategically random
I have a plan, but know when to change the course of action
I cannot make and follow strict guidelines
Since you are a woman with your own sexual standards

I must adapt with skill. No two bodies are alike
What works for another woman might not arouse you, though.
I don’t know how to have sex with you
But I know how to learn to do so.


Eyes Wide Shut

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I hold the memory of her in my eyelids.
Replenishing my iris–the moisture of remembered sights, since
Blinking is just as involuntary as thinking
…About her

Explicit motion pictures projected onto these natural blinders
Of her body accepting and directing me inside it
I may be resting peacefully, but between these images in my mind, I’m
Reliving times when passion was ignited

Burned into my cornea are visions of positions
Retinas’ retention of sensually bending femininity
Pupils looking her over, learning her ad-libs for better chemistry.
Studying the notes taken from recent sessions

Firm erection of monumental lessons
Evidenced by the progression of muscle extending to bone
Optical illusions from that night so lifelike
I forget that I’m sleeping alone.

You may have wet Dreams
I have Soaked Fantasies
Cinematic climaxes, reenacting Saturated Realities.

Entrancing is the lead actress in films behind my eyes
Instead of counting sheep, I recount her numbered releases
Bedtime arousal until I arise
Amazing what’s created when seeing her with three of them.
Waking to make new scenes is the only reason I stop dreaming.




On a gorgeous, final afternoon of this work week’s end.
She took a bite from a freshly picked strawberry, then
On the time when we made our own course after dessert

More than just an appetizer and entree
Never had she had the experience of her body as a plate
Garnish her frame with produce then stimulate her to produce…
Smoothies made from passion fruit.
Scooping strawberry bits from one set of lips to share with another…
Mouth to mouth…to mouth…
Resuscitating arousal. In her breaths, I hear delight.
Add her cream, our chocolate, and my banana below her waist,
And I believe we’ve created Sundaes between thighs

Devouring everything that leaves her flesh bare
Fingers inside, motioning for her to come here.
Pointing to her spot and symbolizing how I’ll make her come here
Licking the excess amounts of sauce that she shared.

Kissing to catch her escaping passion in her exhales.
Stroke realities into fantasies.
Wet dreams are memories of her happening.
I make it so than when she’s alone
And wants to recreate those moans
She comes oh so close because she’s missing the main ingredient in her bowl.

Eating strawberries is no longer just a simple treat
It’s a pleasant recollection of a fond memory
A moment in which real sparks the imaginary
She plans on revisiting her Sunday dreams.


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