bed of many orgasms - by Jessica Holter

she did not mean to be a cheater

it was a defensive move

to steer her clear of

the love she feared

her therapist told her

not sure what that meant

I was only here to get

the last of my things

things that remained

in her possession after

embarrassment broke me

out of her house

things like trust,

my dignity, self-respect

and my own ability

to engage my whole self

in affairs of romantic love

so, I was polite and pleasant

as I am these days

when I met her at the hotel

to pick up a suitcase

filled with the contents

of her junk drawer

still precious to me

after a few reviews

and pleasantries

I opened the Uber app

and that is when it happened

with her head in my lap

a simple submissive gesture

posturing her in a way

she had been many times

over many years

she set me free

like a flood of goddess grace

pride and all her handmaids

gathered all about me

challenged all my doubt

about her affections for me

and perhaps, very briefly

raised my temperature a few degrees

and made me think unclearly

then the thought of the woman

she now had at home

laying in my wet spot

in my bed of many orgasms

drifted into the room

reminding me

I was her once

laying in that wet spot

in a bed of many orgasms

but I had already

washed those sheets

Jessica Holter

#Poem #VerbalPenetration2 #TheVault

Bed Bug - by Jessica Holter

I hopped a train
with a new white suit on my back, 
a bed bug on my shoulder
Should I... 
Should I 
Kill it? 
Bound for North

The music changed 
while I was on the train, 
cuz somebody choked Bessie
and Billie couldn't save her
cuz she was waiting for the blues man
backstage.

I saw the pale hand reach out to me
I just want to get the bug off

North was a fat lazy bitch, 
who thought somebody owed her something.

She sang too loud and her song was empty, 
but she looked me in my face
with unearned pride
Her cold starry eyes weren't quite blue yet.
I watched her fat flabby arms ripple 
like stripes on a phallic pole
She cloaked the freedom cape, 
Danced the Watusi with jubilee
and named her kids from an 
African name book

North was a greedy bitch.
She swallowed blues, 
spit out Jazz
and called it Soul 

Put it back, 
put it back!
I told the white hand.
White folks 
can't stand 
to see us 
have nothin!

Put the fucking 
bed bug 
back
on my shoulder!

It was
a slow ride 
back south.

I welcomed the heat.
Master was gone
cuz he, 
couldn't afford
not afford us no more.
But I stayed on
that nameless
plantation 
with a whispering willow
dripping a 
unsung hero's blood
into a pool 
that shown Bessie face.

Took root in an old shack, 
and sometimes
basked in the scent 
of my old Master
on my pillow, 
till I was old, 
ugly
and
ornery

daily daring North
to try to take
my South
from me again.

baby please, keep your eyes on the road - by Jessica Holter

I love these long drives

watching nature do what it does

feeling the electro-magnetic

energy between us

crowd and confuse us

mile after mile

the erotic heat of the south

keeps me wet and thirsty

I offer you a cool juicy plum

from the cooler I packed

with fruit and water

with your eyes still on the road

you bite into it

nipping my finger

just a little bit

I lick the plum juice

running down my arm

and suck my finger tip

where you bit it

just a little bit

now I am feeling sticky

deciding to take a whore’s bath

I reach for spring water

giving you a swig before

disrobing my shoulders

the water is only cold for an instant

as I pour it about my neck and breasts

my sundress sticks to my nipples

arousing them and making me smile

with wipes from the glove box

I begin to bath

my face

my neck

my arms

my hands

with more water and a wet one

I wash my belly

my thighs

my pussy

my ass

moments after my whore bath

is packed away

you are still watching

me with all of your energy

baby please

keep your eyes on the road

as I rub shea butter

and argon oil into my skin

I moisturize

my hands

my arms

my neck

my breasts

my thighs

pussy lips

my butters are scented

with an erotic blend of

India’s richest essential oils

and it is infectious

taking over the space between us

hanging on the heat

making you too high to drive

I can feel my daddy’s

old yellow corvette steady herself

under your nervous hands

adjusting the volume on the radio

I reach for your hand

firmly holding it

so you will know

this is not one of my passive

noncommittal gestures

for peace keeping

I swipe my index finger

down the center of your palm

but I do not giggle like a school girl

because this is serious

pull over, I command

as I guide your hand to me

pulling it under my skirt

and inside me

the Alabama heat

pales in comparison

to the sweltering wantonness

of my pussy

as it devours your hand

you look around

to see if anyone is looking

and pull deep into the bush

The Addiction by Jessica Holter

The addiction
does not
have hold of you
it has 
no hands
no arms
no legs
it has not
ambition
delusion
confusion

The Addiction
does not need you 
does not love you
it is not anxious
or
nervous
it is not some guy
or girl you met in a club 
out 
to possess you tonight

It does not want you

The Addiction does not feel

Addiction does not feel

That is you.
Projecting.
Embellishing.

Testing and pushing
your loved ones away...
You, locking the door
so you
so you can have privacy
so you can have your way with it.
Bind it
Bend it to your will

The Addiction does not have hold of you
it has no hands.

It is you
who will to not
let her go.