Wednesday, July 13, 2016

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

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
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
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,

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

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

It does not want you

The Addiction does not feel

Addiction does not feel

That is you.

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.