On a cold, rainy night like this,
Dick tucks in to my onion soup.
He loves onion soup, my Dick
He loves to dip his hard-crust bread
In my bowl of piping hot homemade goodness
And he'd ask me to blow it for him if it's too hot
Or if he simply wants to tickle me pink
And I find it really cute when he does that,
My Dick.
Dick tucks in to my onion soup.
He loves onion soup, my Dick
He loves to dip his hard-crust bread
In my bowl of piping hot homemade goodness
And he'd ask me to blow it for him if it's too hot
Or if he simply wants to tickle me pink
And I find it really cute when he does that,
My Dick.
ii. Hot Kitchen
the young wife sits at the kitchen counter,
beating the hell out of a clove of garlic;
her young husband sits, stroking Kitty on his lap
(Kitty purrs...), and
the beating on the chopping board goes ballistic...
the pan sizzles (oil's really hot now!), and
garlic goes into the pan
(garlic burns...), and
Kitty purrs some more, begging
begging for more petting, rocking
rocking to the sound of the garlic sizzling
sizzling in the pan of oil, hissing...
hissing, sizzling, purring...
(purr, Kitty, purr...)
beating the hell out of a clove of garlic;
her young husband sits, stroking Kitty on his lap
(Kitty purrs...), and
the beating on the chopping board goes ballistic...
the pan sizzles (oil's really hot now!), and
garlic goes into the pan
(garlic burns...), and
Kitty purrs some more, begging
begging for more petting, rocking
rocking to the sound of the garlic sizzling
sizzling in the pan of oil, hissing...
hissing, sizzling, purring...
(purr, Kitty, purr...)
iii. Bodyscape
The Tongue knows
That the Valley between
The Breasts leads us to that
Familiar place: that sultry Savanna
South of the Navel, where a River runs
Delightfully deep, dark, and dangerous. . .
There, behind the lush tropical foliage, the
Hand might guesstimate this River’s breadth and
Depth, using as reference the Banks: Thighs
That part wilfully, whimsically, wantonly...
Wanting, wanting, wanting so much to be
Explored by the adventurous Fingers
That fear nothing but the
Failure to effect a
Tremor, a spasm
Of some sort
Down the
Depths,
Which
That
Thing
‘tween
Thy
Thighs
Will
Soon
Invade.
That the Valley between
The Breasts leads us to that
Familiar place: that sultry Savanna
South of the Navel, where a River runs
Delightfully deep, dark, and dangerous. . .
There, behind the lush tropical foliage, the
Hand might guesstimate this River’s breadth and
Depth, using as reference the Banks: Thighs
That part wilfully, whimsically, wantonly...
Wanting, wanting, wanting so much to be
Explored by the adventurous Fingers
That fear nothing but the
Failure to effect a
Tremor, a spasm
Of some sort
Down the
Depths,
Which
That
Thing
‘tween
Thy
Thighs
Will
Soon
Invade.
* * * * *
---From Odes to the Flesh, a collection of unpublished erotic poems by Suri Nahunte
