The Poetry of Sex (6 page)

It’s the way that you say ‘I don’t usually do this’

And seeing your pain all the time mixed with such bliss,

Initial resistance both mental and physical,

Tightness that gives way to depths almost mystical;

Now if he’s slow and she gets upset

he’ll move towards her, tease the hair

from her face, lick her tears away.

She lets him tie the straps on her new ankle boots,

teaches him to pull her corset just tight enough,

has sewn fifty pearl buttons on a black sheath dress

he presses into her skin like the photocopier code.

    En una noche oscura,

con ansias en amores inflamada,

(¡oh dichosa ventura!)

salí sin ser notada,

estando ya mi casa sosegada.

    A oscuras y segura,

por la secreta escala disfrazada,

(¡oh dichosa ventura!)

a oscuras y en celada,

estando ya mi casa sosegada.

    En la noche dichosa,

en secreto, que nadie me veía,

ni yo miraba cosa,

sin otra luz ni guía

sino la que en el corazón ardía.

    Aquésta me guïaba

más cierta que la luz del mediodía,

adonde me esperaba

quien yo bien me sabía,

en parte donde nadie parecía.

    ¡Oh noche que me guiaste!,

¡oh noche amable más que el alborada!,

¡oh noche que juntaste

amado con amada,

amada en el amado transformada!

    En mi pecho florido,

que entero para él solo se guardaba,

allí quedó dormido,

y yo le regalaba,

y el ventalle de cedros aire daba.

    El aire de la almena,

cuando yo sus cabellos esparcía,

con su mano serena

en mi cuello hería,

y todos mis sentidos suspendía.

    Quedéme y olvidéme,

el rostro recliné sobre el amado,

cesó todo, y dejéme,

dejando mi cuidado

entre las azucenas olvidado
.

On a dark night,

Kindled in love with yearnings

– oh, happy chance! –

I went forth without being observed,

My house being now at rest.

In darkness and secure,

By the secret ladder, disguised

– oh, happy chance! –

In darkness and in concealment,

My house being now at rest.

In the happy night,

In secret, when none saw me,

Nor I beheld aught,

Without light or guide,

save that which burned in my heart.

This light guided me

More surely than the light of noonday

To the place where he

(well I knew who!) was awaiting me –

A place where none appeared.

Oh, night that guided me,

Oh, night more lovely than the dawn,

Oh, night that joined

Beloved with lover,

Lover transformed in the Beloved!

Upon my flowery breast,

Kept wholly for himself alone,

There he stayed sleeping,

and I caressed him,

And the fanning of the cedars made a breeze.

The breeze blew from the turret

As I parted his locks;

With his gentle hand

He wounded my neck

And caused all my senses to be suspended.

i like my body when it is with your

body. It is so quite new a thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body. i like what it does,

i like its hows. i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling

-firm-smooth ness and which i will

again and again and again

kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh … And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

To you, I taste like sin; tobacco and alcohol

mingling hot-foul and exotic. I get you drunk

against your better judgement, and as I lead you

out, you sway, say no, giddy with the inevitable.

You like beaches? I’ve made love by the Med,

the Channel, the North Atlantic. Then you

follow me onto the abandoned shingle,

the daylight biting your retina. It is too cold

to undress, and when I swallow your cock

(my mouth so hot it makes you dizzy) you

thrust your numb fingers into my coat

to find my breasts. So you’re a poet,

I whisper, sensing your balls tighten

under my gloves. Please, you reply.

Mute, I push your head down,

you are thirsty, I know you can taste

this morning’s bath, but traces too

of another man’s semen, blood,

the dampness of seaweed.

The tide is pushing itself towards us;

a man walking his dog unzips

his anorak. I straddle you, we sit

rocking in the breeze, dialect thick on your

lips, saliva stringing between us. Please,

please. I smile and your eyes roll back

with the receding grasp of breakers.

You’re no longer making any sense

to me; something like Old Norse

We’re making love and there’s a comma on your shoulder.

It’s shining in the dark –

part pause, part the start of separation.

Question marks are in your eyes.

I have no answer other than to press my lips

to your neck and feel you smile.

This moment’s stolen, we’re living in quotation marks.

Next you touch me with apostrophes –

silky on my skin, they brush my breasts with belonging.

I arch my back, our release is an exclamation.

Afterwards, the sheet’s littered with semicolons,

colons, there are hyphens between our toes

I’ve abandoned vanity, since I became a body

of threads, never quite made, since you rippled

the apparent skin of me.

I’m all texture. Silk rosette, billowing coral,

tentative as a just baked cake. Sensations

slide over my knitted blood.

It was a spring day, a day, a day for a lay when the air

Smelled like a locker-room, a day to blow or get blown.

Returning from lunch I turned my corner and there

On a near-by stoop I saw him standing alone.

I glanced as I advanced. The clean white T-shirt outlined

A forceful torso, the light-blue denims divulged

Much. I observed the snug curves where they hugged the behind,

I watched the crotch where the cloth intriguingly bulged.

Our eyes met, I felt sick. My knees turned weak.

I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to say.

In a blur I heard words myself like a stranger speak.

‘Will you come to my room?’ Then a husky voice, ‘O.K.’

I produced some beer and we talked. Like a little boy

He told me his story. Present address next door.

Half Polish half Irish The youngest. From Illinois.

Profession mechanic. Name Bud. Age twenty-four.

He put down his glass and stretched his bare arms along

The back of my sofa. The afternoon sunlight struck

The blond hairs on the wrist near my head. His chin was strong,

His mouth sucky. I could hardly believe my luck.

And here he was sitting beside me, legs apart.

I could bear it no longer. I touched the inside of his thigh.

His reply was to move closer. I trembled. My heart

Thumped and jumped as my fingers went to his fly.

I opened a gap in the flap. I went in there.

I sought for a slit in the gripper shorts that had charge

Of the basket I asked for. I came to warm flesh then to hair,

I went on. I found what I hoped. I groped. It was large.

He responded to my fondling in a charming, disarming way:

Without a word he unbuckled his belt while I felt

And lolled back, stretching his legs. His pants fell away.

Carefully drawing it out, I beheld what I held.

The circumcised head was a work of mastercraft,

With perfectly beveled rim of unusual weight

And the friendliest red. Even relaxed, the shaft

Was of noble dimensions with the wrinkles that indicate

Singular powers of extension. For a second or two,

It lay there inert then suddenly stirred in my hand,

Then paused as if frightened or doubtful of what to do,

And then with a violent jerk began to expand.

By soundless bounds it extended and distended, by quick

Great leaps it rose, it flushed, it rushed to its full size.

Nearly nine inches long and three inches thick,

A royal column ineffably solemn and wise.

I tested its length and strength with a manual squeeze,

I bunched my fingers and twirled them about the knob,

I stroked it from top to bottom. I got on my knees.

I lowered my head. I opened my mouth for the job.

But he pushed me gently away. He bent down. He unlaced

His shoes. He removed his socks. Stood up. Shed

His pants altogether. Muscles in arms and waist

Rippled as he whipped his T-shirt over his head.

I scanned his tan, enjoyed the contrast of brown

Trunk against white shorts taut around small

Hips. With a dig and a wriggle he peeled them down.

I tore off my clothes. He faced me smiling. I saw all.

The gorgeous organ stood stiffly and straightly out

With a slight flare upwards. At each beat of his heart it threw

An odd little nod my way. From the slot of the spout

Exuded a drop of transparent viscous goo.

The lair of hair was fair, the grove of a young man,

A tangle of curls and whorls, luxuriant but couth.

Except for a spur of golden hairs that fan

To the neat navel, the rest of the belly was smooth.

Well hung, slung from the fork of the muscular legs,

The firm vase of his sperm, like a bulging pear,

Cradling its handsome glands, two herculean eggs,

Swung as he came towards me, shameless, bare.

We aligned mouths. We entwined. All act was clutch,

All fact contact, the attack and the interlock

Of tongues, the charms of arms. I shook at the touch

Of his fresh flesh, I rocked at the shock of his cock.

Straddling my legs a little I inserted his divine

Person between and closed on it tight as I could.

The upright warmth of his belly lay all along mine.

Nude, glued together for a minute, we stood.

I stroked the lobes of his ears, the back of his head

And the broad shoulders. I took bold hold of the compact

Globes of his bottom. We tottered. He fell on the bed.

Lips parted, eyes closed, he lay there, ripe for the act.

Mad to be had, to be felt and smelled. My lips

Explored the adorable masculine tits. My eyes

Assessed the chest. I caressed the athletic hips

And the slim limbs. I approved the grooves of the thighs.

I hugged, I snuggled into an armpit.

I sniffed the subtle whiff of its tuft. I lapped up the taste

Of its hot hollow. My fingers began to drift

On a trek of inspection, a leisurely tour of the waist.

Downward in narrowing circles they playfully strayed.

Encroached on his privates like poachers, approached the prick.

But teasingly swerved, retreated from meeting. It betrayed

Its pleading need by a pretty imploring kick.

‘Shall I rim you?’ I whispered. He shifted his limbs in assent,

Turned on his side and opened his legs, let me pass

To the dark parts behind. I kissed as I went

The great thick cord that ran back from his balls to his arse.

Prying the buttocks aside, I nosed my way in

Down the shaggy slopes. I came to the puckered goal.

It was quick to my licking. He pressed his crotch to my chin.

His thighs squirmed as my tongue wormed in his hole.

His sensations yearned for consummation. He untucked

His legs and lay panting, hot as a teen-age boy.

Naked, enlarged, charged, aching to get sucked,

Clawing the sheet, all his pores open to joy.

I inspected his erection. I surveyed his parts with a stare

From scrotum level. Sighting along the underside

Of his cock, I looked through the forest of pubic hair

To the range of the chest beyond rising lofty and wide.

I admired the texture, the delicate wrinkles and the neat

Sutures of the capacious bag. I adored the grace

Of the male genitalia. I raised the delicious meat

Up to my mouth, brought the face of its hard-on to my face.

Slipping my lips round the Byzantine dome of the head,

With the tip of my tongue I caressed the sensitive groove.

He thrilled to the trill. ‘That’s lovely!’ he hoarsely said.

‘Go on! Go on!’ Very slowly I started to move.

Gently, intently, I slid to the massive base

Of his tower of power, paused there a moment down

In the warm moist thicket, then began to retrace

Inch by inch the smooth way to the throbbing crown.

Indwelling excitements swelled at delights to come

As I descended and ascended those thick distended walls.

I grasped his root between left forefinger and thumb

And with my right hand tickled his heavy voluminous balls.

I plunged with a rhythmical lunge steady and slow,

And at every stroke made a corkscrew roll with my tongue.

His soul reeled in the feeling. He whimpered, ‘Oh!’

As I tongued and squeezed and rolled and tickled and swung.

Then I pressed on the spot where the groin is joined to the cock,

Slipped a finger into his arse and massaged him from inside.

The secret sluices of his juices began to unlock.

He melted into what he felt. ‘O Jesus!’ he cried.