Category Archives: erotic

Waiting – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by Wesner Rodrigues from Pexels

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.” Virginia Woolf

Waiting

Sweet, sticky juice,
the way your fingers caressed the glass,
your lips upon that long, slender straw,
while your eyes offered private conversation
as the world passed by in blurred abstractions,
your smile takes me prisoner once again and
I await the consummate dessert.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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The Blueberries – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Mish is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write about fruit.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Always In Season

Photo: Blueberries – Nowaja at pixabay.com

“Age is not all decay, it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within that withers and bursts the husk.” George MacDonald

The Blueberries

In the very first of the season came the 
promise of delight cached in smooth,
taught, dark skin, shining, exposed,
ripening before the sun, full of rich delight
to please any tongue or wanton fingers
willing to scoop the sugared, juicy high,
now torn at first bite, passion longing for
another, and then another, until consumed
in faint exhaustion, sated, drunk, and only 
then noticing the pink tinged florets
modestly calling my eyes to something 
deeper than a possession of fruit, and so 
in the latter of the season I gazed into 
your abundant, fruitful self, waiting  to 
be gathered together in a devotion fit
for a tender deity.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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By Way Of An Answer – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“Oh, put your mouth on mine and leave it so ….” Mary Carolyn Davies

By Way Of An Answer 

The question arose when my greedy mouth
collapsed with hunger upon yours, and no
words could be conjured to answer the 
silence, except the pulsing of my temples,
threatening to burst like a pierced water
main sharing its pressure with umbrellas 
and hats, bathed in choral rainbows, sung
in summer rain, taking me along alterity;
the question arose when my greedy mouth
collapsed with hunger upon yours.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Tongue And Groove – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse, De is hosting the Quadrille (44 words) with an invitation to write using some form of the word Groove.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Groove

Photo: bodylanguagecentral.com

“Sometimes a wink is enough ….” Neha Sharma

Tongue And Groove

Though she was no carpenter,
she enjoyed the idea of renovation,
her ideas revolved around shape and form,
a true renaissance woman and, though I
tentatively suggested render, she turned,
winked and said, without guile, there's
always a place for some tongue and groove.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Remained – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“We loved with a love that was more than love.” Edgar Allan Poe

Remained

Your lips were open invitation
to the breathless arched verge,
your eyes a consummation, a 
holding gaze of drama unveiled,
but your words were a raging 
fire for my ears, and you smiled
as I burst into flames, and when
the smoke cleared your kisses
remained.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Hungering – poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJ’s Weekly Challenge – Waves

Photo: pixabay.com

“Ecstasy is a glass full of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.” Alexander Pushkin

Hungering

Day's hours slowed to soft sand and
she marked the moments of deep longing 
for sunset by the cool, summer shoreline,
breakers crashing the encrusted rocks,
punctuated by the scree of grey gulls,
she turned to him again, hungering,
greedy for the waves to wash over her
and carry her to the crest of ecstasy.

©Paul Vincent Cannon


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Pond Of Dreams – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Open Link Night where we are invited to post a poem of our own choosing.

dVerse Poets – Open LInk Night

Photo: http://www.shutterstock.com

“Moonlight incites dark passions ….” Rampo Edogawa

Pond Of Dreams

I'm certain as not that my dreams lit
the light of my centre as moon floated 
gently through the window of invitation,
gently rustling my playful sheets of sigh,
lighting a fire behind my lids of desire,
with reciprocating motions of heart as
rhythms of stroked flesh hovering at 
the edge of desire assuming a tidal 
wave in a pond of dreams.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Gargoyles – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sanaa is hosting poetics with an invitation to write a Gothic poem.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Exploring Gothic as a Literary Genre

Photo: Found at pixel77.com

“I was made to rule the darkness.” Rae Hachton

The Gargoyles 

Near the witching hour
the Bell & Candle spewed life into the
streets of thick winters night,
she, he, arm in arm, dared the other,
a walk along darkling stream's thickets
to cold cathedral cemetery where
death's sting rang off the stone in
heavy mortal silence, stilling all but
leaping imaginations of shadows,
she, he, stole kisses in mocking  laughter 
beneath the angry walls of judgement,
she, he, succumbed to the ancient spell
of heated congress as above them
narrow eyed gargoyles leered near,
she, he, stumbled onwards home,
she looking back to footfalls sounding,
he hearing nothing, blithely, blindly,
fell behind as she hastened to her bed,
while ever the footfalls pounding,
her heart pulsing, stretched naked.
In the morning she stroked his 
impassive face looking for life, 
where in that one glorious hour,
stone had enfleshed its leering lust.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Stirred – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting the Quadrille (44 words) with an invitation to write using the word abide. dVerse Poets – Quadrille – The Dude Abides

Photo: pexels.com

“The dancer’s body is simply the luminous manifestation of the soul.” Isadora Duncan

Stirred

There she was,
hips swirling colour,
head flicked back,
her eyes laughing,
toes double time, 
double shot of fantasy,
bass line harmony,
stirred not shaken,
sipping hazy smoke
parched and spinning
closer and closer,
she hitched her skirt,
I flipped tails
abiding with her.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Before The Turning – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: have-fun.wikia.com

“She was like the moon – part of her was always hidden away.” Dia Reeves

Before The Turning

Spring's last reversion,
a chemise for moon
before the turning of
summer's bold tune,
an unbuttoned salute
to epicurean dulges
promenading along
our damp, warm skin,
in the misted mystery
of this omened night,
awaiting declarations
of yes, yes, along our 
avenue of sheets.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

37 Comments

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