Friday, September 15, 2006

As Chance Would Have It

Sometimes I think of night as the enticing
glance of a beautiful girl dressed in black,
careless and alive.

And I remember the angle of stars
like the genuflexion of limbs exchanging
a weary morning.

Senses ajar, dragging ecstasy to the
fragrant scent of her doorstep, actions
ceasing to require control.

Fingers on my back, drawn up in ranks,
like little white feet, lyrical and coarse
in their jesting.

Hands caressing in a carnal fluency
awakening our spirits, and her wrists
filling the bedroom with the bower of aroma.

Hour earlier hands on bedposts as the clock
struck ONE. My breath whispering as it
covered her firm, entrancing flesh.

Minds taking refuge in a glistening-skin
acceptance of shattering, shimmering,
neutron dawn.

“You really are wonderful.”
“Where are we?”


I decided to post a soundtrack with this one, albeit a one song soundtrack, for those who don't mind a little edge to their music.


As posted on Wet Poems©, a collaborative collage of those most primitive joys.


Blogger Inkblot said...

If you hadn't specified otherwise I would have said-what a lovely slow lingering waking up together to a familiar tune -

12:01 PM  
Blogger Mandolina Dora said...

Hmmm. So you gotta tell me is SHE WANTS REVENGE your f**k anthem? Or one of them? (So sorry if I offend but YOU did use the word "primitive" in your description).

And the lyric "...whispered in your ear...wanna f***kin' tear you apart"...well it conjured up images and put me in a profane mood.

My anthem is not so recent. But just as, um, "stirring"--Afghan Whigs SOMETHING HOT and '66. One of the best non-R&B sex soundtracks I've found. Oh, and Debussy's Bergamasque Suite #3 of course.

12:29 AM  
Blogger bert moth said...

inkblot - So you're saying it wasn't so?

mandolina dora - My anthem? He.he. No, I don't have an anthem. I posted this for my own entertainment and because I think She Wants Revenge is a kick-ass indie band.

I'll definitely have to check out your songs tomorrow, as it's getting late right now...

3:24 AM  
Blogger {illyria} said...

"angle of stars"

that enthralls me. i'm looking out my new window now but find neither angles nor stars.

10:20 AM  
Blogger Prerona said...

nice ... the picture u paint comes alive and dances in the moonlight

7:40 PM  
Blogger bert moth said...

{illyria} - No stars? I'd think in your new mountain hideaway there'd be nothing but stars, and fireworks, and little children with lollipops.

prerona - Dancing in the moonlight certainly can't be a bad thing.

11:09 PM  
Blogger _Soulless_ said...

The final line, in the form of a question that 'bubbled out of' (ahem, pardon the phrase. *grin, grin*) a pleasantly disoriented mind, suggests that "wonderful" is but an understatement. *chuckles*

Enjoyed the ride. (I felt like a voyeur. Hah!) ^_^ The second stanza, now that's really what keeps me drawn to this piece. And the third, loved the images of seduction it summoned. ^_^

3:21 AM  
Blogger Vagina Dentata said...

Erotica Dulcinea

Your form is silhouetted by the candle as you remove the garments of our repression, revealing-stealing the light as it etiolates my mind and body. The liquid glow of your charms oozes-fuses-muses with the ether to storm the parapets of my restraint. The all encompassing viscous sensuality immobilises-ignobilises my reason and your LSD-trail movements mesmerise-tantalise. I am drunk with desire.

I approach with enfeebled limbs through the shadows of your magnificence to pay homage at the silken altar of Gaia. You lay as the Venus of Urbino defying mere mortals to imbibe. Maenads frolic in the maelstrom of my ardor. We must... With enraptured eyes I drink up the vision of the lush foothills of your primeval nakedness. I slowly scale your Mountain of Venus pausing again and again to explore-implore. Can I, may I, have enough?

With directed yet curiously disembodied hands and tongue, I alight upon the delicious Pearl on the Step, gently cradled within folds of glorious carnality. As soft a caress and effect as the gentle embrace of God-light upon Bernini's St. Theresa. I envelop like a mist your quivering thighs and heaving life, scattering-spattering glistening droplets of passion, beading-kneading amidst the stately sweep of the velvet expanse that is you.

Disparate-desperate limbs touch and entwine, clinging within a merging crescendo of lascivious combustion. We ascend from the depths of banality to derive our mingled quintessence. I melt, we meld, confuse senses; I touch the colour of my sins of your flesh, I hear the taste of your sea-spray glow, I see the aroma of exquisite and pungent lubricity, I smell the texture of your vital vortex which you brandish with Dionysian confidence.

I taste, nay, I devour the sounds of the creation of your most alluring ecstasies. I nourish in a feast of your parted and yielding lips. A Klimt Kiss writhing enchanted between hands. The Kiss it overflows the abyss that is your being and incites-invites an ever bubbling spring of vivacity. Bells sound in your pleasure, not in the orderly peal of a dirge, but in a wonderfully mad Quasimodo frenzy of flailing phallo-clappers within vulvic-domes.

Waves embark on their cleansing journey from oceans deep in your ego, only to meet in a mellowing-bellowing cataclysm betwixt the black beaches of your insatiable libido. Your heavy lidded eyes gaze out with a piercing erotic phlogiston igniting-exciting all whom you survey. I am enslaved by the cadence of your staccato breath, anticipating-extricating the copious libation to come. Cry havoc! Let loose the Syrens of Ulysses, the Harpys of Jason, the Sacred, the Profane.

The ever-racing tidal bore of love's effluvia, geyser-like, bedews the inner firmament of your Elysium meadows. We swoon in a cascade of Icarus feathers, falling, yet warmed, as the body is the mind is the soul is as one, converging nebulous, yet defined. I live, I die, I live yet again confined to virtual Laocoon penile servitude, aching for a multiplicity such as yours. Can it be? Should it be? I am Charon on the Styx; always the ferry never the fare, always Alexander never Bucephalus.

The heavens pale in the radiance of your omnipotence, the Gods weep, Clotho drops a stitch, calm befalls the creation, and mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of my love. In time our apparition slowly disappears with a curious perfume and most melodious twang. O! Aphrodite on Olympus high, grant me my most deserved manumission. Hark! Is that harbinger a Woolf at my door Orlando?

I have wallowed in the bliss of my Dulcinea, I will live but to love her.

5:06 PM  
Blogger bert moth said...

soulless - "Enjoyed the ride." Pun intended?

vagina dentata - Let me tell you off the bat that I'm wildly attracted to your name, so let's skip further introductions.

That was one hell of a something, dear. My Mountain of Venus thanks you.

9:58 PM  
Blogger Vagina Dentata said...

You possess a Mons Veneris?
I was once 'Bilious Pudenda'.
I then became 'Sterculian Rhetoric'.
I am now 'Vagina Dentata'.

10:33 AM  
Blogger GEL said...

I enjoyed this different side of you, yet one you have alluded to in your earlier works.
Glad you joined that group.You're a treasured addition!
(I was asked to a few months ago, but enough time prevents me.)

9:45 PM  
Blogger bismuth said...

so wonderful i forgot where i was. ah. to daydream like this. like fools in the rain.

7:42 AM  
Blogger bert moth said...

vagina dentata - I do. I think.
And whatever works... It seems to be working now.

**silvermOOn** - Thanks a bunch. Time is the enemy. I gave myself a two for one this time.

bismuth - "Fools in the rain." I knew I forgot something. That definitely should have been included, in all its wet splendor. :)

2:20 PM  
Blogger Jon Cox said...


6:58 PM  
Blogger Jon Cox said...

Thank you so much for stopping by! :o) I'm very glad you like the landscapes!

12:30 AM  
Blogger bert moth said...

jon cox - Thank you for your comment, and the landscapes were dynamite, man.

11:51 PM  

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