Is the two new Misty Rampart titles!
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Tongue tickles coccyx, trails up your back. Hands on hips clench, light, relax. You shiver. His tongue higher, he shifts, knees outside yours. His hardness nestled between your cheeks, his tongue between your shoulder blades, Your legs spread, just a touch as his tongue reaches the back of your neck. Another shift and hisContinue reading “Spine [Poem] by Robert Beveridge”
Curves perfect between my fingers, loose silk heat burns memory into my fingerprints. Swift strokes elicit whimpers, your lips against my wife’s. Temptation, long resisted, suspected deliciousness overcomes me, and with a shift of hip my tongue presses against your head, eager lips take you inside. The softness of your most secret skin, salt andContinue reading “Shaft [Poem] by Robert Beveridge”
Columbus would’ve never believed it, but I’d take that Pretty Thing bouncing up and down on me like all Eternity over any actual discovery. It was supposed to be a Brave New World but you can keep it, and conquest of Everywhere There is Still Left To Go, I just want this one sick PonyContinue reading “Nina [Poem] by Francis David”
Taste of sweat on my tongue as my eyes attempt to match the speed of the spin. My shop teacher was convinced that with the proper vision, practice, mastery of technique, one could shape anything given the proper tools. But one must start with the perfect wood. I am unsure what it is yet, whetherContinue reading “Lathe [Poem] by Robert Beveridge”
After a mouth full of fucking I guess I could tell you about the bits of skin I left in Gillettes to which these scars still attest but I’m bored writing poems about them especially since I’ve got new marks from planting trees and making a masterpiece mess in the kitchen. After a mouth fullContinue reading “Bloom (Blowjobs) [Poem] by C E Hoffman”
Oh Angela, you make it harder on the rest of us whose knees also hurt from a sort of vise-like prayer God hates division among us and in general, so do you have to put on such a show? I have so many questions. The beach has no mosquitoes. Elsewhere, though, a man bites every […]Continue reading “The Spiritual Protests by Misty Rampart — Brief Wilderness”