erotic poetry – novamartinpoetry.com

The Other Side Of The World

I flew to the complete other side

of the world.

After two days there, I was able

to find something I’d been looking for

for 5 months in my home town.

That’s love and attention from

another woman.

To be touched. To touch.

To be savored. To savor.

To push gently. To be pushed upon gently.

To trust and give into. To surrender.

To take and do. To lesbian top…

in a tender, passionate, servant way.

A 23 year old Japanese university student,

based here in Bangkok,

with a sweet American girl name,

a self avowed domme (and a damn good one)

… this is who took my breath away

and made me cum my brains out from

sucking my tits and spanking my ass.

The journey and the waiting were worth it.

What is it that comes to those who wait?

Sapphic Love

Sapphic love heals us.
Us women.
Cisgender and transgender
women.
It heals us from the
trauma of patriarchy.
The marginalizing.
The containment.
The — you should be like this
kind of stuff.
We’ll be however we want to be
together, woman to woman,
in this space.
It it is sweet and kind.
Non-judgmental.
It’s a safe space,
a tender space,
my ladies.
God, my fellow ladies.
This chest to chest stuff.
This lips to lips stuff.
This hard stuff.
This soft stuff.
This trustful stuff.

It heals.
God, it heals.

The Smell Of Pleasure

Because of the female
hormones
I take
my male-born genitalia
smell like
female genitalia.
Now I’m talking about
that pure kind of smell,
that carnal,
appetizing and enticing
kind of smell,
that woman flower,
the kind that makes you
want to lick, eat, savor,
breathlessly lost in the joy
of producing
soul-electrifying pleasure
for your girlfriend
on a morning when you
both have off work or
maybe on a morning
when you’re waiting
to go on vacation
without the kids
and you find yourselves
devouring the womanly
landscapes of each other.
That smell.
That earthen cream smell.

Just in case you were wondering.
Just in case you get any ideas.
Just in case you think
for a moment I might actually
be a woman.
Just in case you’re suddenly
turned on
and want to give me pleasure.
Just in case you’ve ever
desired women before.

I am here.

Ice Cream In Angel Land

In Angel Land,
sometimes we eat
ice cream in the morning.
And sometimes that is
after we’ve had
blissful, woman to woman
morning sex,
with soft skin and gaspy moans
melted into each other.
And sometimes
we eat ice cream
when we haven’t had
that blissful morning sex
but we wanted it,
so we take a deep, still moment
to savor the rich and sweet
cream instead.
Either way,
the ice cream in Angel Land,
on a sunny, rainy, or cloudy morning
is always
quite a delightful experience.

Watching The Port In Angel Land

I’ve seen the young girls
these days.
She will go far and wide,
as the old saying goes.
She has lovely hips.
I wish I had them,
but oh well,
shit is what it is.
We all go on our sailings.
Some stay in port.
I still really love her,
watching her sip her
Mexican soda with a straw
through her lipgloss lips.
I wonder about her journeys
ahead.

I Believe In Angels

Years ago
when traveling back home
in the middle of the night
in the car with my father’s 2nd wife
after we had visited him
in a treatment facility for his
crack cocaine addiction,
his wife shared with me
that she believed in angels.
She spoke of them in the Christian sense;
having wings, being dressed in white,
but being invisible
and flying around to help people in need.
I sat there in the sad darkness of
the moving car
and thought the stuff coming out of
her mouth
was absolute bullshit.
Now, after having transitioned to female
and had soulful lesbian sex with a woman
… now yes, yes I do believe in angels
and I know they’re living, breathing,
here on earth.

Five Hundred & Forty-Five Mornings

One of these days you’ll
not wake up
and all the people you will
have ever loved
will be dead.

Tell me that is not the way towards love.
Rather,
show me that won’t come true
for you.
Show me.

Show me little things matter.
That they’re here.
That you’re here, alive.
Not just waiting for moments
of love to pass,
to pass on,
to be something without you
or to be something with
only you and you alone.

Come touch my sensual body and
my passionate soul
here in the morning,
the 6,540th morning you have left
on this earth.
For if you touch it
once every 12 days
that means you have
545 mornings left to touch me.

If you touch it,
death holds off on its road to the stars
for one less moment.

Make me some kind of sentient lover.
Am I a seraphim again?
Let me be made as a woman.
Find me a woman.
Bring her tongue to my nipples.

Femme Me Over

Femme me over.
Breath me take.
Women made of waves together.
Breasts been found.
Nipples feather
all those million neurons
down the spine.

Breathe and hold,
hold on to heaven.
Knock on its gilded door.
Two seraphim come and
forge into light.

Turn god old.
Turn into gold.
Live as angels, baby.

Better Than I Do

I thought it was really cute
watching you crush on King Princess
at the concert the other night.

And even though
we’re happily monogamous
from my side of things
you have a free pass
should the two of you
ever have the chance to
sleep with each other.
If that ends up happening,
I’m curious if they’ll end up
eating your pu$$y better than I do.
I mean, if they like eating pu$$y
as much as they sing about,
they’ll be in heaven with yours;
it is that much of a god damn godsend
delicious, delightful, and so
wonderfully textural,
pristine, blissful,
fresh, spring morning pu$$y.
It tastes as beautiful as you look,
with your smooth, velvety eyelids,
crystalline blue eyes,
presentful gaze,
impeccable skin and succulent lips.
Anyhow,
if they do end up eating your pu$$y
better than I do,
then I look forward to knowing
you felt incredible
and also listening and learning
what I might be able to modify
in order to make our experience
generally blissful.

Pussy On Hand

The scent of
your pussy on my fingers
makes the drive out to the country
even purer
in the morning
with the mid-morning sun
still working its way up into the sky
burning off the last of the dew
on the green and yellow
wavering tallgrass

The coiled fibers of tallgrass
remind me
of the small curly blonde hairs
bunched around the sides of
your forehead,
weedling undergrowth
aside your larger strands of
golden brown hair

The tallgrass speaks to me to be
sentient and live

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