sex – novamartinpoetry.com

Poems

Moon Glowed

The moon with her glow,

I hid from her light

but she called me anyways

from out of my home

and into the night.

Her crushed tinsel dress

shining on high.

My lips found her thighs

and my eyes, bashful

but entranced,

afraid to look up to her

iconic face and powerful grace.

Her crepulescent lips

burning,

waiting, they spoke without words,

as they professed

they wanted, they needed my kiss.

She called me home for our

midnight embrace,

entwined and attune,

two women f@&$ing each other.

Two eons salvaged,

two eras made,

one whole age announced,

only one age now

from hence this time writ.

Poems

I found your strap-on harness.
I’m not sure what to do with it.
For a half second I got horny
looking at it,
thinking about how you looked handy
and manly wearing it across your
womanly curves.
You always wear your carpentry toolbelt
with such pride.
Then quickly I got sad and melancholy,
remembering how the last time
you used it on me
I started crying cuz I didn’t feel you were
f**king me with any interest…
then you started crying cuz you felt
critiqued.
I thought about dropping it off on your
front porch,
but I’m not traveling down your street anymore.
Plus, I concluded it would do neither
one of us any good to drop it off at your place.
I can’t keep it cuz not many women
will want to wear a strap-on
that another woman used on me.
I guess there’s maybe some out there
who would,
but I came to the conclusion to throw it
in the trash.

Poems

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.

Poems

Angel Land Municipal Airport

At Angel Land Municipal Airport
the lovers come and go.
Some die.
Some die in our hearts.
The sexually immature ones
leave
and take the train and
their train wrecks
back to their competitive
partriachal pursuits.
Boring sex continues chasing
its tail through the sky.
Where is your angel again?
No, where has she gone?
Sex is a marketplace of desire.
Got it.

The white women cash in
on their privilege.
Oh mommy and daddy.
Wrong, they never cash in.
They protect their interests.
They struggle with generosity
at these crossroads,
rather runways, of mortality.
They struggle, so they leave
Angel Land
in the middle of the night,
a red eye flight,
before those who know them
and those who see them
can actually see them.
This airport is tricky,
wedged between earth and heaven.

Now, where is your angel again?

Poems

Angel Land to LBD

They call it lesbian bed death,
that is what I’m living,
from the highest highs of Angel Land
to the lows of being left alone and neglected.
I don’t have all those “real” woman parts
so it makes sense that
no “real” woman who’s a lover of “real” women
would want to touch me and my odd parts.

I know there’s one woman out there
who is an authentic sapphic
who wasn’t molested or abused by a man,
or who is not grossed out by the male parts
or who doesn’t only lust singularly for woman parts
… who will love me as a woman,
and adore and cherish me for my femme self,
tend to me like the flowers of Spring.

I know there’s one woman out there

… maybe one.

To get to Angel Land from LBD
you turn left in the shadows of the summer night
and lay waiting in the stillness of darkness,
alone with a partner in bed,
bearing fecund hope in your firm, perky
hormonal breasts,
sometimes with tears pooled softly in your eyes
as your breathe lost into sleep.

Poems

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.

Poems

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.

Poems

Wiring Around My Heart

In the pet store
two hours after we had sex
a wry smile breaks on my face.
I think about savoring and tasting,
taking in your pussy and your soul,
your moans that release
your reflexes of control
for a moment.
It’s a real pleasure to do that to you.
I can still taste you in my mouth,
breathe you in my nose.
Just the thought of it.
eases my blood pressure,
makes me feel like I’m on vacation.
It rivets my soul.
Makes me know that I’m a woman.
To be a woman is soulful.
Now on aisle twelve
I grab the prescription food
for my sixteen year old
gray-blue kitty cat.
I’m a good cat mom.
I love that little fucker so much.
The two of you
have wiring all around my heart.

Poems

Azure Dionysian

It is through buoyant sexual azure
that I’ve changed the world,
known it, navigated it,
been changed by it.

Vibrant berry azure
on the edge of my dark brown eyes,
lustful in all those moments
when someone speaks to me,
them to me,
me to them,
feeling and knowing
this ripe berry energy.

Azure Dionysian,
as your days turn into
something closer to heaven,
lead all those to their sexuality of spirit,
their freedom.

Poems

The River Primavera

Not to masturbate
for lovers long gone
I learned there that night
shooting my semen into the river.
My heart was beating.
The moon was her boobies.
She held my brow.
My semen bubbled, foamed-up,
and drifted away.
I write the Senate Commissioner’s Bill.
My penis hangs low
on the banks of the Potomac.
I’m an inside traitor.
The cattail wavers. I go away
through the darkness
commissioned at the end of
the last century.