writing – novamartinpoetry.com

Poems

Pinball Queener

(for cm)

Exactly how good are you

at pinball?

I really want to know.

Are you good enough to

make me know.

I really want you to

make me know.

Right there on the machine.

You standing watchfully.

Taking some cool breaths.

On the machine.

Pulling the plunger.

Flicking those flippers.

Oh ringing the golden bells.

Just making those lights

bling bling.

I would like to see those lights

bling bling

on the milk white skin of

your thighs

alternating over that contrast of

your black tattoos

and up on your Irish fair eyes.

Also on your black lipstick.

Flash flash.

Bling bling.

Poems

The Bullrider

Lil was a champion rodeo

bullrider.

She was handsome.

Chiseled jaw.

Sharp Nordic features.

Short cropped shining

bright blonde hair.

A weathered, smile with

pronounced lines

that could warm any

room or person.

She smiled, laughed,

and cut up a lot.

I liked that.

I saw her and she saw me,

my dark eyes,

over-mascaraed.

She was gritty and tough

but her heart was light

and loving.

She watched me all night

in my frilly green silky

dress and wanted me.

She knew I was a transwoman

and didn’t care.

In fact, somehow that made me

very lovely to her.

A femme and floppy,

gay as all hell transwoman.

When the dance hall closed

she approached me.

I saw her belt buckle and

her strong legs in cowboy jeans.

She asked me with a nod and

her eyes and so I let her take me

and lead me outside.

We walked 50 paces in the cold

Colorado spring night air,

then we came to her travel trailer.

Her hand had been strong but

gentle on my hips

the whole walk there.

At the door to the trailer,

she said, “Can I babe?”,

then she tilted back my pink hair

and kissed me strong but soft

and sensual.

I lost my breath and wanted more.

I put my hand on her chest

and asked her to take me inside.

In the soft shining warm lamp

light I dropped to my knees,

on old linoleum floor.

My dress split and I kissed her

thighs in jeans, clutching her

bullrider’s ass.

She unbuckled and I saw what

was pristine.

So I made love to her with my

mouth.

Silky, wet, strong.

I made her tumble.

I made her gasp.

She clutched my hair.

She said, “I’ll cum on you

if you cum on me”.

And I replied, “Hell yes”,

all moany.

She buckled over, spasming.

Then one minute later

she threw me on the couch

and humped me til I was a mess

and I was screaming and I

was screaming

with my lovely bullrider a top me.

I forgot my body.

I forgot my mind.

So I leaned in and kissed her

very very deep.

Two women softly humping

at that point.

Moaning and panting.

Yes,

we are proud women.

We are proud women.

Poems

In The Shower With The Future

In the shower in my hotel room

in Bangkok,

I listen to The Flaming Lips

“In The Morning Of The Magicians”.

It’s morning here and I’m getting

prepared to meet the CEO of

my company in an hour.

As the soft, warm water pours

down my silky skin,

and as I feel the song more and

more,

I begin to daydream of a woman

whom I’m falling in love with.

I start imagining how incredible

it would be to wake up with them

on a morning, every morning.

Then I just start crying out of joy

and tenderness.

Deep, soulful crying.

It’s like I can’t believe this

would be possible,

maybe not with the woman I was

daydreaming of.

I still believe morning moments

like that will happen.

I feel the depth, joy, and pain

of the future and of waiting for

the future,

and am thankful for

that spiritual moment in the shower

with that song.

Poems

Peni$-Pu$$y

My peni$ smells like pu$$y.

Good pu$$y.

Sweet pu$$y.

Again,

I’m talking about a peni$

my peni$, smelling like pu$$y.

And no, not because I

fkd a cisgender woman

with good, sweet pu$$y.

My peni$ smells like good

sweet pu$$y

because

I take female hormones

and I’m a woman

with a peni$.

You know,

womanliness wouldn’t fuck up

having a peni$.

Womanliness takes a peni$

and makes it actually ok, tolerable,

a real prized pony.

Poems

Just Fkd

Sometimes I just wanna be fkd.

Just wanna be laid back naked

with my tits bouncing around,

her on top

and her tits hanging out

freely and swinging,

hands clutched together,

knuckles locked to knuckles,

her clxt swollen, hard, and huge,

pounding my perineum

til she cums…

til she cums

and I lose my breath,

lost in my mind,

lost in my soul,

lost in the ocean of the universal soul,

evicerated in desire,

renewed and reborn through

love, lust, and trust.

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

The Cats Who Loved Me

I miss the two cats who

loved me deeply.

I tried my best to do the same

for them and I believe I loved them

deeply as well.

They’re gone now.

They’re both dead.

And I live alone.

I talk to them still from time

to time.

Empty voices in a wooden house.

I feel them here with me.

Or want to feel them here.

Or need to feel them here.

Maybe you’ve had a pet or

a lover or a loved one before

who’s no longer there;

either deceased or moved on?

Maybe you can relate to this

kind of vacant feeling?

And maybe, just as I,

you still hope and believe

in something…

because you have been loved

bigly.

Poems

She Is

I can feel a thousand lifetimes

passing through our fingers.

She is a person who would

let a thousand lifetimes

pass through her fingers;

an epoch of love and lovers,

passed over.

She’s done it before,

many times.

I’ve seen it.

And I watch it now.

That’s why I was here again,

to see if things could go

differently.

But they won’t go differently.

She’ll be in this situation again;

it may not be on Earth,

it may be as a woman or as

a man,

it may be as a mom

or as an animal,

but she’ll do this over and

over.

That’s why I leaned in to

love her.

Poems

All Come Down

When it finally all came down

I was in bed

feeling shitty on a

Saturday morning

after I’d said shitty things to you

the night before

and Fleetwood Mac’s

“As Long As You Follow”

came on the radio.

I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I realized you would not

follow me.

And you were never going to.

I’d spent the relationship trying

to get you to follow me into love

and the many vibrant colors of love

and when you didn’t so regularly

it angered me, it felt unjust.

And so it all hit me that morning;

we are over,

we will never be again,

we were never meant to

really be…

and I broke out bawling,

sobbing, uncontrollably,

the way a child cries,

deeply and forlorn, abandoned,

alone in the empty house,

the empty morning,

with just the sunlight and

the stillness

in the bed we used to make love

to each other, gasp to gasp.

The familiar loneliness of a transwoman

with a cisgender woman.

Except this time,

not only loneliness

but nothingness too.

Poems

In the time
that you loved me
I had done the worst things,
but you continually
asked me,
you called me to love you.
I was a failure many times,
messy, immature,
I wrecked relationships,
broke my heart,
broke many other hearts,
I lied,
mad bad decisions,
treated myself and others poorly.
And yet, over and over,
you crawled on top of me,
butted your furry little head
on my chin
and said,
“I am here, right here,
I am here to love you”.