Tag: Making Love

Multiple Orgasms

  O is for Oxygen The lungs that expand and collapse, O is for Oxymoron, The paradoxes, the rain and the sun, In one weather forecast. O is for the Orange, The marmalade moments, Bittersweet, mushy and, O is for Operation Second Coming,   How Oz, taught you that, Love is like the Melbourne weather,

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Summer Fling

How beautiful is the first month of summer; Bikinis, lazy streaks and a wisp of sunscreen, When halos disappear, as you drive past  Rows of sunflowers, in mid Iowa. You can only feel, the pollen saturated air, A hood less car, the sun filling her up, Knowing a man is just around the corner, Just

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Inferno in New York

How the night has infinite possibilities, In New York City. As a Sri Lankan man In Manhattan, in a new blue checked shirt, On a new street he has never set his eyes on before, A 27 year old virgin, who was brand-spanking new, Just like an un-driven car in a dealership, Searching for a

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Missionaries

I’m no black man I’m no gay man, I’m neither, Only an owl, that asks The perennial question “whom” To which there is an answer. A woman in short shorts, Ivory in complexion, Against whose tapestry of skin, Cradled against me, I become both black and gay, Happy as a child in Disneyland, When I’m

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The Back Seat of a Toyota Corolla

The back seat of a Toyota Corolla Was not the way she hoped to open Her pink corolla, nor was the smokescreen Of love, which through the cataract eye, Looked like prince charming, Who came on a white horse, Who cradled to her body and grew a horn, becoming A unicorn, who let her nestle

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What Lies Beneath The Bark

The unborn emotion, Crosses a little ferrying distance, A synapse and an impulse,  Like a ferry ride over a space, To metamorphose from dopamine To oxytocin, from feeling good, To become the endurance, Of an endearment. A steeplechase, More than a marathon, A tortoise more than a rabbit. The chicken and the egg situation It

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New York Minute

The empty pane That misses humidification On a cold winter day in New York When you need that Starbucks coffee And the burn sensation of curling mustard Over a sausage and a heated bun. Still you’d take that stranger That you met on the corridor That gazed at your eyes imploring A little kindness, and

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Day and Night

#### When I hear the rooster Go cock-a-doodle-do, loud as ever, It convinces me that it is like a trumpet Or a commanding stentorian voice, Leading me to march out of bed. And I do, my eyes looking through The window pane, at the sight Of sun-rays sneaking through Just like themes for a new

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