When they say
Sex is a marathon
not a sprint,
Let me show you
what they mean.
I’ll race
around your curves.
Starting from your
inner thighs
to your hips.
Up to your collar bones,
along your chest,
and neck.
I’ll stop
only to take detours
along your lips
caressing them
with mine.
Then back down
to where your legs meet.
As I’m finishing
you’ll come.
And I’ll start
all over again.
Typewriter Series #117 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Automated Self-Defence Mechanism
Blow a p a r t
the dandelion confines
of my skull
and scale
the ramparts
of confusion
therein.
Dodge the boiling
oil automated
self-defence
mechanism,
it’s been
a while
since
I’ve let anyone
in.
For you I’ll
deactivate the
traps of mistrust,
leave them
to rust
and ruin,
the storms
of brain
left brewing
like
week-old
tea bags.
I want you
to know
all of
me.
Now
I feel
so
e x p o s e d.
lava
my thoughts bend and curve
around her hips
and lips
a few more sips of her
and I’ll be wasted
drunk on the aroma
of what I tasted last night
bent on her scent
still fresh on my hands
like beach-soft sands
I sift her like breezes
through my fingers
the sting of hair pulling lingers
and teases sadistic moans
and groans from her crazed mouth
lips glazed with blazed sensations
Ovations, swelling sighs
quivering thighs rise
like the ocean’s tide
lotion’s glide
hips collide
and we, with eruptions,
subside
i traversed the terrain
searching, exploring,
probing with inquisitive fingers
till every tremble was an answer
every shudder a revelation
and with a final sigh you realized
your lips may lie
but your body can hold no secrets from me
9 A.M.
Already, light is pooling through the curtains
and you are stirring slowly now beneath
and softly is your skin laid upon the bedsheets
glowing with a dew of moon dust
lingering like sweat from the night before
and though my mind is hazy and my limbs
have not truly realized they have woken
I feel a sudden vigor race into my bones
and I trace you down into the covers
before, with a well-placed kiss,
warmly waking you for certain
Don’t stand on the shore
Of good intent
Undress, get more
Than your feet wet…I’ll read between the lines
Of your lips with my tongue
Yes read with my tongue
What eyes it has
What stories it could tellI hear the temperature
Of your words
the ones that issue from
Your hips
Yes words from your hips
For they have lips
What stories they could tellWe’re sharing stories
We’re sharing skin
We’re sharing the taste
Of each others sin
Going Solo
Last night,
you weren’t there
to sate my hunger,
my instinctive,
animalistic pangs
twisting and turning,
transforming me,
changing my vision,
tinting everything red.In my lustful state,
I touched,
pumped,
moaned for you,
giving my fantasies life,
letting the beast inside
have control,
heavy breathing,
quickened heart,
faster, faster,
and one final sigh
escaped my parted lips.My sight returned,
and my thirst was quenched;
now I could sleep easy.
Explorer
I used to guide your hands
to places you couldn’t see;
now you know the way
and can find it in the dark.
You have traveled every inch
of my body time and time again
and sometimes I wonder
if you are wishing there
was more of me to explore.
But since you keep coming
back, I know you mustn’t mind.
And I don’t mind
those well-worn paths
at all.
Unadorned
I’m not an avid fan
of euphemistic fodder or
of metaphoric trickery—
I simply wish for you to see
all the things I see, to feel
the depth of what I feel, to know,
before it’s time for me to go,
this need— my need of you—
this need was real.
