Just before the 2011 Festival, writers from the Literary Art Exhibition previewed the visual art in the show and were inspired to compose poetry about the pieces that most resonated for them.

On May 20-22, 2011, these poems were read aloud to audiences by the poets while standing in front of the piece in the exhibition.

By popular request, we are posting those poems for all to enjoy.

"Voyeur" by Greg Lindeblom

The Voyeur by David Jones
I’ve done this more times than I can count
Peeped through the window
At someone I wanted to mount
Standing there naked
With my cock all hard
Staring at someone unknown
Half naked in their yard
They say that the want
Is often better than the have
But cocks they get hard
And hands they do grab
Many a time I’ve cracked the shades
With my dick all hard
Ready to get laid

Now here’s the question

Who does the watching?
And who’s the watched?
Is the peeping tom wrong?
For holding his cock
And who’s taking the photo?
Perhaps a lover
We may never know

Truth is

Someone needs
And someone satisfies
We are all excited
By what we see with our eyes
Everyone sees what they want to
You see them
While we see you
And we really want you to know
You look as good to us
As what you see
Peeping through the window

"The Moment of Truth" by Tyce Allen

Moment of Truth by David Jones
This is who I am
As you made me
A perfect
Part of creation
Not separate
Not a perpetrator
Not the originator
Of original sin
I have always loved you
You are manifest in me
So I have to ask you

God?

Why must I lie
Under Adam
Am I not his equal?

God?

Who is Lilith?
And what happened to her?

God?

Why did you put me
In this paradise
If you knew
You were going
To set me up?

God

Please answer me
Before I walk the dark road
Out of Eden.

"Polly Wood in the Tub" by Matt the Photographer

Polly Wood in the Tub by David Jones
Yes!!
That is all I can say
Your eyes invite me
You lips hint at
The unspeakable pleasures
Known and practiced only by
French maids

Yes!!
You make me want
To be dirty
Want to be a workman
Rife with the stench of his labor
Though rich, I envy
The commoner’s joys

Yes!!
I will succumb to your temptations
In this modest bathroom
You will leave a ring
Of memories upon me
More indelible
Than any bathroom stain

Yes!!
I have wished that look
From my wife
Since we were betrothed
And you, tousled haired siren
Give me more joy with a smile
Than all the nights in her bed

Yes!!
I will give you all that I have
My lands, my fortune, jewels
Even my good name
If you will but look upon me
Grace me with your presence
And run me a bath

"Before the" by Dave Winsor Photography

Before the… by Etalia Slominski
Kevin, he let go
it was an overdose they said
Deborah, she let go
she did it with a gun

their smiles haunt me

all three of us, together
at the edge of the abyss
all three of us fell
only one left standing, breathing

Kevin was 20 when i met him
and 21 when i sat at his service
as i sat there
i wondered if it was wrong
to find a service so fucking beautiful

Deborah was in her 60s
when she put a gun to her head
her son’s eulogy nearly broke me
he had to lovingly pick up pieces of her
as he cleaned up her bed

all of us are falling, always alone

some fall fearlessly and land on ragged edges
others dive because it is their last choice
[if you aim for water, you'll float]
either way, surrender is beautiful
beautiful not because it is neat and pretty
but because freedom followed such pain

and we’re all just searching for some beautiful
my friend Cody
that’s how he puts it
in the rap world
he goes by Sadistik
go figure

I used to fantasize
about standing in the middle of the street
arms out, head back
screaming, “Somebody save me!”
i used to write “poetry” when i was drunk
words illegible, pain clear as night

feet on the edge of cold and hard
i let myself fall
i surrendered
but to life
and it saved me

"Hijab Girl Not So Modest" by Deviantnorm

Hijab Girl: Not So Modest by Evan J. Peterson
Pearled like a swine in cream and black
it’s caught on your lashes, not thighs.
The running mascara turns grey
and slips. All you have are your eyes:

the bridge of your nose, gash-plucked brows,
the lashes like porcupine quills.
Trickle by trap, are you his sow
with your gag-hidden mouth that chills?

Your hair is wrapped in quiet pride.
His hot little splash soaks, a tag.
You’re stone and appear unsurprised
your niqaab has become his rag.

Each milky filament pulls you
down. Blink, drink, or just let it dry.
Dribble by drop, but you refuse
to drown. All you have are your eyes.

"Showgirl" by Judy Polstra

Showgirl by Kerry Cox
With your dandelion stallions
Pounding through these valleys
In a mixed-up maze of mirrors
Each glitter hit the same
From a shot glass
To the throat
To the love letters you wrote
Along the highways
Of each never-ending vein
In a fantasy of furnishing
A shape studded with sins
Pearlescent patchwork
Sewn tight with silver grins
So movie star, so shimmy shook
So preciously portrayed
Eloquently silhouetted
Dreamed up and displayed
Let me cup your cancan curving candy
And caress your cunning clocks
Massage your midnight money
Stick keys in all your locks
With your rose-red light up lips
Sinking more than ships
You drown me with the symphony
Of your blue-blooded butterfly hips
Making déjà vu decisions
In a mardi gras mirage
Your ribs are spreading rumors
Of your pretty pink corsage
Let me learn each story
Of your luminescent glory
Dancing like a dervish
Down your spine
I’ll lap up all the lushness
Crush it into plushness
And sculpt it into something
To make my own skin shine…

"Measuring Up" by Monsieur Amant de Sexe

Measuring Up by Kerry Cox
Let’s call it what it is
Let’s call the butcher down
Let’s call for more injections, more retractions, more enhancements
Let’s call it what it is
Let’s measure, pluck and package it
Let’s exercise our right to exercise our rights
And Let’s call it what it is
Manicured and masked
Let’s learn to let each other
Be each other
Not ourselves
And Let’s call it what it is
Assisted sucide, let’s chop and dice and
Pat some powder on
Some fancy shoes might help, some
Glued on hair extensions
Some pectoral implants
And a pump to measure up
Let’s all get out our rulers
See where we need to trim
Where we need some extra
And Let’s call it what it is
another product on a shelf
Factory produced with
A warning label listing
Exactly what it is
In ounces, and in inches
How it was tested
And exactly how the whole thing was made
Let’s call it what it is
The unkind knife of conformity
Slicing out the pieces
That just don’t seem to fit
And let’s call it what it is
A cure for every deformity
Anomaly, disorderly
Body
And let’s call it what it is
A list of all your flaws
An industry of “beauty”
That leaves us all a little ugly
And disgusted with ourselves…

"The Bee Keeper" by Mark Daughetee

SASSAFRAS HONEY by Lydia Swartz
Back in the day she wore patchouli. Those were dark, dark days.
She covered her milky sweetness with smoke. She thought it kept her safe.
Nothing passed her sweaty teeth. She wanted to seem addicted.
She would not taste. She would not touch. She hated the smelly world.

Violent passion annoyed her. Drama failed to sweeten her lips.
Pursued by skeezixes sniffing for sugar, she planned escape by drowning.
Nightly, she practiced with ashy veils. She sank in ebony satin.
She turned her head away when they called, the sooner to let them miss her.

But flesh betrayed her back to life. Spring beguiled her barefoot.
Hunger subpoenaed her breasts, her knees. Lust sang of sweet surrender.
Medium rare, with peach juice running her chin, she staggered wild
from fertile cherry to climbing rose to invincible hyacinth.

Which is how she was found, drunk, flightless, far from the hive, smiling
a sated smile. Irredeemable. Lost. Not even sorry.
Such abandon must be confined to be enjoyed, with proper equipment.
Exalted, mundane. Unremitting. Stained by eternity.

Buzz all you like in your cage. Ogle the unswallowed pollen borne
by your innocent, heartless savior. Extend your yearning proboscis. Urgently
reach for one last taste—make it last forever—of sassafras honey.

"The Whip" by Travis Williams

The Whip by Noël Parkinson
“Who likes rope burn?”
When this question was asked, I was the only one who raised my hand.
Tentatively.
But for all my shyness, I will confide in you.
Listen.
Rope burn struts but as a common whore in the shadow of the pain of leather’s mistress.

Step into the rack and wait.
The canvas is long
The brush is exacting
and the mind?
The mind is infinite in its escalation of fear.

But desire, excitement
Wood crushed in anticipation
thunder, charged silence
Calligraphy on skin
Painting red a white shivering canvas ready to explode with tears drawn up by
four supple feet of discipline
and a calming hand

Southern white men fond of espousing their philosophies would rail
Scorching scriptures of judgment on the heads of us players
But for all my brazen love of pained connection, I will confide in you.
Listen.
We agree on one thing, those skeletons and I,
Train them up in the way they should go and they will never stray from the path of submission

"Ice in Her Veins" by Eric Charles

Ice in Her Veins by Terry Johnson
the cold winters moon
rises above the fog shrouded river
the fog moves like breath
from a hot lover’s mouth

through the fog your lover appears
dressed in frosted white lace
hair a pale platinum hair down her back
face made paler by the bright red lips

the eyes a piece of coal
set in sea of porcelain white
skeleton fingers beckon
an unseen force draws you closer

as she speaks every word brings pain
her movements hypnotize
your sanity is disrupted
suffering for your undisclosed sins

her breasts show a map of icy veins
following the map with your hand
your soul is slowly sucked out
through your frozen blue fingers

drawing you closer, whispering your name
frozen fingers feel your beating heart
the cold sharp edge of a knife slides across your throat
letting the red hot steamy blood flow over her hand

"Toy Box" by ABDEL

Toy Box by Terry Johnson
he stands there with a grin
I saunter in dressed like a librarian
heading to the old antique trunk
only we knows the secrets it holds

sitting demurely on top of the trunk
crossing my black silk clad legs
red stiletto shoe dangling
from red pedicure toes

remove my glasses
chewing on their stems
I slyly look him in the eye
saying “I’ve been a very bad girl today”

walking to him hips swaying
I sit and wiggle on his lap
running manicured nails
down his cheek

leaning in I whisper in his ear
“please punish me”
and nipped at his ear
earning a firm smacked on my ass

“you are being bad” he says
pulling me back by the hair
he kissed me hard on lips
biting his lower lip, I said “really bad”

standing he dumps me to the floor
“get up!” he commands
I stand asking “am I being bad?”
he utters one word “undress”

I start to teasingly unbutton by blouse
“to slow he barks” ripping it down the front
white pearl buttons flying everywhere
hurrying I remove the button less blouse

quickly the skirt slides down my pulsating hips
reaching to unhook my lacy black bra
“to slow” he laughs, flipping open his knife
he slides it between my breasts

a flick of the wrist sends it to the floor
grabbing my matching black panties
the point of the knife move downward
into the panties, cold steel slicing them too

he now standing naked in hose and heels
excitement flows to my core
licking my fingers
I slide them toward my wet pussy

“stop” he orders “no pleasure for you”
“you are my toy, only I can play with you”
he opens the trunk, reaching in
he turns holding the clamps

he clamps each nipple tight
I start to moan, he smacks my ass
“not a sound” he whispers in my ear
adding an extra turn

again he reaches into the trunk
“bend over the horse” his hisses
he shackles my hands
a spreader bar between my feet

suddenly the sting of a crop
then another, my ass is on fire
next a whip works up legs
then down the inside

“meet Mr. Big” he says
filling me with a huge rubber dick
my moans earn me another smack
I try to stifle my noise

he walk in front of me
fingering the beads like a rosary
in the backdoor they go
slowly one by one

over and over
one toy at a time
the pain, the pleasure
I am losing my mind
finally grabbing my hair
pulling my head back
he slams in to me
fucking me like never before

I feel him erupt like a volcano
I can take no more
screaming, my orgasm over takes me
then blackness

I wake in his arms
his gently caresses soothing my body, my soul
gently smacking my ass he says
“pick the toys and put them in the truck ‘til next time”

"Red Hot" by RT Photography

Red Hot by Terry Johnson
red candle wax drips
upon your breast
as the melting sun dips
into the moons shadow

a whispered yes is heard
dancing fairies are seen
the flickering flame cast shadows
flesh touches flesh

lovers melt together
igniting rising vapors
dissolving inhibitions, barriers
raising the heat of forbidden lust

intrigued by this sensual feeling
exploring this new adventure
fascinated by the pool of wax
falling at your rose tipped toes

the wax coats your supple breasts
slowly rolling off an erect nipple
hanging in air like a hawk,
before swooping down on its prey

a cool night wind blows
through the open window
snuffing out the flame
sculpting the hardening wax

a kiss to ruby red lips
awakens the burning passions
fueling the fire once again
the sculpture begins to melt

grabbing the wax before it melts
he rips it off your breast
eyes lock, lips form a smile
love is seen and heard

"The Blessing" by David Varnau

The Blessing by David Jones
I am freed from the chains
Of societal
Preconceived notions
I am not bound to the rules
Made by authority figures
To constrict
The expression
Of my desires

I am released
To be fully
Who I choose to be
Regardless
Of others expectations
Free from the pressure
Exerted by opinions
Of those still bound

These chains
Which prohibited
My perfection
Have been broken
By a Creator
Who recognizes
That He and I
Are one

These bonds
Now asunder
I cast aside
Relics of a time
Of darkness
Guilt
Oppression
And separation from my true self

I now stand free
Raise my head in thanks
Take the first steps
Into a destiny
Of my own choosing
A fate of my own making
And a life
Truly mine.

"Namaste" by Charlie Noble

Namaste by Dobbie Reese Norris
I bow to you in peace.
“I honor that place
In where the spirit lives.
I honor the place in you
Which is the love
Of truth, of light, of peace;
When you are in that place
That place in me,
Then we are truly one”

Why with this
Split in the sky
I give the Y
Of me myself and I

I offer the peace
With this tiny piece of me
This place near the sea
This site where
My arms’ radius
Meets your circumference
And there is no longer
A difference.

"Cock n Shoe" by Dewee Arsee

Shoe and Sock by Dobbie Reese Norris
Other garments are
Surrendered before
The footgear
Without fear
Or trepidation

The valley goes
Before the Heals
Without booze
Fit into the shoes
As a ballerina
Pirouetting on point
A plate on a lazy Susan
Be a sock cock

Roll the dice
Think nice
Grab them while they’re hot
Be Johnny on the spot
The more you purchase
You’ll find it’s worth it
Choose, your desired product
Add ‘em to your shopping cart

It’s uninhibited love
Dancing on point
A plate on a lazy Susan

Wise
Pimping a woman’s ride
Xzibit provides
Shoe racks for the trunk
So you’ll check out the junk
Jocks have learned
To be shoe hocks
Wearing  footies
Before thinkin’ booties

High heeled sandals
Laced espadrilles
The thrills are
Still shoe horning
Without fear
Remembering,
Other gear
Is surrendered
Before shoe wear

"If You Listen Carefully" by Midori

Listen by Dobbie Reese Norris
If you miss the point
The key is tuning
In the other organ

Hear the sea
Bringer of life
Hallow
A swallow from “the knowing”
Showing you the way
To the bottom
To the fabled shell
Trumpet of the Tritons.
Exhaling sounds of sirens’
Coaxing conch calls
Delusional
Biotins leaking ocean foam
Yeasty
Promising paradise
A pirates treasure
Delivering a booty call.

If you miss the point
The key is tuning
In the other organ

See the opera house
Down under
The coral reef
With music and motion
Lapping the lotion of the soul
A fingering bowl
A lube for
Shooting the curl
Deep in the tube
Emerging at last
Leaving only Jazz.

"Defiant" by Wavepainters

Summertime Apocryphal by Ian Sanquist
There won’t be any campfires where she’s taking you.
There won’t be any fistfights before embraces. In the time it takes
to tie a knot, you could find yourself flexing like a magician, or folding
twenty dollar bills. You could die young in an empty room,
or fall in love with a neon sign. It doesn’t take long to remember
the way that neon burns your skin. It doesn’t take her long
to tell you that neon doesn’t hurt her eyes, so you put her in
dark glasses and slip a dime in her drink, and slip a diamond
in her drink, and ask her for a ride. It’s not even laughter you’re looking for.
It’s not about who sold out to the blues, or what the weather’s doing,
or whether she’s trying to catch your eye. Sometime after
the grass is clipped, and the money’s been burnt, and the
laundry’s done, you start to think, as the plot wears thin,
that every mirror ought to be broken. So you put yourself in
dark glasses and remember poetry on the walls of empty rooms.
You remember the ones who left you solemn and bored, and
the ones who showed you their teeth, and the ones who changed
their names. There won’t be a sigh that’s long enough to capture
all the details. There won’t be a smile that’s crooked enough to
follow you from the supermarket to the sidewalk, wearing dark glasses
and carrying a clock on a chain. When the storm arrives you won’t
feel let down. Why would you mind if someone was looking in?

"After" by Gary Mitchell

Another apocryphal crime story, part two by Ian Sanquist
“Yes, it was like a gangster film, only less glamorous. Mostly we slept in our car, parked in suburban neighborhoods close to the freeway. We were always hungry. Our faces were all over TV; you really think we could just walk into a restaurant? Whenever we stopped for gas, we also bought snacks from the foodmart, just chips and donuts, bottled water. When we needed to stay awake, we’d crush these speed pills he had left over from a party and we’d snort them, usually just off the dashboard. They were pretty weak, but they worked ok. Obviously, crack would have been better, but we were staying out of the cities. When we’d been driving a long time, he’d sometimes ask me to suck his dick. He’d take my head in his hands and push it down to his lap. I didn’t like the smell of his genitals, neither of us had showered in days. When we got to Miami, we bought wigs, changed into shorts and aloha shirts. We found our friends and stayed with them a few weeks, until he got into a fight with Christian. Then we lived on benches until Christmas Eve. We were spending that night on the beach. We’d been in an argument and he said he was going swimming, but he was stone drunk. He didn’t come back from the ocean. I pretty quickly found out it was a lot easier without him. Rudy and Christian took me back in. I found a day job, and I’m not taking drugs anymore. I saw us on TV the other week, a show about unsolved crimes, or, unadministered justice. They showed a digitally aged photograph of what we were supposed to look like now. I looked in the mirror later. They mostly got it wrong.”

"Self-Accusation" by Dale Saviers

Thoughts on Sluts by Elly Hansen
I like the word
Whispered in my ear.
The feeling of being dirty
Clutches my clit.
In the mirror I see a beautiful
Sexy, secret sultry star.
That word…that word isn’t negative…
Not to me.
I see myself transparent,
I embrace my slut.
I see people…talking behind my back.
Slut.
Why is it wrong to be a slut?
When did it earn its crown of negativity?
What if slut were a term of endearment?
“Hi so and so!”
“You look so sluty today!”
“Thank you, I was afraid I looked too plain.”
Who draws the slut line?
Am I a slut because I like to fuck?
Because I like women and men?
Or because I’ve had sex with more than one person?
Perhaps because I had a threesome?
Or maybe because my number is in the double digits?
Triple digits?
WHO is to say?
WHERE is this line?
Once I cross it, I’m a slut forever?
Not being a slut makes me plain and ordinary.
Hell, I wear it proudly with an “S” on my chest!
Where is my Superman, no where is my SuperSlut?
Call me your slut.
Slap my ass and pull my hair!
JUST GET IT RIGHT!
Sluts make our world happy.
Men are sluts.
Women too.
Everyone in between:
Little sluts,
Big sluts,
Young sluts,
Old sluts,
Closet sluts
Sluts only on weekends sluts,
Sluts only when they are drunk sluts,
Sluts only on lunch break sluts,
Sluts that fantasize about being sluts.
Yeah they’re sluts too.
Slut. (Emphasis word slowly)
Hmmmm…..
Animals are sluts then.
I’m an animal in bed,
I’m a slut in bed. (pause)
I ask you…why is slut negative?
A slut can make you happy.
A slut can be your waitress,
your neighbor,
your mother,
your friend,
your therapist.
I wonder if they’ve fucked a slut on their office desk?
Well I see a slut as a free spirit.
So the next time someone uses the world slut
Make sure to correct them.
Sluts are happy; they get laid often and…
Cumming is their specialty.
So get it right!
Spank my ass
Pull my hair
call me a slut
Right in my ear!

"Awaiting Atonement" by Chi Lum

No Ordinary Love by Elly Hansen
Still as a statue you place me on this chair.
I bow to you.
Head cocked back waiting for my punishment.
The release of the gag forcing loads you love to shoot deep in my throat.
Love me perfectly.
Bound by a non-forgiving tie of wire,
you purposely leave the ends jagged to pierce,
just like your love.
You deny me just what it is I desire…
Your cock.
Your cock anywhere!
I just need to feel it.
You wired me physically but damn it how the fuck did you bind the physically untouchable?
I only desire you.
Your amazing thick super cock slapped across my face.
My throat bruised by your passion.
You say you own my pussy.
Then own up to owning me.
Own all of me.
Don’t let go.
If it means I’m powerless with you
I give you me.
Just own up to owning me!
Please!
This is no ordinary love.
You set me free by binding me.
I give you all of me.
Can’t you see to have you I give you all of me.
What more can you take but my organic phenomenon.
I would sacrifice it to you.
Just to prove.
Own up to owning me.
You see this is No Ordinary Love.

"Neo Darwinism" by Jim Duvall

Easy by Ben Sodenkamp
Take Easy,
Now I’m no evolutionary scholar
And I never met this girl at school
No, it was at the
Booze soaked, pot smoked
Den of dirty bachelors
Where I used to stay.
She strolled right through the door one day
And said:
“I have a problem as you can see
It’s plainly tattooed here on me
And I have heard around the way
That the cleverest lads of the day
Here dwell
And as sure as my lips are scarlet red
I’d be most grateful to the head
Of the man who can help me in my distress.
I’d even let him lift my dress…
To see the puzzle better of course!
Don’t dare you think me such a whore
As you can see I’m quite selective
And of the pickiest perspective”
She said this as she sauntered in
And plopped herself upon the bed
Where she spread her legs,
And cocked her head.
Now at the time I was quite young.
I lived in filth but went to school
And for my part I could see
Ms easy’s puzzle to be quite simple
Her arrival had distracted me
I was doing school work dillegently
And ignoring already with no small effort
The porn playing on the television
My housemates, though were quite aroused
Their curiosity was quite peaked
They put their heads together
And solved the puzzle as a team
A more grateful girl you have never seen
And she thanked them kindly one and all
Together, and then one by one.
And though they surely had their fun
I found miss easy quite a bore
My math homework entertained me more.

"Neo Darwinism" by Jim Duvall

Medium by Ben Sodenkamp
Now Medium
Have you ever seen
A pretty girl at a café
One to whom you’d love to talk,
But cannot find the words to say?
I saw this lovely thing just sitting there
Sipping her latte and reading a book
I was speechless, tongue tied and enraptured
But I noticed when I chanced another look
The queerest symbols on her skin
Then said to myself
“this is where I must begin”
“Pardon me miss” I ventured
“I could not help but notice
The quandary in which you appear
That is a most interesting and
Intriguing puzzle you have,
Tattooed right here.”
She favored me with a skeptical eye
Passing a moment to take me in
“What of it?” she primly replied
With eyebrows raised and lips pressed thin?
“Well I don’t mean to brag” I said
“bat as it happens I’m quit good
At solving puzzles such as this,
Why in the circles where I’m known
The ladies call me Ben
The cryptanalyst”
I could see I had her then
A smile had crept across her lips
She said “I see
Well you’re welcome to TRY
If you really are as good as you say,
I shouldn’t have to wait all day”
So I scooted in for a closer look
And I admit it was quite a trial
But I never confidence lack
And after a while,
I just about had the puzzle cracked
I looked t her with a sly grin:
“well my dear I’m glad to say
It seems I have this on the run
But this place is a little loud don’t you think?
So while I have you on the brink
Lets go some place a bit more quiet
And when at my place we arrived
She blushed an adorable shade of pink
As we did just what you people might think
We poured some tea, and had a drink.

"Neo Darwinism" by Jim Duvall

Hard by Ben Sodenkamp
Once when I was in Vegas
I stayed at a hotel
But little did I know
This beautiful vixen
Was stay there as well
I’d been out gambling
And made a pretty winning
I used my expert knowledge
Of probability from the beginning
Relaxing at the bar
I noticed her walk in
She was shapely in her slinky dress
Moved seductively as sin
And had a certain grace
An elegance of poise
And as she made her entrance
A hush fell over the noisy bar
She took a stool a few seats down,
Not to near and not too far
She turned to me as bold as day
And said
“Hey, How has your luck been
Holding tonight?
Theres A spring in your step
And your eyes seem bright.”
Well I was proud to tell
Her of my winnings
And soon we were happily
Chatting away, and
I had bought her a drink
Of expensive Champaign
When I had tired of my bragging
She said that she was very impressed
And suggested that I try my hand
At her very own personal litmus test
A puzzle to challenge the very best
Well I’m never one to shrink from a dare
And the bet she proposed did quite fare
I was welcome to try as long as she tarried
But I’d by the drinks and should I loose
I’d be given the job of shining her shoes
I tried and I tried, and she drank and she drank
Expensive Champaign and to be quite frank
It was more than my poor head could take
At a quarter to two a man walked in,
He said “there you are darling”
With a grin, “Do introduce me to the gentleman?”
And for moment my heart raced with fear
He said
“Now darling you know that it’s unkind
To drain this man’s wallet and bend is mind,
I’ll bet he was even to shine her shoes
He turned to me,
“Well, I’m glad to give you the news
That I’m here to rescue you from my wife.”
She said “don’t feel bad, you almost had it,”
And winked as she bid me adieu

"Keeping Warm" by Stasia Burrington

Keeping Warm by Priya Keefe
The ground was soft as a worn book.
They pitched a tent,
nurtured fire,
pushed food between lips with warm fingers.
Shared the stories they’d been hoarding.
They kept warm
on the dew damp earth,
robes parted, legs parted.  They grew larger, smaller.
Moon watching from behind a mountain.  Stars
were mouthless.  Hungry night.
They watched themselves fuck,
children of human parents,
belonging to no one.
Between wood and air,
in the mapless territory we all share.

"Pray for Me" by Andrew Adam Caldwell

Pray For Me by Solo Gyrl
Damn!
I started with your eyes & found myself absorbed in you,
every tattoo , every mark…
your ripped chest…your chocolate bar.
do you have a license to carry this Weapon of Mass Destruction?!?
You make me wanna love a man.
your nipple rings, my teeth
So curious to see your masculine back & ass.
Damn!
Pray For ME!
Even when I step back, you follow.
…spank me with your naked eye
hang, to the tip of my lips and the hair on your face I will lick
allow me to blow your horn.
I want to speak with you,
but the only place I can find you is in this picture!

"Dirty Harry" by Aaron Hoerber

Glock by Solo Gyrl
I got a Glock
custom made
fits beautifully in the palm of my hand
black
Fully Cocked
forcing the explosive to suddenly and passionately eject
will fire repeatedly
introducing a new cartridge spontaneously
serious reputation for never jamming
Glock
S&M style
very impressive
don’t bet your life on anything else.