06/04/2019 - Poetry Session #3: Erotic Poetry Night
Him or the Wine | Anna
Minna Von Walden
A bottle of Sauvignon blanc, a glass
and a man…that man.
Her heart races, the heat begins,
is it the wine or is it him.
Another sip, maybe it’s both
but surely it’s just the wine.
With each word he speaks,
she feels the heat rise.
Oh it’s just the wine.
Really, it is.
A touch of his hand
it’s just …
The loss of her control
it’s just the wine
Her brain is foggy,
that has to be the wine.
She can’t seem to remember…
just maybe, maybe it’s him
Does anything else matter
it can’t just be the wine.
His hands on her hips
that’s not the wine.
His skin pressed to her’s
that’s definitely not the wine
Chest to chest, nothing between
where is the wine, this is all him
legs around him, pulling him in
again and again, it’s all him.
Exclusively on Venus
Trace Peterson
Roses are red / violets are transsexual / welcome to womanhood / now get to work honey
Roses are performative / violets are biological / I have very sensitive breasts / and so do your breasts
Roses are biological / you have the nicest skin / I can’t stop kissing you / let’s read more nondualistic
queer theory
Roses are fed up / with our binary fetishes / I tricked my doctors / and stole all the medication to hide it
in a cave and share it with other trans people
Roses have got me / up against the wall / kissing my neck / which is socially constructed to be a super
hot strong feminist neck
Roses are violet / violets are roses / I really like you / I like you tube
Roses are born this way / violets have a lesbian streak / something about your dry sense of humor and
our soft intertwined limbs / feels transcendently female
Roses are blue / violets are violet / roses are nonviolet / blue is bluenormative
Roses are from mars / violets had the whole surgery / setting up camp / exclusively on Venus
Roses have gone too far / not to be what girls are made of / I’m coming out / to my academic
colleagues as a poet and I bet they will run away screaming
Roses are roses / violets are born this way / someone’s got a hoard / of heteronormative
transaffirmation porn you say?
Roses are cheeky / I want you to fuck me / drown violets like an accused witch / in your arms which
feel like mine
Violets got a name change / roses changed a pronoun / we ate at a restaurant / and forgot to put the
leftovers in the fridge
Roses are trochaic / violets have their original plumbing / let’s march in a protest / then go home and
we’ll cook something delicious and eat it with a spork
Violets are permanent / roses are impermanent / thank you for becoming me / offering to embrace your
form your fate
Flowerbeds are umbrellas / umbrellas are rubrics / I support your identification / and your
disidentification
Men are from women / roses are from Jupiter / women are from men / I can’t tell which is softer, your
lips or this pillow or the snow descending gracefully outside
I’m Obsessed With Rediscovering Your Body
Greg McCain
I’m living on the fumes of
the memory of our last fuck
The vulgarity of that word
matches some of what we did
as much as does the tenderness of the term lovemaking
There was the raw pounding
sex that defines fucking
skin punishing skin
death tight grips squeezing and
demanding and unrelenting
but also the tender hands lips
and slow penetration and holding
of my body in yours inspired by
the lasting feelings of love that
we carry with us
The moment between now and
when I last pulled out of you
has been filled with the
longing of reentry
the longing of eyes engaging eyes
limbs engaging limbs
As unrelenting as the pleasure
of fucking you is
holding you in post-coital exuberance and exhaustion has no rival
The first thing I want to do on
our reuniting is hold you in my arms gaze into your eyes and reaffirm that this hold you have on me is
eternal
Minna Von Walden
A bottle of Sauvignon blanc, a glass
and a man…that man.
Her heart races, the heat begins,
is it the wine or is it him.
Another sip, maybe it’s both
but surely it’s just the wine.
With each word he speaks,
she feels the heat rise.
Oh it’s just the wine.
Really, it is.
A touch of his hand
it’s just …
The loss of her control
it’s just the wine
Her brain is foggy,
that has to be the wine.
She can’t seem to remember…
just maybe, maybe it’s him
Does anything else matter
it can’t just be the wine.
His hands on her hips
that’s not the wine.
His skin pressed to her’s
that’s definitely not the wine
Chest to chest, nothing between
where is the wine, this is all him
legs around him, pulling him in
again and again, it’s all him.
Exclusively on Venus
Trace Peterson
Roses are red / violets are transsexual / welcome to womanhood / now get to work honey
Roses are performative / violets are biological / I have very sensitive breasts / and so do your breasts
Roses are biological / you have the nicest skin / I can’t stop kissing you / let’s read more nondualistic
queer theory
Roses are fed up / with our binary fetishes / I tricked my doctors / and stole all the medication to hide it
in a cave and share it with other trans people
Roses have got me / up against the wall / kissing my neck / which is socially constructed to be a super
hot strong feminist neck
Roses are violet / violets are roses / I really like you / I like you tube
Roses are born this way / violets have a lesbian streak / something about your dry sense of humor and
our soft intertwined limbs / feels transcendently female
Roses are blue / violets are violet / roses are nonviolet / blue is bluenormative
Roses are from mars / violets had the whole surgery / setting up camp / exclusively on Venus
Roses have gone too far / not to be what girls are made of / I’m coming out / to my academic
colleagues as a poet and I bet they will run away screaming
Roses are roses / violets are born this way / someone’s got a hoard / of heteronormative
transaffirmation porn you say?
Roses are cheeky / I want you to fuck me / drown violets like an accused witch / in your arms which
feel like mine
Violets got a name change / roses changed a pronoun / we ate at a restaurant / and forgot to put the
leftovers in the fridge
Roses are trochaic / violets have their original plumbing / let’s march in a protest / then go home and
we’ll cook something delicious and eat it with a spork
Violets are permanent / roses are impermanent / thank you for becoming me / offering to embrace your
form your fate
Flowerbeds are umbrellas / umbrellas are rubrics / I support your identification / and your
disidentification
Men are from women / roses are from Jupiter / women are from men / I can’t tell which is softer, your
lips or this pillow or the snow descending gracefully outside
I’m Obsessed With Rediscovering Your Body
Greg McCain
I’m living on the fumes of
the memory of our last fuck
The vulgarity of that word
matches some of what we did
as much as does the tenderness of the term lovemaking
There was the raw pounding
sex that defines fucking
skin punishing skin
death tight grips squeezing and
demanding and unrelenting
but also the tender hands lips
and slow penetration and holding
of my body in yours inspired by
the lasting feelings of love that
we carry with us
The moment between now and
when I last pulled out of you
has been filled with the
longing of reentry
the longing of eyes engaging eyes
limbs engaging limbs
As unrelenting as the pleasure
of fucking you is
holding you in post-coital exuberance and exhaustion has no rival
The first thing I want to do on
our reuniting is hold you in my arms gaze into your eyes and reaffirm that this hold you have on me is
eternal