Anthony Beal
is a member of the Horror
Writer's Association and The
Erotica Readers & Writers Association. He is the creator and editor
of Scared
Naked Magazine, a horror-erotica literary zine. His work has been published
in hard copy and Web publications, as well as anthologies.
Email
Anthony Beal. Visit
Anthony Beal online.
Engorge
Every
relished ridge
And
mutinous vein
Of
riotous violet
Taken
in.
Claimed
in strident streaks
Of
driven fuck.
Owned
by light reflected
In
the swelling pool of need
Sweetening
the ground
Between
these knees.
To
my pagan god,
This
gift of sliding rose and
Lyric
groans composed
Of
whiplash jabs and cherry smoke.
Copyright ©
2003 Anthony Beal. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy or post.
Temple
Thief By Night
At
rest on her stomach,
She
licked his sleeping smile.
Her
ass, his pillow,
His
security crevice,
Gleamed
frosted and moist
As
a confection
For
which he always starved.
Caressed
by a balmy night
With
breezes like fingers,
His
altar's pearlized mounds reposed,
A
sculpture flawless,
Fashioned
from the imaginings of the immortal.
Filling
her magic carpet miniskirt,
Buoyantly
bobbing astride his frenzied rise and fall,
Her
curvaceous church pirated the souls of men.
Beckoning
many, selecting him,
Her
swiveling convexity
Perplexed,
inflamed, groped the mind,
Molested
the senses with the promise
Of
sliding affection
That
spasms and comes with gnashing teeth,
With
sweaty oaths.
Roused
by skinned knees, shuddering eruptions,
Echoes
of moist bodies mashing like lips,
She
kissed him awake, hungering once more for
Her
beloved disciple's devotion to
Pouring
his faith and prayers inside her.
Copyright ©
2003 Anthony Beal. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy or post.
Belladonna
Tentatively,
He
neared the bonfire,
Seeking
heat and solace
The
way one starves for knowledge of God.
Its
sinuous dance
Of
countless curls and shifts
Seized
him low and to the bone.
A
prisoner willing,
A
glad captive kneeling,
He
watched it gyrate, shed its veils,
Lyrics
in its swirls and shades
Written
for him to sing.
Red
heat consumption would be his bride,
Should
he seek to taste
The
lusting core of brilliance unbridled
And
unrivaled.
But
seeking still to ride the light,
Suck
soliloquies to the skin
Of
noblewomen flushing bright,
He
entered the enticing flame.
He
met its searching tongues with his,
Flowed
with it, for it, through it,
Chaotic
as love, final as greed.
Macramé
bodies musical for caging fire
Forge
ministries of physics that worship inertia.
Secure
amid the humid pinks that kiss,
He
let his jaw unclench,
Hoping
to burn forever within this new religion.
Copyright ©
2003 Anthony Beal. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy or post.
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