Mind Caviar Poetry

Alison Daniel  lives in New Zealand where her work has been widely published in small presses, as well as in America. On-line, her work has been published in Stirring, The Absinthe Literary Review, Outsider Ink, Clean Sheets, Recursive Angels, Eclectica, and many others including Ophelia's Muse, Mind Caviar's sister site devoted to erotic tragedies and elegies.

E-mail  Alison Daniel.

The Symbolic Great Rite

For Andrew

Perfumed sweat carelessly tossed like salt 
on sandy apparitions causes Orpheus to weep. 
Perhaps, all men do in December's heat. 
I imagine the desert dreams our chalice 
overflows with wine. It spills between my breasts. 
My arms and legs become our pentagram 
under the moonshot veil when he kneels 
between my feet to worship the red dust 
of Witjira, now semen soaked by the Symbolic 
Great Rite we share amongst dry river beds, 
the restful paperbark trees fringing ancient 
springs as our fingers peel layers from the 
naked myth of our skin, and the night sky; 
it's vibrantly clear.

Copyright © 2001 Alison Daniel. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.

A Cyber-Sex Slave's Sonnet

For Andrew

I do not understand Paradise Lost when cerulean eyes
watch words disrobe on the screen's flat surface,
a reminder of primitive earth eons ago-
indirect immortality offers Odysseus the chance
to play with Circe's wandering ghost on that isle
their sex life is unreal. He glimpses eidolon
undressing apparition after apparitions
have left cyber-sex-slaves struck by questions.

What does this mean, this need to arrange
ourselves to never meet except in that scared place
of imagination, shared as if it were our scented bed:
your semen on my belly, my thighs, my cunt hair wet,
my breathing loud and harsh when I convince myself
I've tasted your flesh.

Copyright © 2001 Alison Daniel. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.

Vulgar Poem #3

If waves of my tongue swallow whispers
to tie you, belly down with silky scarves,
you'd be hard when I insert my thumb,
pushing it in with a ripple of fingers
until the depth is felt as that boy
who filled the dreams of your youth
but this time you'll cry out loud for the arc
of your arms to break the tide when my
nipples are stiff on your back. You'd buck
and moan with my fist clenched
like a heart, beating to the rhythm of us.

Copyright © 2001 Alison Daniel. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.

May I?

wash your cock
with my tongue, rinse your balls
in my mouth, press my lips
to your ass, suck you
until you're hard, pushing the tip
to the back of my open throat.

May I arch my head,
meet the glide of silky skin,
your shaft
moving to that awareness
we share how it is.

You fuck my cunt, my ass,
my tits. Tight nipples
pinched by wet fingers
finger fucking until your fist
is our heart
and all I see is the pulse
of your wrist,

how sticky it is
in the heat of summer, here
where we lay
in the sweat of our sex.

Copyright © 2001 Alison Daniel. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.

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