Lori Williams
is a New Yorker, living in Brooklyn with her fifteen-year-old son. She
works as a Job Developer at an alternative high school for at-risk youth.
She says, "Nothing feels as good as the hug of a kid that no one believed
in, who has just landed his/her first job." Williams has been published
in Prose Ax, Upstairs at Duroc, Dispatches from Dreamsville
(Cox Newspapers), and in numerous e-zines including Poetic Voices,
Reader's
Niche and E-This. Erotica is her secret vice.
E-mail
Lori Williams. Visit
Lori Williams online.
Heat
My face was hot -
not the feverish hot
of glazed eyes and disoriented
head,
but hot
like being without the taste
of man skin
in my mouth
for so long that I forgot
then
hearing your husky, young...too
young
voice in my forty-two-year-old
ear
and
translating each getting-to-know-you
word
into moans,
hence
remembering
the feel of silky
throbbing flesh on my tongue,
between Revlon glazed lips,
and the earthy smell of
it all
as hair tickled my nose
and hands grabbed my
hair,
moaning into me
yes
sharp curves, muscles
but soft, soft man skin
under the flick of my tongue,
inside my warm cavern of
moist walls
and sweet envelopment
so
my face was hot, and now
oh
so
am
I...
Copyright
© 2001 Lori Williams. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.
Hunger
I will feed you one of these
days,
a sweeter treat than gooey
fudge
that melts in your mouth,
for it will be a creation
made
under warm blankets and
thoughts of you.
A slow stroking produces
a most
delectible blend. As you
taste
what has blossomed from
my root
of womanhood, know I will
be
inside you always.
You will know me as that
spicy, joyous tingling
in your belly
happy to rest near your
heart.
Kiss my lips and look at
me,
my eyes will nourish your
soul.
Touch them and feel my wet,
salty thanks. Taste my awe.
Run your tongue,
that which speaks of truth,
upon my flesh -
Lick my appetites,
breathe in my longing.
My fingers will touch me
where I ooze and drip desire,
heated and earthy, thick.
I shall paint your lips,
smearing it round and round
your mouth
that moans with urges
felt so deeply you had buried
them,
unaware. I will free you.
Let me feed your need
and play my song on the
well-tuned
instrument of your manhood,
moving my mouth to the sound
of
the blood pumping through
your veins.
Hands lips tongue
are the music.Your lust
shall dance.
You will hear my joy
as I become filled with
your sacred
and holy expressions,
the gift of life
as my throat births you.
Oh, let me feed you!
For in nurturing your hunger
I will become myself again.
Copyright
© 2001 Lori Williams. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.
I, Peach
Juicy blushing peach
succulent and sweet
velvet covered skin
tempts you to bite in
ever.. so.. g e n t l y...
Golden nectar flows
coats your lips and nose
cool and fragrant dew
of ripeness, taunting you
come taste me...
Relish with your tongue
the juices that will run
down chin, don't waste a
drop
for peach season may stop
you shall miss me...
For my time's not long
to sing ambrosia's song
before you turn your head
my blossom will be dead
savor me, now
mmm..... yum.
Copyright
© 2001 Lori Williams. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post. |