Mind Caviar Poetry

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.


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


hearing your husky, young...too young
voice in my forty-two-year-old ear


translating each getting-to-know-you
into moans,


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 
moaning into me


sharp curves, muscles
but soft, soft man skin
under the flick of my tongue,
inside my warm cavern of moist walls
and sweet envelopment


my face was hot, and now



Copyright © 2001 Lori Williams. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.


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.

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