Mind Caviar Poetry

Renee Winter has been writing poems and stories for most of her life, but took the deep dive into writing daily just this year.  She administrates two online poetry boards, one for adults, one for children.  When she is not online, she's busy teaching middle schoolers language arts and drama. (Not to mention keeping track of her two beautiful young daughters and her passionate husband of twenty years.)  Erotica has always been a pleasurable outlet and Renee knows her own desire to explore will continue to inspire. She has been published in the September issue of Thunder Sandwich.

E-mail Renee Winter. Visit Renee Winter's Poetry Board (listed as chanson)


Hanging In My Closet

You awoke me with kisses
on my forehead and shoulders
your lips warm with sleep.
Your eyes spoke,
"I have a plan,"
as you led me to my closet door.
Inside, I felt surrounded by familiar 
dark garments.
You raised my hands over my head
which in and of itself always makes me
tremble.
 

Soft cotton rope tied me to the wooden pole
above my head and my tethering
comforted me
as I hung cautiously in the semi-dark.
Next something thick and rubbery entered my
honeyspot, squeezing, I answered its command.
Then another more slender coldness filled me
further back and I jolted a bit forward
not quite able to escape its penetration.
 

More ropes bound my breasts
my pert thimbles calling for a nibble,
then strands to hold each nether lip open and
more
to hold those pretending-to-be-gentlemen
probes in place.
You closed the closet door and left me
with the weight of hanging tenuously
not wanting to break the wooden pole which held me there
my toes keeping a delicate balance with the floor,
yet knowing as I lowered myself onto
my crotch-bindings I could give myself my own
thickening pleasure.
 

I allowed myself a good testing of the ropes and
how much tautness could be
tolerated.
I moaned to no one
and came
my animal grindings
unnoticed by my hung garments.
 

Much later
you returned
and swatted my ass til pink was a color
that alas did flatter them.
Moving aside the ropes
that kept my boys in their positions,
rescinding their privileges
for the time being,
you took me fiercely pounding my heldness
begging my cries for release from my cloister,
reliving the yielding of a tender fruit
to the pluckerís palm.
 

We arrived together,
you clutching my hips to yours.
Adept with unknottings,
you freed me
and I collapsed on our black bed,
relishing the gift of surrender.
 
 

Copyright © 2001 Renee Winter. All rights reserved. 



Instruct Me

Teach me how to
bow low how to
undo old knotted tennis shoe
laces how to
make you cum with just
my tongue how to
howl like a caged animal
lusting for release
relent reinvent me
show me how to
read you read freshness
reach under your fingernails
scrape out old skin
profess you know me
then question my delicate
underbelly tornflesh emotions
that intimidate your very
power over me pinch
my nose make me
laugh at your antics as you
strive to find my heel of
virginity take me to dark
warehouses drenched in
strung beings firewalking for
not-so-tender soles
seek that spot where my
circle is unmet and
solder that gap with something
like a bridge, a suspension
bridge allowing me con-
nection tween my
sighs my cries sir
show me my mirror
break no reflection no
glazed gazing do not
shield my
recognition.

Copyright © 2001 Renee Winter. All rights reserved. 



Matinee

She walks into the darkened theatre,
movie already begun, titles
over, intrigue initiated, she steps
cautiously but sprightly into the farthest back
row.

Sitting beside the man on the aisle,
alone, the two of them,
side by side,
adjusts herself in her seat, her
long peasant skirt cool, hiding
long slim legs.

Top too hot, unbuttons one or two, a
glance askew, a glance again,
then,
eyes, turned head,
turned mind, she sees,
he sees.

Daring hand to mount his fly,
and make him, make him
sigh, and oh, she
does like khakis, soft but
stiff, a garment meant to
touch a bit, yes,
eyes avert the othersí eyes,
but loins are full and knowing is
knowing,
and something is, yes,
something is growing, she keeps a
strength, a surety, certainty.

Skirt, like curtain, needs a-raising,
manhand, please, slide up and
take a tiny, fleshfinger
find her,
sweetest discovery,
hands meet
meats and rawest clover
honey, zipzip open up his
portal, take, oh slip onto a
waiting lap, a rising up and
lowering, oh such
slow a threshold making
entrances and exits,

neck is lavished with his
lips upon such hungry throat,
a cry well-timed, a scene change
keeping privacy so public,
heads will turn and see but
neither cares, itís rim and
ram and eyelids closing,
yes, loveís sluice,
no use in disengaging,

scene again is changing,
thank god matinees are mostly
older ladies nodding off to
sleep, so far from rest,
so close to dream, a
stream, a silent scream, a
climbing, climbing,
Ďnonymous reaching,
seeking, yes, a height, a
closest head to chest as just
a momentís stopping is now
here, at last.

The scene has ended, catching
breath at climaxed
concrete confidence.
She slips away, off khaki
crotch, and down the aisle, the
matineeís conclusion coming,
opens door and out into the
brightest blinding sunlight,
tender strangeness
knowing
all was
met,
well
met.

Copyright © 2001 Renee Winter. All rights reserved. 

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