Mind Caviar Poetry

Miriam M. Wynn  is a recent college graduate with a day job, who writes erotic poetry and fiction on the side. Her short fiction and poetry have been published in two Stanford University culture magazines, The Mind's Eye and Spire, and her movie reviews have been published in Scatter Magazine Online, a Brown University publication. She's a proud libra with a love of food and intelligent sex play.  She read avidly the things she shouldn't have read from age eight, and by age twelve realized she could manipulate words herself.  Now, at twenty-one, playing with words is like playing in bed, and she can never get enough of either. 

E-mail Miriam M. Wynn. Visit Miriam M. Wynn's "Literotics" online.


spread me
from behind
part my thighs
and open wide
the cut, the slice
the expectant line,
the part, the lips,
the pouting cheeks.

my ass is not a gluteus maximus,
my back end not an end at all;
my buttocks carry mounds of meaning,
and should be treated as the be all;

raise me;
the globes are ripe for plucking,
and I am ripe for­

both of your palms full of my flesh;
squeeze, squeeze, and mash these orbs;
work me, knead me, rough the dough;
just do, my darling, and donít withhold;

hold instead, and when youíve grasped all,
spank it, to make me sing and beg,
pinch it, to leave me quivering and red,
bite it, make a meal of me,
lick it, savor each tongue stroke,
and when youíre ready for even more ­

part it,
spread it wide,
let the cool air slide in
and with all your might
splay it, so that the ass is ready
for proper worship and final entry;

ease your finger tip from base to top
strum it along the prone path;
wet the tip with your saliva
and stroke, oh stroke it deep again,
and then

give me your tongue,
eat it light then heavy
lick, push, scrape, nudge, throb
play my open backside with a lust for the job;

and when youíre ready,
pull out those wicked fingers again,
and tease me, slick with juices
to ease one brave one into my little door,
and take advantage of me on the floor;

this is my anal birth,
to push out is to receive,
to expel is to fulfill,
to give is to become,
so darling, fill me­

and at last,
when youíre really ready,
when the teasing and the aperitifs are over­
guide your weapon,
your matching muscle cylinder to my round and puckered hole,
push in, and rub a sweet friction against my internal hide;
hurry up, my darling, and squeeze inside.

Copyright © 2001 Miriam M. Wynn. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.

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