Mind Caviar Poetry

Miriam Wynn  is a proud Libra with a love of food and intelligent sex play. She read avidly the things she shouldn't have read from a young age, and now, at twenty-one she tries to mingle wordplay with bedplay as much as possible. She writes erotic poetry and fiction, and has recently been published online at Sexilicious.com.

E-mail Miriam Wynn.

To Come

through the leaves of silk, the raining dream;
press your lips against mine and promise
all your soul to me;
in a glimmering,
give a low, fierce howl
submit, surrender, shiver
on the altar of my desire;

with your legs spread and your eyes outcast
with your reaching fingertips scratching
at your nipples, belly, thighs,
parted wide like lashes that
flutter in a frightened dance;

your breath fragrant, hot and oily
like the sweat of sin along the nape of your neck
where I repeatedly thrash you with my tongue,
insane with the scent of your loss of control,
control me, with the inability to stop loving
every inch of quivering flesh that breathes your
sweetened pheromones;

once, twice, and then again,
fill me and let me fill you;
take all my lust, my need, my fucking
my bucking, sinewy limbs splayed wide
around your hips, the crack of your ass
your pumping nether parts;

to me, for me, with me, at me, by me
under me, below me, around me, above me
Again, again

loud, wet, juicy, dripping
begging like sluts, whores
you and I sucking, licking, fucking
yes, fucking with all the passion in the world,
with all the lust there ever was;

As if we made it, invented it,
you my woman, my man, me
me your man, your woman, you
me in you on you around you
filled with you, all over, drowning

Again, again,
say my name, again,
or do I say it to you, or to myself,
who says what or why or how
when all I want, all I need,
when everything in the world
is, was, will always and forever be
to come.

Copyright © 2002 Miriam Wynn. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.

Pussy Pie

Lick, split
I want to spread you open,
make you drip;
the open tunnel to your cherry pit.

A maraschino tang and spit
that oozes, leaks,
so very wet,
to give me purring lubriciousness
the sweet, the sour, the musky mint;

Your mini-tongue waves snugly at me
puckering and rudely proffering,
so that the challenge wonít be denied;
your pussy cat canít be defied ­

And I strafe in, to watch you exude,
to absorb the funk, the female spunk
face to face I converse with your labial grace,
and slip my own tongue out to wave a sly hello­

Your nether lips greet me with a demure sputter,
you yawn and part, the great oak limbs
from left and right entirely wide,
your rumbling sighs a glorious invite;

And, brave, I nudge a greeting with the tip of my nose,
your hardened baton grows prouder and so
I cannot prevent myself from claiming
the darling berry quite drenched with raining;

Once my hopeful lips have made contact
your moans ensure that Iíve done right,
and earnestly I suck with all my might;

My tresses sweaty at your thighs,
your dark pubic fuzz caressing my chin,
and Iím absorbed in the mess Iím in,
the tip of my jaw rubbing in the spilling fountain,
your thrusting hips encouraging me on;

I part my lashes to look at you
your mouth hangs open, your breathing stilted;
I suck just when you most need it and
flicker my tongue at all the right moments;

Jealous of your seeping pleasure
my fingers ease up to find your entrance;
push you apart with selfish intent
and the sucking smacking noise of
those burbling inner lips thrills me;

You buck, and your sweet wet hole I fuck,
my fingers slipping in and out as one,
then two, then three, and yes, then four,
and when I get there you beg for more,
and you rise up, wide-eyed, to watch
as I finger fuck your dripping thatch;

My tongue still whirling round your clit,
the juices a nectar you fill my mouth with,
as drunk, my tongue plumbs the smoking crevice,
sliding down to tangle with my fingers,
and so I greedily bury face, self, need and sighs,
in my gooey, fruit-slick, pussy pie.

Copyright © 2002 Miriam Wynn. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.

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