Category Archives: erotica

Scaffolding

I was 12 years old
when Ryan Akers
approached me in the arcade
while I played Centipede.
I tried not to pay attention,
tried to act like I didn’t feel
anything unusual—
as if the new and unfamiliar wish
for him to touch me
was as benign
as anyone’s desire to hold a puppy.
And I don’t remember
a single word he and I exchanged
but I remember the shock
of seeing Lance kiss Amy
in the dark corridor
before we got picked up—
and the next morning in Sunday school
I watched Amy open a Dum-Dum
which she licked with a kind of pleasure
that made me certain
she wasn’t focused on the Book of Joshua
or its heroine, Rahab, the prostitute
who got exactly what she wanted.
Amy’s mind
was on the tip of Lance’s tongue—
and on the tip of mine
were words like sensual and erotic—
words that weren’t yet in my lexicon,
but their meaning was beginning
to take hold
on the scaffolding of my experience,
which wouldn’t include a kiss
from Ryan Akers—
but it was his anatomy
that first led my imagination
to cling to all the possible and varied
expressions of what I can now
identify as love.

 

 

 

DeMaris
3-18-18

Cropped area of “The Love Song” Norman Rockwell, 1926

Waiting Room

I am not impatient this time
waiting for my turn
to lay back in the chair and open wide—
there are children whispering loudly
and bells dangling from the door
announcing everyone’s exit and entry
but it all goes on without me
like the volume is turned way down
on just another reality TV show—
I am lost in yesterday.
I am full of the heat that followed us
into the woods and I can only hear
the song of the warblers,
those black and white ones
who provided our sound track
as we kissed on the fallen hickory—
and after I am rattled into alertness
by the sound of my name
I’ve got nothing to do for 15 minutes
but close my eyes
and let both my hands rest on my belly
while I consider where you’ve touched me—
and I don’t even need five fingers to count
the number of times we’ve made love
but in this noisy and populated darkness
I am alone with your body
and we are filling up our hands.

 

 

 

DeMaris
6-12-17

 

 

First Encounter

Funny
how the mind
finds as much
excitement
in memory
as it does
in the infinite hope
of daydreams—

thrilling
as it is
to imagine
what’s to come,
what encounters
we have
to look
forward to—

it’s the
memory
of my navel
becoming
a cup
for your pleasure
that makes me
smile and pause—

and I stop
whatever it is
that needs
to be done
so I can slip
beneath you
once again
when I close my eyes.

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
3-9-17

Duane Michals, 1969 “The Young Girl’s Dream”

Fires

 

My boots were muddy
from our walk in the woods
and my hands were cold
on that February afternoon
bright with cumulus clouds
demanding their share of the sky
and below their gaze
we stood face to face
with bashful smiles
and you took my hands
in yours and refused to let me
burrow under your layers
to get to your warm belly
which was beginning to laugh
at how good it was
to be alive in that moment
and then you kissed me
and drove me to your house
where you made a real fire
and together we made one too
and the weight of nothing but you
was upon me and I have never
been so naked or felt so clean.

 

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
2-13-17

Painting by A.J. Casson, “Algoma” 1929

 

Visiting Hour

I’ll begin
by trying not to be myself
but someone confident
in what she’s about to do to you—
and if I am unable to convince you
that I know what I’m doing
I hope you’ll forgive the nerves
that cause my hands to shake
and that cause my mouth to smile
a little too much
when I’m supposed to feel sexy
instead of happy
when I travel from your lips
to your chest past your stomach
toward your magnificent heat—
be patient with me as though
I’ve never done this before
and pretend we have all day
to get it right
until we reach our bittersweet end—
and don’t worry, it will come.

 

 

 

DeMaris
2-10-17

“Lamia” by John William Waterhouse, 1905

 

Tenderness

When the mountains
have had enough of you
and send you home sore
and craving sleep
I want to be the balm
that covers you in the dark—
I want you supine beneath me
between my legs and inside
my soft wet warmth—
I want your eyes closed
and your only sensation
to be the slow and prolonged
ecstasy that I will draw out
of your body and into mine.

 

 

DeMaris
12-22-16