An explanation and another poem...  

rm_voodoo82070 42M
3 posts
5/16/2005 1:42 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

An explanation and another poem...

Someone may ask why I am putting up a couple of poems I have written on my blog. Well, to be honest there is more than just physicality to sex. Don't misunderstand me, I enjoy the complete stranger experience-it can be damn hot, but when there is the intellectual component also...damn, that can be some awesome sex. I like to be attracted to a woman for many reasons...and its important that my partners are women I can spend time with, converse with, and who turn that mutual intellectual and physical attraction into raw sexual passion. The most passionate and memorable sexual experiences are ones where we sat and talked a long time, letting the attraction grow as we anticipated leaving to go fuck. Then when we did, it was incredible. The last time I met someone was that type of experience...we had a great dinner and once we got back to the room, we tore each other's clothes off in minutes and went all night.

With that said another poem...
This one is an actual experience and with an ironic twist...if I just wrote that the intellectual aspect of attraction is important, well, this poem is about an experience with a woman who I had an incredible time with and we didn't even speak the same lanaguages. We met, we fucked. A long time ago and I still remember the experience.


There were still dreams of empire
When I stood on the balcony of the block.
The old Russian capital from 1703;
A garden of canals, architecture, and enchantment.
The apartments gray and functional;
Spartan Soviet style.
In the hallway to the left
The door which marked the boundary of East and West;
An Iron Curtain of glass and wood.
Across the threshold she stood;
White shirt and jeans, dark hair.
She put two fingers to her lips;
An unasked question that was answered.
The rain was falling now,
The only sound as we sat on the bed smoking.
She possessed a simple beauty
Like the nation from which she came.
Her eyes were dark gateways
Which spoke more languages than she could.
She smiled, an innocent aggressive smile.
And her eyes whispered,
“Fuck me.”
Our languages were separated by continents,
But our mouths came together.
Soon the borders were removed, as also our clothes.
Communication by touch;
Sentences spoken with passion and flesh.
The cold night air and the heat of the bed collided.
Little moans escaped her,
Yet she screamed volumes with the physicality of her body.
She pushed herself and her form to the limits;
Eventually abandoning ourselves to exhaustion.
Laying there in a close quiet embrace
Holding this woman of Russia,
Daughter of the Revolution.

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