Men Are All Just Little Boys Grown Older

Men Are All Just Little Boys Grown Older.
© carol voccia....


Capturing starlight in jars

While the wind catches their sails

Rockets keep the tail wind jetting

Only to crash in deep oceans

.. ..

Pick them up and

Dust off

They roam in assertiveness

Searching to land in the arms of soft verse and

Sweet milk

.. ..

Never venturing too far

From safe thighs

* Aug 18, 2010

His Jazz
..........

.. ..

I know his jazz

It plays under his breath

I smell his zeal in simple

Tasks done with care

He listens with intent

He smiles wide drinking

Up the sun

Catching the stars that

Are in my voice

.. ..

I hear his jazz that

Plays into his day

Like surf and sand shifting under

His feet

Bring'n it on

Each move calculated but natural in its

Delivery

.. ..

I see his jazz in artistic paint

Strumming his beat in red and

Wild streaks

Catching the wind in sails that don’t

Yet exist as he pulls his canvas taut

Nothing escapes his wandering eye

Lay'n it down in puzzle form

.. ..

I opened his jazz
Like a map

Once folded tight

Now spread out
Arching vain trails to the wild adventure

Each step inching toward

Destination rewards

Solid moving along each path

Unearthing surprises

.. ..

He wraps this jazz around

Each day

Watching and waiting for

The sun to set

Oh, not on the west
mind you

But on his crown

An amathyst mast head
Of prayer and some dumb luck

Wielding the wide world of attraction

In his flow'n grov'n Jazz


for jmh

When You Kiss Me Like That

© carol voccia 2010

.. ..

The next time you kiss me like that

I’m not going to let you get away with it

.. ..

My hand will slide under your shirt and

I will caress your chest fur

Then

Drop to your center divide

And cup you in my heated palm firmly

So

You know

What I want

When

You kiss me

Like

That


(for all the men who kiss me like that!)

My Intimate Landscape

© carol voccia 2010


My intimate landscape
Folds magic when pressed into service
Mountains weigh heavy along the peach sculpture
Rising and falling with each soft wind
Cradled flesh
Nestled in fur and feathers
Each pore a droplet of brine
Weeps diamonds
Scattered along the edge
Capture its sparkle
And you find
Wells springing from
My solid earth

Imagine My Hand

©carol voccia 2010

In the junction of our voices sharing

I stand there pooling at your freshness

Your skin slowly peeked from hiding

Behind your shirt unaware of my gaze

A longing

Portend of soft spot protruding

Fleshed in your girth covered with your fur

Softly yielding as I imagined and remembered you

Projecting in the middle of dancing words

No longer paying attention

Holding my thought in transference

My hand gently

Upward slides to uncover

Your man skin

Your chest plane

Your heart covered

Human cap over sweet emotion

You smile within your song unaware

Of my glacier melting eyes desiring

A teasing touch

Nasty Boy

© carol voccia 2009

Five ten in chiseled rock
Unassuming smile
Tongue lightly grazing teeth
Amber eyes looking through my staring blues
Lips speak trash
Fingers cop a feel
Pink puddles on lace
Nipples crush inside the heaving suck
My ass slapped
A warm up test
Exercising the range of force to dispense
Bend over exposing the wild rim
Sit on my face to lick your ass
On my knees
My back
My haunches
Over you, under you, as captive clutched between muscle thighs
Pull back hair and slap face sting
Pink my flesh with your whip
Oral-oral-oral
Probe the depths of esophagus phlegm
Vomit up the fleshy meat
Chizz dripping
Smear it down my belly dance
Oh, you little whore-come here!
Kiss my wild
You nasty nasty boy

The Gigolo

The Gigolo
© carol voccia

for Basilio

The cadence of his hooves
Strikes a handsome silhouette and offer
Candied charms in shimmering tinsel
Coughing up Latin words and calling out
His demands hidden in wine and scented wax
A stunning backdrop purchased from a moonlit night
Smooth as a baby’s bottom
Sly as snakes in bottled oil
He slips in his sugar smiled grin professing
Moonscape wishes over romantic architecture
Leaking out of his eyes is a folded heart
While rivets of tin lined empathy contrived and calculated
Snarl in the shark teeth
His cut hungry
The jackal swims in his bucket
And the madam
Fences with her silver blade
Poking holes in the story he oils
There is only so much tinsel a woman can choke down
When the sun opens its eye to the day and the
Moon sneers at the nights remains