Best Poems - Sex

“penus envy, they call it
think how handy to have a thing
that poked out; you could just shove
it in any body, whang whang & come,
wouldn’t have to give a shit.
you know you’d come!
wouldn’t have to love that person,
trust that person.
whang, whang & come.
if you couldn’t get relief for free,
pay a little $, whang whang & come.
you wouldn’t have to keep, or abort,
wouldn’t have to care about the kid.
wouldn’t fear sexual violation.
penus envy, they call it.
the man is sick in his heart.
that’s what I call it.”

“One failure on
Top of another.”

“Next morning
When a damnfool parrot—
right before her parents—
starts to mimic
last night’s cries of love,
the girl leaps up,
blushing,
claps her hands to
start the children dancing—
jangle of her bracelets
drowning out the parrot’s calls.”

“The sweet juices of your mouth
are like castles bathed in honey.
I’ve never had it done so gently before.
You have put a circle of castles
around my penis and you swirl them
like sunlight on the wings of birds.” 

“Watch it.  That’s the body: what goes on
next door.  Here, you can see it.  Turn out the light;
their luminousness will show more in our dark. 
What are they doing?  We seldom know for sure,
but what a pleasure it is to watch.  Look now!
I think he hit her, did he? We can’t hear
what they say.  Sometimes in summer a little.  Then,
when the windows are open.  But most of the time we guess.

It’s like a play: he said…, she said…. Write
your own lines as you will.  Or leave them blank. 
Blank as they are.  Or are they?  You look at a back
sometimes and know it’s talking.  There are even times
it’s almost all we want to do, to go
right over and move right in; but after all,
we live here, not there, and have, as you know,
for a long time.  These people, they come and go. 
But it’s fascinating.  There’s always something new.”

“I am the middle-of-the-week wife.
The back-door sneak.
I wake the next-door neighbors
who wonder at who arrives so late,
departs so early.

Who yearn to know
the luxury of love delivered.
Love that comes and goes
without the ache,
without the labor.

It is a good life.
I would not trade it
for another wife’s.

I am the topic
of the Wednesday-morning chatter.
Who in her lone society 
politely sips the breakfast given her.

Correctly travels with a toothbrush,
her own comb. Says thank you,
please, goodbye, and runs along.“

“i like my body when it is with your
body.  It is so quite new a thing. 
Muscles better and nerves more. 
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh… And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new”

“the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night
  
one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined
  
they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite
  
the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss
  
they speak whatever’s on their mind
they do whatever’s in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance”

“Lip was a man who used his head.
He used it when he went to bed
With his friend’s wife, or with his friend,
With either sex, at either end.”

“Run your tongue down the two tendons both sides
of his neck. Run your tongue back and forth
along the ridge of the underside.
Run your tongue along the ridges of the head, inside his
fingers, thighs, Adam’s apple, Achilles’ tendon. Wet
the rigid shaft of his calf, the long hairs sticking up from his toes
and the ones lying down over them like little blankets. Love
his ridges, his frigid Soul. Think
glacially. Constant motion, advancing slowly. Remember
penis envy is what men have of each other. Remember no man
can will an erection. Have him enter you awhile
the knee chest position to dissolve the ridges. Remember
he’s terrified. Remember it’s all he wants. Remember
he seeks confidence you know how to handle
his body, you’ll grip him firmly enough. Remember for a man
the importance of technique. Remember like gripping
a tennis racket. Remember he’s
emotional. When he comes be careful
not to tighten your grip. Be careful not to forget
the battlefields he comes to you from. Forget them, the lies
he must overcome to come to you. Forget that
to be a ‘man’ is to be unjust. Remember his mother
removed him from their bed, deposited him
on the narrow mattress with bars in the cold cell alone. Make
love to all his ex-loves who live in him as surely as he
makes love to yours though he seeks to banish them.
Though he will say so kindly I wish you were free. He
wishes to be free. Help him with trance, wear
silk, light candles, wear levis and flannel, wear
nothing, don’t undress. Remember
just dissolve. Remember no jerky movements. Remember
his greatest fear, he won’t be able to please you, he’ll lose
it; let you down. Remember your walls
to clasp and unclasp him. (Some will resent this, you will know
who.) Remember every man is different
and when it becomes the dance
with each’s spirit, when the river is more swift
than flesh, when you break through to the place remember
expose yourself. Let him see you. When he comes be
careful not to change. Remember the ridges
you roamed to get here, the fall
either side. Where the road began. Where you are going.
When he begins to ascend toward the body cavity
forming a firm rounded mass when the ocean synchronistically
booms approval his edge of aggression, when you ride
his aggression till you disremember everything remember
this is time this is place this is life this is you. Remember
he wants all women so great is his love.”

“I prefer pussy, as in cat
as in willow
as in chases a rat
as in raised on a pillow.

I prefer pussy, as in riot
as in foots
as in pussycat doll
as in puss-in-boots.

I prefer pussy, as a twat
it is not, nor
is it a beaver,
a clam or a cleaver.

I prefer pussy to
nookie or gash,
it isn’t a box,
or a cave or a slash.

I prefer pussy to snapper 
or snatch, far better
than taco or 
slit or man-catch.

I prefer pussy, though
rosebud’s not bad,
and muffin sounds homey,
and cooch makes me glad.

I prefer pussy, as in whip
as in flower,
as into it you slip—
as in I have the power.”

“Toe upon toe, a snowing flesh,
A gold of lemon, root and rind,
She sifts in sunlight down the stairs
With nothing on. Nor on her mind.

We spy beneath the banister
A constant thresh of thigh on thigh—
Her lips imprint the swinging air
That parts to let her parts go by. 

One-woman waterfall, she wears
Her slow descent like a long cape
And pausing, on the final stair
Collects her motions into shape.”

“It hangs deep in his robes, a delicate
clapper at the center of a bell.

It moves when he moves, a ghostly fish in a
halo of silver seaweed, the hair
swaying in the dark and the heat—and at night

while his eyes sleep, it stands up
in praise of God.”

“After we flew across the country we
got in bed, laid our bodies
delicately together, like maps laid
face to face, East to West, my
San Francisco against your New York, your 
Fire Island against my Sonoma, my
New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho
bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas
burning against your Kansas your Kansas
burning against my Kansas, your Eastern
Standard Time pressing into my
Pacific Time, my Mountain Time
beating against your Central Time, your
sun rising swiftly from the right my
sun rising swiftly from the left your
moon rising slowly from the left my
moon rising slowly from the right until
all four bodies of the sky
burn above us, sealing us together,
all our cities twin cities,
all our states united, one
nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

“Our love was new, 
But your bedsprings were old.
In the flat below, 
They stopped eating 
With forks in the air.

They made the old sourpuss
Climb the stairs
And squint through the keyhole,
While we went right ahead
Making the springs toot,

Playing ‘Low Down on the Bayou,’
Playing ‘Big Leg Mama,’
Playing ‘Shake It Baby’
And ‘Carolina Shout.’

That was the limit! 
They called the fire brigade. 
They called the Law.
They could’ve brought some hooch,
We told the cops.”

“You would take
everything 
I had

and say
you’d earned it

with your
young body
and occasional
concern

as if it were hard.

At times
you stand
at the bedroom
window excited
by the girls’ legs
flashing in the street

as if I had not
been with you
all night
long.

One time
you got excited
just talking 
about them,

God, you said,
those short skirts
and I was lying
beside you
with nothing on.”