Stay a little while longer, he would say Each breath closer to the nape of my neck Fingers move more in on the grounds before play Erogenous, the zones in which he dares to trek Come a little closer, he simply wishes Movements inching across broad horizons Suddenly, a captive to warm kisses Unable to move from what sleek cautions Relax a little more, he softly commands Detangling nerve muscle and tendons gripped in stress Rub softer and deeper in skilled mahogany hands Lift a shirt here, unbutton there...Monotonous undress. In eyes that saw me so beautifully and divinely clothed, His only desire to see another check mark disrobed. -b.r.rivera #30in30 Poem 21 of 30 A Shakespearean Sonnet.  Fixed form of 3 quatrains, 1 couplet with abab, cdcd, efef gg.

I like my body when it is with your body. Our voices echo. Magnifying your arrival. It is so quite new a thing. New statue...In a drafty museum. Your nakedness Shadows our safety. Sweet voice. Sweet Lips. Soft Hands, and softer Body remember not only how much you were loved. Hard to imagine getting anywhere near another semi nude encounter down this concrete slab  of interstate, the two of us all thumbs not only the beds where you lay, but also those desires for you. To play without shame. To be a woman, who feels only the pleasure of being used and who reanimates the user's... Best get down on all fours. Ease our noses past rear-end collisions wrapped around embracing minds, and hearts exhang'd for hearts. don't be dull and boring and pretentious, don't be consumed with self love. i like my body when it is with your body. eyes big love-crumbs and possibly i like the thrill of under me you so quite new. -b.r.rivera a Found Poem. ...

he must be a god. Exhume him as a cartographers secret fetish twisting lines and deep curvatures as mountains stretch forth east and west. Ripples and valleys more. Much...much more. i am his center. Enveloped in the sweet moisture of his breath fuzzy memory of auditory beckoning shadow his reign over me. the unlike cliche of deep sound  where it meets vocal command even the whisper of him makes me listen. I hear him. Mouth and lips more. I listen. Cadence becomes undocumented synchronicity the mere parallel universe where I once escaped from emotional purgatory. Could you imagine a yell? His raising of octaves would command oceans to part and separate the seas from the salt of the earth, counting grains to become glass struck down from the result of the Heavens a faint sound to open ears. He's calling- and I come. No hesitance. No second thought or momentary lapse of indecision. He is so much more. he exists as truth, and I am his philosoph...