<!-- wp:paragraph -->When Does Sex Becomes Poetry?<br /><br />The rocking of bodies. Grunts. Feeble moans. Winces. Crinkles as eyes squeeze shut, and hands clench over beddings. The racking of legs. A thumping within chests. When does bad sex transmogrify into something magical? When does the merging of genitals become poetry, letting emotions pass undisturbed?<br /> <br />1. When Bodies Become Fluid: a body becomes fluid when it submits. One does not fight water when they seek to become poetry, but rather, one becomes one with it. Reach into the tendrils that are your nerves, and ask that they speak into the ears of your muscles. Let yourself submit to the touch of a lover. <br /><br />2. When One Does not Rush: a poet must learn to wait. Poetry is like a sacredly cat that does only its will. You cannot will yourself into a pool of pleasure. You cannot say: “I will become a racking body.” You cannot run into an orgasm; you must climb, slowly. <br />You must peel your clothes carefully, as though you peel off your skin. <br />Or better still, you can ask your partner to peel them off for you. Lean forward. Offer yourself with raised hands. <br />Let your breasts dangle before the one whose hands will press at them. Whose fingers will fondle.<br /><br />3. When Lips Merge: poetry springs when a heart holds a pen; when it sticks this pen to paper. <br />Sex becomes poetry when you pull your heart into your lips and merge it with someone else’s. Close the curtain behind your eyes and paint pictures of bliss. <br />Be free, and be wild. Let a tongue swing lose. Let the knot in your gut be untied, so butterflies can roam free. There is freedom in being held. A lover’s grip is as a judge’s voice when he says: “You are free to go.”<br />So, offer your waist to be held. Say: “Hold me. Press my body into yours.” <br />Like one kneads dough, offer your breasts to be kneaded. Hold at your man’s head and let him suck your breasts. Let him remember the genuineness of your touch, and taste the newness of love. <br />Hold at your woman’s butt and squeeze—<br />A squeeze become a praise offering when a spank follows. Bend her over your thighs and spank at her butt. Then become her comfort. Rub, in sensual circles. <br />Hold at your rod until it grows in your hands, and then toss it in her face. Let it say this: “My rod will comfort you. My rod will you happiness.”<br /><br />4. When a Tongue Becomes a Whip: when does a tongue become a whip? Of course, when it is in a master’s hand; or better still, in a master’s mouth. <br />Spread open legs and stiff your face between then. Let your tongue flap along her clitoris. Let the air welcome her moans. Let these moans become the freedom of stomach butterflies.<br />Let them flap above you. I have known what it means for a woman to squirm underneath her own moans—what it means for her to struggle in a bid to clamp her legs shut. <br />Do not give those legs freedom//Press against them, so that the only thing left to do, is wriggle this way and that//so that her hands either dig into your skin, or clench the beddings. <br />You know your tongue has whipped perfectly when she becomes as an opened tap. There does not exist love void of some suffering—there does not exist pleasure without drops of pain. So, of course, if she loves BDSM, spank at her inner thighs. <br />A poet often harms himself to let poetry escape. But you do not harm her. You bring her close to her knees, her neck angled to receive the length of a stiffened penis.<br /><br />5. Sex Becomes Poetry When a Man Fades Away: this is how you make a man fade away: stroke at its penis until it grows into its full length. <br />Then, wrap it in your mouth as though you clothe it in pleasure; as though you put a crown over his head. <br />Look up at his face. Spit on his shaft. Be sure that it is swathed completely, totally. Now, stroke. Back and forth. Back and forth until he is a racking body. Like one who has been submerged in water. <br />Keep stroking until he can no longer have more of it. You may want to humble him by making him cum. This gives you something to laugh about when his shoulder’s get too high. <br />You can of course puncture them by saying: “I made you cum from a blow job.” <br /><br />6. When You Welcome the Dick: there is not better poetry than a first stroke. The way the vagina sings welcome. How a gasp escapes throats. How warmth spreads over the shaft of a penis. <br />Spread your legs apart. Angle them so that your vagina opens up just and the dick angles nicely.<br />Say welcome with your fingers in his back. Say welcome by staring into his eyes. Say welcome by reaching for another kiss. This is what it means to become art. You are an artist, a body in motion. <br />Move. <br /><br />7. Sex is Poetry When There is Rhythm: the sensuality of poetry is its rhythm. All the sensual things in the world are rhythmic: the beating of the heart, poetry, sex. <br />Do not think for a second that you are going to make poetry when your strokes fly around like particles of dust. For poetry to be born in a bed, you have to be careful with your partner, and with your strokes. <br />Be sure that your strokes are quite rhythmic. One and then another. <br /><br />8. Hug Each Other in The Heat of Orgasms: imagine orgasms to be cold mornings. You do not let each other sleep away from each other when they come—instead, you wrap each other in sensual hugs. <br /><br />Summary: <br />There is a calculated carefulness that must follow sex that is to become poetry. You have to take your time.<br /><!-- /wp:paragraph -->