Mimi and Mona - Poetry: THE FALL AND RISE

© The Fall and Rise

Mona Arizona

All Rights Reserved

Mimi Wolske – Mona Arizona™

What is the distance between

My thirst and your throbbing lust?

One nano-crystal.

Be at my door in ten;

In twenty you take me down,

Sixty from now, time will stop…

Never needing much more--

Damp lips, skin and dirty minds--

To release this buzz.

Yours are not kisses;

They are implicit stories

Of explicit acts.

Oh! something's burning

Uh-oh! clothes fall to the floor

Fuck dinner, eat me,

Then get me all steamed up,

Wide open, waiting, begging,

drill me 'til I shake.

Your tongue chasing shapes,

Holding mine, I fight the urge

To ride you silly.

Sensual whispers in my ear,

Your suave scent, and what I hear

Almost gets me off.

Like a relentless magnet

Pulling towards your body

Is my vibrating lust

Until delicate moans

Escape the moist lips of this

Uncovered lover.

You and I are meant to be

Between the sheets of lightning

Zorbing together.

Your touch floors me,

Softly fuels the forceful need

For you to fill me.

In these watery eyes,

Manifest my thrilled surprise

Of your drenched meat rising,

So that regardless of pace

We provoke internal quakes

Every which way.

Bodies rule our minds;

"Now" has never been closer

Than when you’re pleasing me

Within these four walls;

Hearts sink through sheets burdened by

Complete indulgence.

With unspeakable skills,

You exceed my expectations

Of mind-altering sex,

Leave me wanting more,

Drippingly wet by the thought

Of what we do best.

Lick my ice cream cones while

I melt under your warm tongue

Into a wet spot.

Because you love it

Like the last drop of water,

Kiss my lush, south mouth,

Squishing sticky breasts,

Flaming lips, and burning flesh,

And thrust this itch away.

Come, let's fall and rise

For the seventh time tonight,

Fuck ourselves to sleep.

Honey, when I squeeze,

I can tell your heart's racing

From inside of me;

Me in wonderland,

I can't tell my up from my down.

Tears from passion spent.

Originally published 2011

MIMI AND MONA'S POETRY: Faster Than The Speed of Dark

a reading of Faster Than The Speed of Dark

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPddAxBxqUI

©Faster Than the Speed of Dark

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved!

What if the fabric of this

Dimension folded just enough

To permit you to move in bliss

Faster than speed of light—puff!

So quickly no one saw

You move into the fourth

Dimension, where you stop—voila!

The neighboring positions…orth-.

Protons traversing the realm

Of darkness faster than

Previously thought. It would whelm

A self-important scientific clan.

With the Pillars of Physics

Struggling not to Fall

Across the universe’s fabrics

In spite of it all,

Faster than the speed of dark

That shadowy crack,

That bore a different kind of ark

Dimensional zooming in the black,

Ran down the middle of a life

Bringing the future so close

It kept folding and the echo is rife

With fear of what one never knows.

The number, far between

And few in this third dimension,

Will witness those who glean

Like harvesters for the fourth dimension.

The echo is you resonating through

And beyond length, height, and width,

From the pitch black depths most eschew,

Flickering like an astrophysical being with breadth.

Felt in the eyelids is the weight

Of encroaching darkness,

Which is veiled for a reason; chelae

Cutting through the difference causing bleakness.

The difference that brings

Me to you in the fourth dimension

Faster than the speed of dark like changelings

From another dimension.

Mimi Faster than the Speed of Dark 0002

MIMI-MONA POETRY: Don't Fly Naked

©Don't Fly Naked

Mimi Wolske,  2008

All Rights Reserved

Mimi Wolske – Mona Arizona™

INK will be applied to all content you copy to give the author credit automatically when you re-post.

He said it was over

Over! It wasn’t her,

He promised, it was him,

Nothing planned, not a whim.

A darkness, a void,

Leaving her hurt, annoyed;

A place without reason;

Melancholy just begun.

Words echoing, repeating,

She knew he’d been cheating,

“No, there’s no one else;

It’s not about you.” Helpless,

Useless, worthless, pointless;

She wasn’t blameless,

She couldn’t be, why

Else leave? Why not try?

“Please,” her voice pleaded,

“Can’t we still be friends?”

A sympathetic gaze!

The kind that betrays.

“Silent friends,” his words

Would register afterwards.

“I like you, but I don’t love you.”

God! He meant to eschew

Her! How could she go on?

How long would he be gone

Before her heart might mend?

Before she could pretend?

Despair, like a magnet,

Pulled. Later she’d regret

Her acts of jealousy,

The many times she was angry.

She’d given herself, naked,

To him when they bedded.

Exposed just enough to hold him.

Her future looked so grim.

She wanted to yell, cry,

But she couldn’t deny

He was out of her life.

She’d not be his wife.

Well, neither would any woman!

She’d wait. She’d take action

Against any female suspect!

Each new girl she’d dissect!

She’d expose all their flaws,

Hopefully give him pause

To see only she could love

Him! She’d rise above

His foolish games of lust.

He’d be sorry! His calloused

Soul could rot in hell

Before she’d tell him farewell.

What was wrong with her?

Why did men avoid her?

Why did women ignore her?

Why had all forsaken her?

Why couldn’t her life

Be without strife?

Why must she always fight

When she knew she was right?

Whose arms would hold him now?

Which woman would he allow

To enter his world, enjoy

Him as she had? Her ploy

Would make him regret leaving

Her. Soon he’d be grieving,

Wanting her to return.

Ahh, then him she would spurn!

Despair is primarily as a psychospiritual crisis, a prolonged "dark night of the soul. We have all felt despair during difficult periods in our lives. We may occasionally despair about our job, marriage, love life, family, finances, world events, etc. But typically this despair dissipates in time, and life goes on. At least till the next crisis. When despair doesn't dissipate but rather deepens, hunkers down, takes control and becomes chronic, diminishing quality of life, impairing functioning, and keeping us from moving toward our goals, dreams, and desires, it has become pathological. It’s difficult to conceptualize the profound and existential hopelessness, helplessness, powerlessness and pessimism about life and the future and the deep discouragement and loss of faith about one's ability to find meaning, fulfillment and happiness when I have never felt this. I’ve witnessed it, I’ve read about it, I’ve researched it just a little…enough, I hope, to do this poem justice.

Printed and Posted 15th June 2008 by Mimi Wolske

Mimi-Mona Erotic Poetry: Shall We Dance?

©Shall We Dance?

Mona Arizona

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

July 2014

All Rights Reserved

  

No prelude.

Desire was running like lava —

slow and hot.

Tasting all of her charms.

Being held safely in his arms.

His kisses weakened her knees.

Her kisses drove him wild,

like an animal on the hunt

for his mate.

He pressed her to the wall,

held her hands high,

high above her head,

lifted one of her legs

over his hip.

Fly away with me, she sighed;

or take me to your battlefield;

I'm burning with a bold passion —

Shall we dance?

MIMI-MONA Love Poetry: HOW

©How

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

July 2014

All Rights Reserved

Autumn leaves

rustling in the wind

sound like rain drops

puddling on cement

or a room full of metronomes

all keeping rhythm

at different tempos.

All of those remind me

This is how my heart sounds

when we make love.

Love.

So much more than a word

or an emotion.

It is the heart,

the soul,

the essence of life.

I love you

more than I ought to love anyone,

more than is good for me, but never

more than you should be loved.

Mimi-Mona Poetry - Erotic: OVER THE EDGE or STRATEGIC PHONE CALL

©Over the Edge
or
Strategic Phone Call

Mimi Wolske

July 2014, Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

The phone rings

She answers

His voice sings

She whispers

"I love you"

He responds

His words woo

Create bonds

Hypnotize

Lustful thoughts

Tantalize

No ersatz

Poetry

He was hot

It was she

was it not

Who could make

The whole room

Crackle, shake

And consume

Both with lust

That made them

Melt and trust

Stratagem

As if they

Once became

Dali's shay

And her swain

Becoming one

With painted

Illusion

Untainted

Making more

Of breakfast

Than before

Surrealist

Love could wait

Heat —cook —roast

Immulate

More than toast

POETRY: I Need A Dress

©I Need a Dress

Mimi Wolske

Originally Published April 2012

Mimi Wolske – Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

  

Ohhh, such distress!

The prince is giving a ball

And I need a dress.

But, that’s not all.

I also need an invitation.

No Ella sitting in the cinders,

Nor a princess in desperation

From a deep sleep where choosers

Are beggars in this teradiddle.

I fear there is no beastly nobleman,

Nor strange men to me who sit the saddle.

I’m no mermaiden nor prisoner who can

Let down her long locks.

Oh, very well. I’m not one of the few

Of the aristocracy with many frocks.

I’m a commoner but none the less in my purview.

Earls and Counts, two Marquis, and a Duke

All desire me by night,

Yet by day, I’m an unknown, a fluke.

Oh, where is my knight?

Where is my fairy godmother

To wave her wand so magically

And make dress and slippers appear,

And transform me into a Lady, a true beauty?

I already know how to be a woman.

Did not those men teach me well?

Am I not already broken

To pleasure them as good as any belle?

I just know I’d find my true love

If I were invited to the ball.

Oh, how’d I’d treasure him above

Any and no more be a moll.

MIMI - MONA POETRY: Will We Dance All Night?

©Will We Dance All Night?

Mimi Wolske

Revised July 2014

Originally published February 2012 by

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Dance with me —cheek to cheek

My hair flowing, twined with yours,

Our sexes joined

Your voice as my support

Dance with me —back to front

So not even a breath separates us

Nor a single word distracts our thoughts

Nor a gaze from our eyes as we lie

without our clothes

Dance with me —naked chest to naked breast

Once tensed now relaxed but sweating

The taste of a thousand quivers

Each of us consumed into ennui

Sprawled across the floor under your shadow

And shaped by your tongue

Then left to ask when you

Turn my back to your front

“Will we dance all night?”

Mimi - Mona: POETRY - ON THE BUS

©ON THE BUS

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

July 2014 — All Rights Reserved

  

I was twenty and catching a city bus

for the first time in my life.

My father drove me to the mall.

Playing his part, he waited —

to make himself feel better

about leaving me to my own devices

as if I were a child

in an unfamiliar land who might

be afraid...or get into trouble —

until it pulled up and I stepped

into that unfamiliar world.

Six people got on at this stop —

A housewife and mother... or

was she the maid-slash-governess?...

with a barefoot babe nursing a bottle

took the first two seats facing forward,

a pubescent boy who shoved by

everyone and grabbed a seat by a

smeared window pane near the back,

three men in suits who must be on

their way to their little desks all in a row

took seats separating them from each other,

and me, nervous and continuously

checking the change in my fisted hand

before taking one of the seats with

my back to the windows.

There's beauty in the imperfections

of life's players on this stage —I

see that when our bus is stopped

for a riot of some sort ahead of us

and, as I look closely, I realize

I know that old woman...

I open my window against

all rules of bus riding...

Professor Lund, the grey

eminence of the university,

stands, dazed and trembling,

before a crowd of young

angry protestors and I hear her —

"Ladies, gentlemen!" she begins —

she falters —she screams

trying hard to outshout those with

their backs to the front of our bus.

A tomato flies past her head —

another splatters red on her cheek

and her hair flies out of place

as her head jerks and

her arms raise for self-protection

as more objects jettison

toward the woman I had

encouraged to speak out.

My god, what had I done?

Professor Lund —a friend

of my grandparents on my

father's side...I'd heard stories

about her when I was young —

stories that frightened me —

but I came to know her and

admire her for her

stubbornness and her

individuality and her

original and intelligent thoughts.

She said to me once, "You

don't listen, you don't learn.

I know they call me

Crazy Old Bitch." She chuckled.

She bleached her hair when

she was younger...Grandmother

said, "I declare, Lois, you

sure look fine. I almost

didn't recognize you." The

professor laughed and said,

"Well, maybe the devil won't either!"

I asked the prof about the photo

on her piano —it was of the most

handsome man I could

remember seeing for people

in their generation. She stared

out the window —I'm unsure

she was looking at anything —

then she got this tiny grin...as if

she had a personal secret. She

murmured, "My mamma dragged me,

kicking and screaming, to

their house when they moved

to town...he answered the door...

I swear I never knew

I had a heart until then."

"Look at that crazy ol' bitch!" one

of the business man on the bus said.

It's funny what happens when

things go wrong...

the clock stops —

everything happens

in slow motion —

you can see everything

yet miss every detail.

I was going to be more

than a little late for my

wedding dress fitting.

I leaped from my seat

and was moving to the

door when the driver said,

"Stay behind the yellow line!"

"That woman always frightened

me when I was a child," said

the woman with the bare-foot babe.

"Did you see that?" yelled the

boy in the back. "Smack! Splat!

Right in her face!" He laughed.

They all laughed...except me.

I went to my seat, closed

the window, and slumped

against the back —closed my eyes.

The fat tabby that slept on her couch

was probably watching out the window,

waiting for her to come home...

it would be time for lunch soon.

I didn't have to see to know

she lost the battle —

to know she had fallen

like all the soldiers before her;

I heard the cheers outside and

inside. I was twenty and

I was one hundred twenty

as I sat numb on the bus.