Mimi and Mona Poetry: Conquering A Goddess

©Conquering A Goddess

Copyright ©Mimi Wolske 2012

All Rights Reserved

Mimi Wolske – Mona Arizona™

Long, inquisitive fingers steal my breath

As they wander ever stirring desire

In their quest for points of pleasure

That will cause my heart to quicken.

Long, silky tips touching, caressing,

Gently like a whisper over my skin

Leaving more than a sensation when

I feel each digit’s deliberate given movement.

Are you having the vision in your mind, Freja,

My body and the places where desire builds?

Your warm breath on my back when you

Circle my form to claim and brand me

As lost to your goddess wiles of passion.

But, I forever stand as the penetrator who

Shall mark you as conquered and owned

Only first letting you fill your cup of pleasure.

A palm drags across my cheeks as

You circle with approving sighs,

Drawing closer when we meet at last

Face to face, your body no longer flowing

But wrapped intimately…accepting the right to receive,

Then, a lingering kiss given from your fingertips

To the sword that I swear will be sheathed and

Unsheathed until you plead for your release.

Aromas fresh, clean, gentle to my nose

Wreathe us as you join, our bodies intertwined,

Caressing with whispered, intimate promises

That mix with the soft moans and the animal growls,

The gasps of excited carnality in a candle-lit room,

The incense of our bodies that dance in that candle light,

One shadow cast as two align becoming one

Two pieces of the whole reconnecting at long last

The poem I created above was done for "Today's Poetry Challenge" (this poem published 3/30/12):

find the nearest book (of any kind). 

Turn to page 8. 

Use the first ten full words on the page in a poem. 

You may use them in any order, anywhere in the poem.

“But having given him the right to receive the pension, I had to wait till the debt was paid off and that is only just done, so that I’ve been unable to send you anything all this time”

This quote is from the top of page 8 of my copy of “Crime and Punishment” by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mimi and Mona Poetry - Erotic: As If It Were A Prayer

©As If It Were A Prayer

Mona Arizona

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

You took me to the brink,

to that point where

my eyes rolled back in my head,

I couldn't even remember my name,

my toes curled as if in a spasm,

waves of hot flashes wouldn't stop,

my calves clenched,

my back arched,

I writhed under you

panting and sweating without surcease

because you kept me there,

refused to send me over the wall

into the abyss of ecstasy ...

stop! don't stop! please...stop!

When you finally released me,

the earth turned on its axis;

I shivered and trembled and

cried out your name over and over

as if it were a prayer.

(art by Malcolm T. Liepke)

Mimi-Mona Erotic Poetry: Lovers in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains

©Lovers in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains

Mona Arizona

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

September, 2014

All Rights Reserved

Cool breezes sneak in through

an open window of our

hotel room in Taos. Somewhere

between your car and the

bedspread, we leave a trail of

discarded clothes and begin nipping

bites on each other's bare skin,

playing at the start —serious

love bites by the time you

draw me onto the king-sized sheets.

Whispering secrets into each other's skin,

telling each other how long it has been,

calling each other pet names,

promising shared fantasies will be fulfilled,

we're voluble lovers starved for

everything the other willingly gives.

You tempt me like a boxer

teased in the ring by the bell —

just one more round...please.

I beg. Our nakedness makes our

sighs and moans sound like music...

we dance, my hands tied

above my head, your fingers

knotted around my hair at the

height of the dance, at the

crescendo of the music, and

you demand me to answer;

Who's your bone daddy, my sex slave?

Muted cries from the ghosts of

past passion join our chorus and

fill the rented room with

the Song of Lovers' Lust

joined by the whisper from the

breezes that sneak in through the

open window of our room

in this artist colony.

You say you like the way

I look, curly hair plastered

to my face, long legs naked

and entwined with yours,

graceful arms with feminine

hands and mobile fingers that

play with the hair on your chest.

Suddenly, we're apart. You say

stay there —don't move. I say

I have to go to the bathroom.

I don't own slippers; I pull

my cowgirl boots on and walk

naked in them to the door.

The breeze from the open window

of our room-for-one-night

in the tributary valley off the Rio Grande

furls my nipples. You chuckle.

I recount each moment of those

earlier hours and the reckless

part of me, that dangerous

voice inside of me, suddenly begs for you.

You knew? You press me against the

door before I can leave that confining

space and you kiss me the way

I was dying to be kissed again,

stretching out the moments

before inevitability sets in

with reality close on its heels.

Any right to refusal was

surrendered years ago when

we gorged ourselves on

desire and protected our emotions

from years of our teeth being cut

on neglect. You whisper my name;

suddenly my sea legs give way

to the weight of love. The way

you kiss my neck, my waist,

my hip bones, my inner thighs...

it is war and it's only

going to end with my

petites morts —thus with a

kiss I die here where

the breeze from the window

blows the curtains and I hear

them dance in our room

where we sever ties with daydreams,

in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

Your mouth makes my body dance...

makes me scream...makes you

cover my mouth with your own.

I scream into it and feel

your lips curve up.

In the middle of this heat wave,

you pull me back to bed. I search

for words that will describe how

your shoulders curve when

you pull me to you, against

the solidity of your strong chest,

but I'm lost in the security of your arms.

Mimi and Mona - Poetry: Your Fingers Map My Body

©Your Fingers Map My Body

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Good God! What was I thinking

to fall for you ten seconds

after you pulled the air from my lungs?

Why do you have to be so perfect

for a female like me, late to fall in love?

Why do I have to react

as though I've been singed

each time you hold onto my hipbones

as if they were your personal guns —

"something," you said, "to hold onto

during a wild ride" —

and each time your fingers map my body

and carve surrender on my spine?

I drew articles of love on your back

in the sweat after hours of making love.

You laughed your wicked laugh

when I begged for five more minutes —

they turned into another hour.

My memory burns with the feeling

of your fingers curled in mine,

holding my hands while you kissed me.

Damn! The way you kissed me

and said I belonged to you

is like a collar around my neck

with your brand burned into it.

There we were, two empty tenements

in desire-deserted cities,

but you came into mine like a

bulldozer and you

kissed me on the lips.

It felt like an entire sentence;

I held my breath, waited

for the rest of the paragraph.

We became novels

written in our own

untranslatable language and

understood by only us two.

When you had to leave,

we became ellipses,

waiting until the next passionate

encounter with baited breath.

You possess the legend

for every inch of me.

You have charted my back,

the rise and fall of my breasts,

the curves from breasts to waist to hips.

On the scarred flesh

of my inner lip is a

rosy tattoo where you bit into it.

You know all the distances

traced by your tongue and lips

between my neck to my ribs to

where the cave is too tight to scale

without leaving the

language of your warm breath.

Neither of us is a road untraveled,

but old road maps are long

since irrelevant and places

anyone else once knew

have been unknowable since

a time before time when

we learned to chart each other.

I am mapless in your arms —

I swear it's true.

There is something wild

in you...I felt it under your

skin that very first night,

so I promise to destroy

fallen civilizations up

by their roots...you will

become feral again,

like an animal living

on top of the ruins —

but I am not ruinous.

We are both careless

cartographers —

lost in each other

but you are best at being lost.

Mimi and Mona - Poetry: Past the Point of Poetry

©PAST THE POINT OF POETRY

Mimi Wolske

August 29, 2014

All Rights Reserved

I did not anticipate you...

The smell of you in my hair

When it's time for either of us to leave.

Miles and miles between us,

Measurable by fuel, passports, barbed wire.

I have whispered your name in my sleep,

The emptiness next to me holding it

For months until parallel lines

Cross our paths -- walking towards you,

You running alongside me,

Charting you in the stars

All summer, anticipating something

I only name when we're finally together

You could write it in my blood that

This is only the middle of a very long story.

We kiss as if it's fate;

We can't stop convincing ourselves it isn't.

I don't cling to you -- not my style,

But I think we spend to many nights

Trying to force ourselves into the cracks

Of the floorboards and coming up

Rootless when our nights are spent apart.

I did not pray for this.

Time is never entirely erased...

We're part of each other,

Made of the same stuff as war criminals,

As Mount Everest,

As the last person we kissed with any emotion.

You press your emotion into me

On lazy mornings at the lake,

Or on road trips.

I press mine into you with every word I write.

When we part,

I forget how to navigate through normal life,

Rushing headlong into it, perfectly careless

As Lupus' girl playing in the snow.

We are on a mission...laughing,

Talking, fingers intertwined.

You said it first. "Try it...just see how it feels."

And it felt like my insides were burning,

Like my heart was on fire,

Like I could feel every sensation to the core of me...

You knew I'd like it.

I still like it.

Professions of love on the phone

At two a.m. in the morning

Are like arithmetic...

Statistically ending in bed

Past the point of poetry.

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