Mimi-Mona Love Poetry: What Are You Doing?

©WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

MORE OF THE DANCE
WITHIN THE DANCE?
ARE WE ALWAYS

GOING TO MEET ON THIS STAGE?
WILL WE EVER

TAKE OFF THESE COSTUMES?

YOUR SILENCE TOUCHES ME

IN WAYS THAT SEEM

NONSENSICAL

YET IT MAKES SENSE, TOO.

STILL, HERE I AM

WITH ALL MY WORDS

THAT FLOW LIKE WATER

FROM WINTER'S THAWING STREAM

AND I WONDER IF

YOU EVER THINK

SILENCE SHOULD TAKE BOTH,

YOU AND YOUR WORDS.

PLANES JETISON OVERHEAD,

THEIR CHEMTRAILS

A VISIBLE WARNING;

BUT SOME LOOK WITHOUT SEEING.

WILL WE EVER MEET

ANYONE WHO IS CENTERED?

YOU AND I ALWAYS KNOW

WHEN WE DO;
WE ALWAYS FEEL

A KIND OF CALM
EMANATING AND
RETURNING.

SOMETIMES I MIND

THAT STILLNESS FROM YOU;

TEACH ME. I WANT TO DANCE

THAT DANCE WITHIN THE DANCE

WITH YOU FOREVER,

WITHOUT OUR COSTUMES,

WITHOUT A SOUND.

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Mimi-Mona Erotic Poetry: When First They Met by Mona Arizona

©When First They Met,

she threw her suitcase on the bench,

threw propriety out the fucking door;

fear blending with desire in her throat,

she unfurled what was tightly coiled

for days and then hours on the plane.

He traveled across the room

with an air of authority,

turned, and sat in the provided chair,

legs spread in a V that pointed

to that part of him painfully growing.

Stripping bare at his command,

eyes closed, a nervous smile

plastered as though botoxed

in that obvious state,

she began a dance to the music,

hips swaying, not gyrating, gently,

slowly, in time with a stripper beat.

Heavy breasts marked an aching rhyme,

lower lip between her teeth,

it was then an inner beat,

a primal flash deep from within,

moved forcefully, sensuously.

She took over the room.

It was all or nothing,

answers without any questions,

when she swayed toward

the empty chair, into his arms.

Music quelled but her thrumming

continued as he made the room

and her quake on noisy bed springs.

Mona Arizona

All Rights Reserved

Mimi-Mona Poetry of Love: Premonitory Song

It was me echoing your looks —

look at her, oh wait, look at her,

and look at her, wow...her.

Don’t make me a reflection of yesterday,

gazing into eyes of royalty;

I'm a shining jewel,

one never to be kept,

one loving those heavy breaths 

at my neck, especially

in the middle of the night.

Ignore the clay and

other sculptors will

raise both hands 

to claim and mold.

Turn a half-painted canvas

to the wall

and several artists will

pick up their paints and brushes.

Stop polishing this star

and another master will

embrace the warmth willingly.

©Premonitory Song

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

(abstract: Lovers, by Marlina Vera)