Dance of Von Teese

img_2384I was a shape

that waits

to be carved

with a sculptor’s knowing hands,

emerging from alabaster white

into sharp relief,

bright scandalous technicolor,

cherries in the snow.

 

This is who I really am.

 

My breasts adorned with crystals,

my hips overflowing

from the curvaceous narrowing of my waist

into abundant fans of feminine plushness,

punctuated by a skimpy g-string of jewels;

I am everything

that I was never supposed to be:

a woman with power.

 

Glamour was a spell,

sensuality a witches brew.

I became a fashionable bitch

who walked the catwalk of her own shadow;

femme fatale.

 

I embraced the dark goddess

who lived inside me.

By the heat of my careful alchemy,

lines blurred between fantasy and reality,

dream and life.

Transformed,

I danced across the stage of life,

big energy, woman writ large,

a high octane Sorceress

soaring like a star

through the heavens.

Pondering Erotica and Sex

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I am still processing what happened yesterday, when I discovered that my blog was designated “mature” or “nsfw” by WordPress. Anyone who is curious about that event can take a look at the forum thread at http://en.forums.wordpress.com/topic/posts-not-showing-up-in-wordpress-reader?replies=9#post-1914835

I acknowledge that my blog does contain sexual content and that some of the photos could be considered a bit risqué, though I have definitely never posted nudity or pornographic images. Anyway this incident has caused me to think more about society and sexuality and the representations thereof within our culture. Specifically I am wishing to define the difference between erotica and pornography for myself.

I should say that I have almost never even seen pornography. I know that sounds kind of bizarre for a woman who is regularly writing erotica and erotic poetry. However pornography has simply never appealed to me. What arouses me are thoughts, sensations and impressions, and not necessarily images from the media.

I have been masturbating since I was about three years old. Arousal and orgasm for me as a young child was never associated with any person or sexual act per se. It was a pathway deep inside myself to touch the divine, to feel my spiritual wholeness. Thankfully that pathway has never been compromised by any molestation, sexual abuse or experience of rape for me in this lifetime.

My first boyfriend, who I dated in high school and college, became interested in pornography at one point. I found his porn collection when I was cleaning his bedroom as a favor.

I felt uncomfortable with it. I sensed a darkness around it, a feeling of objectification, degradation.

One time he told me something that really touched me, he said “Lonely guys need pornography to be as empty as it is. If a lonely guy were to watch a movie of a woman making a beautiful meal for her husband, asking him about his day, giving supportive advice, cuddling in his arms, and making love to him, he will break emotionally.”

I understand that pornography meets a wide variety of needs and it is not always as simple as that. I do not look down on those who like pornography or use it; I simply feel it is generally lacking the depth of spiritual connection and artistic inspiration that can be present within sexual experience.

I have tried in my erotica and erotic poetry to share my own perspective on sex, the holistic depth of it, the emotional, spiritual aspects, the connection to other humans, the connection to nature. I share my writing to express myself and if it touches others and creates the space within the mind to weave sensuality and sexuality into a more fully integrated tapestry within the psyche, then that pleases me.

I can understand the position of WordPress related to the Reader. A person could easily be searching a topic like Christianity and end up looking at a pic of my boobs and a poem about about a sacrosanct tryst https://eroticapoetica.wordpress.com/2013/10/25/the-temple-of-the-mother/. Yet to me this is not necessarily wrong. This is spiritual and artistic expression. This is my truth. Even if it’s not necessarily safe for work…

The Glassblower

Inner Life of Pua Nani

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There is this guy. I will call him the Glassblower. I wrote a poem about him, back last year when we were dating.  That poem is at https://eroticapoetica.wordpress.com/2013/02/17/blow-me/

The Glassblower, unlike my Colombian lover, or my would-be fiancé the Hyderabadi Nawab (who I have not written much about yet here), sits on the periphery of my love life.  He is almost not involved in it at all. And yet every once in awhile he floats to the surface of my dreams and becomes a preoccupation for me.

I originally met him at my gym. My gym is not a fancy place, probably pretty standard for a gym, but in addition to exercise equipment it hosts a spa area with sauna, steam room, hot tub and indoor and outdoor pools. The outdoor pool is pleasant, hidden off the street in Pleasure Point (a popular surfing spot); it is flanked by palm trees, pools…

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My Body Made of Soft Earth

Today I am celebrating the one year anniversary of eroticapoetica. 111 posts! Here is one of my absolute favorites of my poetry, My Body Made of Soft Earth.
My blog has provided me with loads of inspiration and I love all the connections I’ve made with you beautiful and amazing people in the blogging world. Thanks to all for reading and sharing in my life and I hope you have a sexy day 😉

eroticapoetica

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My breasts bud like flowers,

my hard pink nipples brilliant stamens,

and I am fertile and blooming

with the ripeness of being alive,

my body made of soft Earth.

 

I hold the round crater of my hips delicately in my hands,

smooth my fingers slowly over sensitive skin,

and lightly tease my way in

towards the hidden folds and creases

between my thighs,

the deep well

of myself,

where the ground is

so wet and moist.

 

Inside,

I am like deep forest after the rain.

A lush secret,

waiting for you to enter,

so that all

can be revealed.

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Your Lips

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Your lips are lines of a poem

indelibly written upon these breasts,

upon these hips,

like a tattoo or a scar,

an invisible mark I bear

upon my skin.

And when I decorate

the walls of my mind with stars,

those verses illuminate

like phosphorescence

in the glow of black light

and the lingering language

of your kiss

speaks to me again,

a satisfyingly long

and heartfelt ballad

that rhymes in all the right places

and transports this aching body

beyond words,

into the ecstatic agony

of memory.

Sufi Poetry

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I decided to include some of my Sufi Poetry on this blog.  I feel it goes well with the erotic poetry, as they are really one in the same to my mind.  It is the creative tension of longing, the longing to be filled with something greater than we currently are, that lies behind our human dance, that is both erotic and spiritual.  To touch something beautiful beyond the bounds of our known selves, whether within us or without us, is the essential crux of our desire.

Outside of this realm there is only fullness.  I know because I have journeyed there as consciousness (another story for another time).  And so we are in anguish here, but we are in pleasure too.  For we cannot know the deliciousness of being filled until we have been empty.  And is this not why we have chosen to live this dream here as humans?  To experience something that cannot be understood any other way.

“He has learned what he wanted to know, but only he understands.”

— Conference of the Birds by Farid ud Din Attar