Fifty-one Erotic Haiku
 

© 2006 by Anel Viz. All rights reserved.

 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

.i.

Our hours together

after days apart. Spent how?

In intimacy.

 

.ii.

Who can count the times?

They far outstrip the strokes dealt

till passion’s sated.

 

.iii.

Rough sex is such fun

for both of us. Gentleness,

too, is exquisite.

 

.iv.

Holding him feels best:

a quick hug outdoors, asleep,

or fucking him hard.

 

.v.

A real man, virile,

all man… and when I fuck him

more man than ever.

 

.vi.

Eyes ached for a kiss.

Lips brushed. Teeth parted, tongues touched.

Hands pressed neck and rump.

 

.vii.

Undoing buttons.

Undress each other and kiss

revealed skin laid bare.

 

.viii.

The naked glory

of a man: his muscled arms,

chest, belly, hips, sex.

 

.ix.

A single futon

on the floor: there we bed down

together; love, rest.

 

.x.

Poised over bare skin,

my approaching lips bestir

his humid tangle.

 

.xi.

Penis in repose.

Jewels pillow a large head.

A languid yawn stirs.

 

.xii.

White as a parsnip,

red as a Spanish onion,

burning like pepper.

 

.xiii.

I want to see you

naked! Push back your hood! Crane

your neck! Don’t be shy!

 

.xiv.

No more modesty.

A tickle of hair, his strength

beneath it, his smell.

 

.xv.

Spring. Clear sap rises

in the living wood. My tongue

collects the syrup.

 

.xvi.

Recumbent, supine,

legs flung wide in loving trust,

my manhood wakes… waits.

 

.xvii.

His tongue on my neck,

the soft windfall of his breath

across my nipples,

 

.xviii.

his head that passes

an inch above my belly,

too, I feel near me,

 

.xix.

and my groin awaits

his return, remembering

our last time. Melt down.

 

.xx.

He lingers, lipping

the hollow behind my knee,

then moves up my thigh.

 

.xxi.

Where will his tongue fall

next? What part will he thrill? When

will he take my shaft?

 

.xxii.

Crouched, the momentum

of his rocking frame propels

his passion through me.

 

.xxiii.

His warm mouth inspires

sweet, unbearable desire

to loose mine on him.

 

.xxiv.

His throat gapes, accepts,

lodges the head, his eyes moist

with suffocation.

 

.xxv.

Come lie above me!

Hold me body to body!

Press your lips to mine!

 

.xxvi.

Slide aside. Now hide

your face in the pillow there,

for my turn has come.

 

.xxvii.

The breadth of his back.

Its stretch of open prairie

spurs me to gallop.

 

.xxviii.

Nuzzling his melons.

The valley parts. I eat ass

for hours.  Comfort food.

 

.xxix.

Lovely derrière!

Oh! Oh! Lovely derrière,

lovely derrière…

 

.xxx.

Warmth flows from prostate

to portal.  You’re not in me,

but I feel you there.

 

.xxxi.

The gold  nugget lodged

in a  sunless mineshaft spreads

imperious warmth.

 

.xxxii.

A shielded candle,

its light caressing the wall

of a dark hallway.

 

.xxxiii.

The jolt of union.

Fanfare. Trombone glissandos.

Two bodies, one joy.

 

.xxxiv.

I said it first. Then

you said you love me. Once… twice…

my dick deep in you.

 

.xxxv.

As he scales the heights,

new chords are struck. His moaning

trails off in sweet song.

 

.xxxvi.

“Yes! Lift into me

and meet my piercing hardness

with a grip of steel.”

 

.xxxvii.

“Drive it home… Oh yes!

Make me feel the urgency

of mounting passion.”

 

.xxxviii.

“Here, take my finger.

To stifle your ecstasy,

suck it, gnaw it. Hush!”

 

.xxxix.

Man sweat’s acrid taste;

solid male body. Noises

of a man ass-fucked.

 

.xl.

Prone, his lover’s length

draped like a lined winter cloak

from neck to ankles.

 

.xli.

All fours. Crouched behind,

legs spread wide around buttocks

hauled back and impaled.

 

.xlii.

Wrists pinned by his ears,

shouldering two men’s weight, knees

hovering above.

 

.xliii.

Straddled, ridden, spurred,

hands pressing on his withers,

elbows locked, bareback.

 

.xliv.

On his side, embraced,

mouthed between the shoulder blades,

attacked from below.

 

.xlv.

Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam!

Oh, my God! Yes! Slam! Don’t stop!

More! Fuck me! Slam! Oh!

 

.xlvi.

Hearts rise to the throat.

The mating cries of werewolves

resound in the night.

 

.xlvii

Guts contract and squeeze

involuntary gushes

from a living pump.

 

.xlviii.

The floodgates open.

Pulsing surge of red tantra.

Waves of white pleasure.

 

.xlix.

The translucent threads

of alien dimensions

invade, encompass.

 

.l.

Cessation of self.

Sighs subside and sex softens

and souls separate.

 

.li.

Salt smell at ebb tide.

Breath returns. Restraints loosen.

Matted, wet. Becalmed.

 

 

© 2006 by Anel Viz. All rights reserved.

 

Posted: 07/06/07