“What do you want for our 3 year anniversary this Friday? I ask my beloved girlfriend, as we lay under a palm tree, at a park.
“Just you.” She says.
“How about jewelry or a vegan dessert?” I offer.
“That’s not really your love language, I prefer your poetry and your touch.”
“It’s decided, I will write you an epic love declaration. Do you want me to read it to you on camera?” I ask, inspired already.
“Yes, but will you tie me up and gag me first” She says blinking her beautiful eyelashes, “please?”
And that, dear reader, why I call Roxanne DePalma, my Bitch. Enjoy this Polyamory Poetry entitled “Her Cunt is my heart.”
Her Cunt is My Heart.
For my Bitch, Roxanne,
on our 3rd anniversary.
She is my savior. She is my bitch.
She wears the fabric of reality
like black lace hosiery strapped
to her thigh with a garter belt
gifted to her by Lucifer.
And every time we are together
that nylon runs and we fall through
a hole in the crotch to another dimension
One where unicorns and mermaids
never stop… fucking.
Where the orchids are talking
and the earthworms have eyes.
A limitless universe where nothing
makes sense, except the impulse
to penetrate and ejaculate.
She points to a blossom and giggles.
The petals are fleshy and bulging.
All the flowers are vulvas. And little
fluffy bunnies hop by with hard-ons.
Everything in nature is made wet
by her laughter.
She is my oracle. She is my muse.
Every word I write, was first formed
in the dreamtime she embodies.
The primal wound of separation
is somehow mended when she
flirtatiously licks her lips.
We need not make love for
the reparation of my madness,
nor share a pillow, nor even a kiss.
Touching or not, we are already one.
for the hole in my heart is shaped
like the hole between her legs.
Having put my fingers in there,
more than once, I’ve now mapped
and memorized her folds and
secret chambers, such that all the
the mysteries of the material world
dissolve in the moments we cum.
Together or not.
She is my Soul mate. She is my moonlight.
Lying in bed as a girl-child, fingering herself
through cotton panties, she tells me,
I am the woman she dreamt up.
I marvel at how through all the space
between stars, her light managed
to bounce off the sun and find my eyes
and warm my skin.
She is my daughter. I am her Daddy.
In the shape-shifting/ time-traveling
field of permission that is born by
our meeting, we rewrite the collective
incest wound. Redeeming rapists
and risking eternal damnation.
She is my harlot. She is my home.
Her fantasies are my spiritual scriptures.
She is the second coming that absolves
the bogus story of original sin.
Our lovemaking is a prayer:
A twisted, fantasy-filled tribute
to the incomprehensible reality
And our fucking is a rebellion.
Our bodies uprising in pleasure
against the systematic shaming of…
the source of all life.
I worship you.
Written on the full moon. Friday the 13th, 2014
Watch this Poem being Read to Roxy on Youtube:
Here is a link to the Video of me reading this Poem to Roxanne while she is tied up to the bedpost. (I Apologize in advance that the sound quality sucks.)
Want More? For Polyamory Poetry, Check out:
- [BDSM] Roxanne’s Kinky Polyamory Poetry to Mistress Kamala Devi
- Polyamory Poetry & Photos for my girlfriend Roxanne on our 2nd anniversary
- [Polyamory Poetry] ‘The One’ by Kamala Devi to Daniel
- [Love Poem] Polyamory Poetry: Love is Never Satisfied by Kamala Devi