All Poetry is (c) Copyright AJ Heard

HANT (For Christian)
by AJ Heard

What is this heat that burns all my parts
Touching me between the holy and the profane
Where I can not eat,
But what your face rises before me
And I am distracted
By an appetite of a different type.

Closing my eyes to sleep,
In dreams you come to me
Enticement scents your lips,
temptation glitters in your eyes
And memories and fantasies kidnap me
Gripped in the hot palm of fierce wanting.

Tender skin tautly peaked, waits in vain
In wet prayers, nether lips whisper for release
Flesh sighs for the salvation of a warm hand
Moist orifices seek rose hued playmate.


 100 Words 
A. J. Heard 
The room was dim, hot and humid rather like us, except  for the dim part.  
The warmth from the sauna with it's muted lights and the moist heat from the hot tub, created the lush feel of intimate security that was a long ago memory of the womb.

Playing, in adult fashion, like children, we slipped in and out, and all along our desire soaked bodies to quench our want three times in succession.

Later, when we left, the shock of re-entering the world was akin to being ejected out of the womb, into the cold reality of life, again. 

A. J. Heard

"I am the toothache
you can not stop worrying.
Your tongue-tip sore 
and raw from probing."
You said, then turning
your attenuated length,
you strode off to be the star
in someone else's nightmare.

I was jealous.

DRUNK (for Christian)
A. J. Heard

I want to get drunk on you
taking the whole plush black of night
to drink all the secrets hidden in between
the soft silvered-grey folds inside your head
and drown myself on the voluptuous nature
of your mind.

I want to feel your warm breath
brush the sensitive spot behind my ear
as you whisper stories, wisps of phrases
erupting up from the hot spring of your soul
in liquor type riverlets to intoxicate
my earthy inclinations as your arms wrap
holding me tightly against your restless length
infusing me with another fine vintage of your own.

Not to be reproduced without the express written permission of the author.

UNTITLED (For Christian),
A. J. Heard, May 09 2001

As has become usual, you have left me,
open and wanting, hot as fire in the middle
of August in Death Valley.

So hot, a replay in my mind of your kisses
starts an insistent throbbing in secret,
hidden high and deep, between the solid
flesh of my thighs and hips; and the rocking,
wagging vibration of this *BART car
is enough to fan into incandesence
this inferno that rages uncontrolled
as I sit trying to mask
this voluptuous celebration
of your effect on me.

Not to be reproduced without the express written permission of the author.