Note: The pieces have been written with the intention of making you stop in your tracks, go wild with carnal hunger and seek the divine bliss of raw mating. When I approached the subject, my first work of Erotica, I was guided by the master, babylon-crashing​ who creates pen-strokes of seduction every time he writes. It was only natural that I ask for his take on ‘Raw’ poetry and that we collaborate. So where there was a chance you could have escaped the intensity of this, now there is none. Enjoy!

This was raw, my nerves were on their ends
feeling your lips suck out my joys,
one by one
inching towards,
that center of my universe;
Such collision of wants
you and yours…
unfolding me with tender hands,
undoing me,
with tightening knots of the velvet;
I felt gripped
by this tearing intensity,
of your warm,
burning wax
against my own;
Your name escaped my mouth,
like a lifeline,
that was tedious to hold on to,
I knew I would drown,
but the intoxicating heat was making me let go;
You, steady and consistent
in that exploration,
of my secrets
a willful intruder,
and this growing tension…
I, eyes drugged closed
under the blindfold,
giving in
to your sweet seduction.

You knew all along,
this was going to happen…

© soulreserve 2015


Yet three dog-days went by before Charlotte
left the menstrual hut in search of the great

god-stag, Keresh. She took her gold anklet,
her hunger and scimitar. She left hate,

Talmudic Law and men behind. Deep in
Bei Ilai, the great woods, she went — hunting

for his musky heart. She’d slept with a jinn
once — but Keresh was raw in ways nothing

else was — obedient to his carnal
needs, like her. Menstrual blood did not frighten

him. She’d let a he-goat lap hers up once,
could god-stags be any different? Doleful

branches cracked; something divine and wanton
approached, attracted to her raw fragrance.

© babylon-crashing 2015

What makes an erotic poem successful? The obvious answer is that it turns the reader on — a task much harder than one would suspect. Yes, sex (however one defines that) must be involved but it must go beyond that, as all art is tasked with, and tap into the spiritual. I would argue that erotic poetry is spiritual poetry. Could one not argue that prayer is an act of:


Soulreserve answers that question by giving us such a poem in  Raw. It starts orally, “feeling your lips suck out my joys/ one by one” and during that moment of ecstasy the poet grabs hold of the lifeline that is the lover exploring the body of the beloved, until “intoxicated,” the poet submits. Saint John in his “Dark Night of the Soul” uses similar metaphors, but not with the same sense of humor

soulreserve brings. 

The orgasm is the door that lets us talk to the gods. Raw is one of the keys that lets us open that door.

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