Whore Sonnets

An autobiography (of sorts) in five sonnets

See Me

A vision of seduction, a slim waist,

Her fit physique an invitation,

To explore the longings your heart craves,

Her energy is your new fixation. 

She radiates playful, flirtatious vibes,

With her hypnotic soft blueish-green eyes,

She’s your new addiction, eager to please.

She can bring any man weak to his knees.

Invigorating, trying new places,

Indulging in steamy, intimate fun.

Covering all bases with her graces,

You know you are done before you’ve begun.

Spending time with this whore is a pleasure

A refreshing sweet life, a true treasure.

Feel Me

When I lay my head back to fantasize,

Your tongue gently lapping between my thighs,

With a steady fingering of my ass.

My luxuriant Grace, my Aphrodite!

All the maidens stand around the altar,

Caressing their breasts, tearing their garments.

Your tongue a holy hymn from a psalter;

Ecstasy! I pray to your performance!

I desire. I crave. You set me on fire.

If I had a cock I would live inside

Your warm, wet, eternally perfumed pyre.

My mango, my mystical honey guide!

On a silky white horse, ride me to Troy,

And fuck me, fuck me, like your little toy.

Touch Me

Every other Sunday at three,

I go to see ancient Ethel.

I lift her frailty gingerly,

And place her in a bubble bath.

I clean her with a soapy glove,

Soft, slow circles across her skin,

Till I can feel her body move;

A mystic melody within.

I lay her down upon her bed,

And with fingertips, tongue and hair,

Massage her soul from toe to head.

Her intense moans, her spectral prayer.

Miss Ethel may not walk easily,

Still, her body seeks eternity.

Know Me

My breasts started when I was eleven.

And, my period appeared the next year.

I wasn’t ready for maternal lessons,

I kept it a secret out of some fear.

Around then, I began masturbating

Life took on an erotic undertone.

New sensations were constantly waiting,

And I liked paying attention to them.

Sitting, I would squeeze my legs together;

It was a titillating thing to do.

Staying up late, playing with my nethers

Stirring myself into an edging stew.

My body was then my pleasure alone

Sacred, electrifying and of mine own.

Love Me

I would not be amazed if it turns out

You are now a happy mother of twins

Or the keeper of privy passe-partout,

Unlocking secrets to eternal springs.

Running a secret twenty-four-hour crew;

Or tied to monitors, vegetating;

In a condo above Park Avenue;

Going around the world, rollerblading.

Nothing about you would surprise me much.

You are, if nothing else, a survivor.

You always worked hard for your magic touch,

Directing yourself through the savoir-vivre.

The world is yours, you desire it to be,

Even though it offers no guarantee.

 I’m not stunned by anything you might do

I’m so in love with the you that is you.

Thank you to Yosef Baskin and Tripti Mund for their inspired edits on this piece and everyone else on the Work & Life team.

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