Poetry by Maryann Hazen

Self-Published Chapbook by

Maryann Hazen

FLESH STONE - POETRY EROTIQUE

Contents my be considered unsuitable for persons under 18 years of age.

Please note: Each chapbook consists of, at least, twenty-five pieces of work along with graphic art/photos, is hand-made and of extremely high quality. The cost of each is only $5 + $1 P&H. If ordering more than one, please add only $1.50 P&H. Please send snail-mail info & check to: Maryann Hazen-Stearns, 31 Lincoln Street, Ellenville, NY, 12428, USA. For more information contact: Faerhart@yahoo.com. http://www.geocities.com/faerhart/LimboStick.html http://hometown.aol.com/faerhart2/myhomepage/poetry.html

Poetry from Flesh Stone by Maryann Hazen © 1999-2000

Indigo Moon
by Maryann Hazen © 1999

I hold the moon in my mouth,
flick my jolting eyes
stare out over the crest
of your pounding head
pounding head
waiting for something
to come, for us.
Raw repetition waiting
for something in the Here
and Now. Perhaps waiting
in our very own flesh
and blood in Here.

Headboard smacking sheet rock.
It comes for us.

I torque damp sheets
beneath my heels
switchblade shoulders
four crescent each palm.

It comes for us
grunting
a purple triple phase;
swell surge swoon.

My teeth grind the moon squirts
blue
blood
down
my burning burning throat
slippery
indigo
oil.
Don't mention this.
Man in the moon.
Moon in my mouth.
Master the maiden of mercy.

Night Vision
by Maryann Hazen © 1999

At the mere sight of twilight - Night
rises up to spray the vast
firmament of deep
(yes deep) blue with spangled
stars spank the creamy
skin of his precious
fleshy soul.

Behind the neck of Night
my funneled eyes,
my tunneled throat
inhales fumes of lust
his thrust (the gist of it)
sticks to the skin
of his thigh a sigh of

damp leaves blown
up a trembling pant leg
by slippery peripheral winds
which can come along, lap
the edge of
my scent.

Fingers fondle globes that flicker
beneath my
luscious
dripping lids.

Prospector
by Maryann Hazen © 1999

I am in your eye,
blind pearl of wisdom.
A myopic languishing
for the tenderness of together.
I sip from your palm,
lick iron ore from your flesh,
knuckle golden silt from
creases in your thighs.

My breasts press against this cotton
nipples skim the surface
of my spirit to wink in the sun.
To capture a glimpse of you.

I walk in my skin,
dance in my bones
smooth and slow.
My hips swivel through rock
knees bent and surge against
the current of you sparkling.

Embroidered words to willing ears.
Stammered thoughts like spinning,
clinking coins - creek bed pebbles -
my copper penny poetry.
When will you come
to my senses?

Points of Observation*
by Maryann Hazen © 1999

*Written while contemplating the possible wondrous
benefits of making love with someone who is visually
impaired, which might not be such a bad handicap at
that…

His fingers taste this flesh;
a buttered Braille.
Rounds of shoulders extend,
end in digits forked and five.

His fingers read this oval face;
lids and lashes lay above,
center elevated here,
below lips moist and smiling.

Breathing, blinking, thinking…
caressing imperfections
tender touch and go.

His fingers ask along neck down
fill cupped hands.
Gently nipping at the tips
he strokes the slope
to lay palms flat on either bone
to smooth and still these
warm flesh thighs
these warm flesh thighs.
Breathing, breathing, breathing…

Fingers heated creep below
to knee caps dimpled in the back
to swells of calves and ankle bones
then slide the length of body up
in one electric static stroke…
inhale good God inhale.

His fingers seek this mouth to hear
"It's me".

Vessel
by Maryann Hazen © 1999

Can I
hold the measure,
contain the pleasure you
pour into me - deep inside me
I can.

Should there
be no other
release, for two such as
we, to cup and fill to the brim,
just so.

Like this,
eclipse of lust -
of the night, of the heat,
the trembling eruption and flow
of you.

May you
take the measure
of me, keep it in so
I sigh, may you take this pleasure,
may I.

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