College Magnetic Poetry Vol. 1

I eat her peach, like it was a screaming bed
Rob lathered her pink butt, like I said
She urges me to lick the bare breasts, or no head
They want the mist under the dress, and she is red
I cry, but think those rose petals are like a knife
My woman moans as we fall with spring through life
Smell sweet honey like a purple forest o’ eggs
He sees my finger smear next to the smooth hot leg
Watching two girls waxin’ & milkin’ without you
The gorgeous goddess needs his languid tongue to be true
Deliriously drunk & a repulsive moment recalls an ugly day
I felt the beauty whispering lust, wanting to play
Sweat leaves my apparatus juicy and shiny, always beating it away
Frantic spray floods the luscious garden from behind
Trying to swim beneath a language o’ an elaborate mind
Winter crushes drool over lovely eyes
On top, producing no sleep as we lie
Together, eternity is an essential chain
Manipulating me through bitter rain
Mothers can ask to stop, but still get to blow
I pound your fluff and then must go
Getting shot in some hair is easy when you are not above
Shadows o’ their enormous size is what you vision and love

Circa 1998

*Author’s Note: I feel I should explain this mess. It was written in college on a buddy’s fridge with the non-x-rated magnetic poetry. It is horribly juvenile and I love it all the more for that reason.

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Chloe Thurlow

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“Eating the peach is a meditation. Your mind empties of all the must dos and should have dones. You are pure being. Your lover’s tongue is the key that turns the lock that opens the pleasure box. Life has few perfect moments; moments of cunnilingus score the highest on the sex blissometer.”
― Chloe Thurlow, Katie in Love

You’re Cold, Calculated & Good-Looking

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You’re cold, calculated & good-looking

Left behind your classmates long ago

Wandering the bottom of telegraph hill

Boys of the varsity crew dutifully row

Looking down through expensive lenses

Never stooping below your vertical reach

Self-confidence not what you reveal

Truth of the matter, aren’t you a peach

Through all these delicate years

I’m still here, feeling sorry for you

Hiding in this city is not an escape

An anonymous life not so fresh & new

Skirting this issue you may complete

Being breezy like a windless chime

Slipping just between your fingers

This just must not be the time