Sweet, Sticky Thing

For the Lovers Who Love to Be Worshipped the RIGHT Way <3

artist unknown.

Oh, sweet honeysuckle lamb, why did you come to me?

Why expect so much of me with so little to offer?

Did you think my body an altar of a falsified prophet?

That you could maim and take and leave half empty bottles of gin at my feet.

I don't see no coin, no candle, not even a lil something sweet for me.



Don't think I didn't notice the way you stare at me,

Hungry. Starvin even.

You flick your tongue in the air, swipin at me.

I remain unmoved, unconvinced.

Body covered in gold wrappings,

From my nose to my toes,

Who I am to you is worth more than your cheap attempts at revering me.



Oh sweet, sticky thing.

You ain't sweet at all.

You are vile, and weak,

you make a mockery of my good lovin.

You dirty bird,

you nasty buzzard.

That ain't the nasty I was lookin for.

I want your yearning, not your desperation.

Did you not know that my thighs hold the secrets of the Nile AND the Mississippi River?

That the Chattahoochee laps at the nape of neck?

My bones was ground in a pestle and mortar made of my great grandmother’s prayers,

And my grandmother’s breathed life into that dust.

These mounds are thick and soft like wet Red Georgia clay.

My frame sturdy like a good Oak tree.

My spine has stretched and stretched,

Legs long like the stem of a sunflower.

My fingers have wrapped around throats and bellies,

Lips whispering affirmations of faith.



My body must be appealing to you

For you haven’t taken your eyes of the swell of my breast

Nor the curve of my thighs

Nor the ways my hips divet as a place for my lover to hide their hands in.

I have seen you swipe at your lips with a burned tongue

But I have heard no scripture in praise.

Not a Psalm nor a Proverb.

Not even a Revelation.



And what do you make of my hair?

The sweet kinks framing my face,

Like a warm cloud made from the wisps of prayers sent to me.

The curves of my lip are delicious,

The bottom lip thick and warm from sucking.

My cupid’s bow winked at you and you didn’t even have the courtesy to wink back at me.

I thought it was nerves,

But your thick lips can’t hide your sneer good enough.



Oh you sour, slimy thing.

Keep those nasty lips away from me.

You speak blasphemy against my bosom, calling me things you aint never had any business calling me.

I am midnight and fire, I am desire and moonlight.

I have traveled many roads, my spirit has been here many years,

and you stand before me, a young, tender thing in spirit,

you still got milk on your tongue!

I am not here to persuade you to see me fully,

I am here to be worshipped.



Do you know what today is?

Do you have any care for the ways in which you sit in my pews,

Mind swirling with thoughts unholy,

Lips cracking under the weight of your desires,

Hands wringing wishing for warm skin to hold.


I can feel the heat of your praises from the leather-bound words in your hand.


Do you know what today is?

Do you have any care for the lack of love in your tone?

Tongue curling from the rapture of my spirit

Teeth clinking on glasses of grape wine,

Crumbs of my body dropping into your lap.


Did you even kiss my feet?

Offer to wash my labors away and drip honey between my toes.

Today is my day of rest,

Of hiding from those who seek to make a monster of my commandments.



You're not like the lover before.

See that one knew what to do and when to do it.

no hesitation, nor any reprimands.

I didn't have to will my desires to be fulfilled, they just did it.



They knew my days of praise

Those sweet moments etched into the hollows of their cheeks

Roses in hand for me.

They understood what my days required,

poured honey on my belly and sprinkled holy water on my feet.


Time became our third,

and they wielded it to come as they saw fit.

The milliseconds pregnant with desires,

The minutes drunk from the heat of our pants.


It was so good I didn't even remember my name.

And when they asked whose it was I forgot the name of God, my mind high and buzzin.

Body curling under the weight of veneration

I become who I knew myself to be.



You litttle lamb,

you wish to impersonate my past lover.

Wish to mimick their kissin and lickin

Wish to smell the brown sugar found in the dip of my spine.


But you have found your ego

Started smelling yourself,

Began preachin against me in my own pews,

Thinking I was not worthy of worship, only of calling on me

When you need your spirit to feel good again.



Well I do not grant you pardon between these thighs,

tuck your tail

and leave.

---

Hey Sugs,

I hope y’all liked this one! It was something a little different from what I’ve written, but erotic literature has been a love of mine for a minute now and I have been wanting to dive into finishing and sharing some of my more erotic pieces. I had a privilege of joining

BlackStack

‘s Writers Circle and the prompt of the day led me to writing this! Let me know what you think: how did it make you feel? Did you have a favorite stanza? Did it make your toes curl or your eyes roll? Let me know!

Love y’all deep <3