The Kiss
A sexy poem and the story of how it came to be
The Kiss
Before we were we,
I would study
your lips as you spoke, longing
to be a single word formed there and said.
Your top lip stimulated
my intellect (you had so much to say)
while the bottom stirred up instinct:
breath and whispers,
slick sliding and buttery biting.
I cooked for you
just to watch you eat. Imagined myself
the fork, the salt, the meat
passing under your soft palate
and resting there in warmth.
When you finally offered me
your mouth, everything
became you,
and I feasted there,
wild and fed.Ellen Rowland, from No Small Thing, (Fernwood Press, 2023)
I’m not a big fan of Valentine’s Day, simply because I think we should celebrate love every day, but maybe it’s a good day to share the first erotic/sensual poem I wrote a few years ago and the story of how it came about.
It was written on a dare. A fellow poet challenged me to write a sexy poem and come read it out loud at a virtual reading. I think I actually blushed when I read his message, that’s how completely out of my comfort zone this idea was. I didn’t write sensual poetry. I wrote about birds and trees and beauty. Did people even write sexy poetry? I started searching and discovered that indeed, many poets write about the sensual and the sexy, and as I began reading more and more examples, I understood how lovely it could be, especially when the language was lush and evocative. I could do lush and evocative.
“The Kiss” is the result of that challenge. Because it’s best to write about what we know, I kept it simple and true. And yes, I showed up and read it out loud at that virtual reading with nary a blush. I had come to somehow love it by that point. To date, it is the poem that has received the most “likes” and shares and comments of any poem I’ve shared online. Go figure.
I’m glad I accepted the challenge because it taught me a great lesson about pigeon-holing who we are a poets/writers. I’ve even taught erotic writing as a poetry workshop. Twice. And here’s what I’ve discovered. We are vast wells of experience and insight! Sometimes we just need to be reminded that we are fully human and give ourselves permission to express all facets of what it means to be alive.
If you’re feeling inspired, write and share an erotic/sensual love poem in the comments. (By all means be lush and evocative, but keep it clean and respectful please.)
Wishing you all love today. And every day.
With gratitude,
I’m thrilled to be a guest poet in conversation with the lovely Julia Fehrenbacher on Wednesday, February 18th. You can find out more information on Julia’s Substack!
Taking Up Slack
It was his eyes—
iris a swirl of green and amber,
the black pool of pupil
pulling me into the water.
His mouth, a Cupid’s bow pillow,
labial commissures
arrows pointing skyward.
Perfect spoons:
his scapula, spine, lungs, hips
a heating pad for my breasts,
belly, pelvis.
What I didn’t know, back in the days
of 3 a.m. chocolate soufflés
after the bar closed,
old movies, swapping term papers,
what I couldn’t anticipate
was how he uses his arms.
As he lifted our sweet old Madeline
into the car, another trip
to the veterinary hospital
it came to me
how much his arms have carried:
five prior big dogs, laid to rest.
Our three children, now grown,
when they were still
able to be cradled.
His parents, and mine
not carried,
but held.
As he embraced me
when I said my final goodbyes.
Now, in our last chapters
(God only knows how many)
I watch his big hands lift
our precious grandbaby,
the don’t-take-my-glasses game,
her gummy smile wide,
two bottom teeth showing,
babbling, plucking his frames
with dimpled hands.
I realize now our sailing life
is metaphor.
I love watching his hands
trim the sheets, then ease
knowing when to hold,
when to grind,
when to take up slack.
Not every crossing needs a horizon.
Some days,
it’s enough
to stay under way.
Here is a poem I wrote which was published in Equinox Literary Journal in the spring of 2025. My name is Carol Louise Munn. The line breaks and spacing are off because I copied and pasted it. I hope you enjoy it anyway. I loved the poem The Kiss which you posted!
Meeting in the Hall
We’ve been in love for twenty-nine years
more or less, making a home in this
old house, a bed for us, a bed for you
who wakes in the night leaving
for a place to stretch, the dark corners
under our sheets too cool and tight
to hold you for long. I never know
the difference between asleep with you
or without until I wake alone cross-length
in our bed. I think I miss you when you go,
but I know that I want to see your face
in the morning, every morning, for you
to still be here, your arms around my body
in the hall that is all that separates us
from the low fog of sleepless nights.
Every morning, every night I love you
like the rain that comes down
because that’s all it is made to do
when clouds are full and nothing
can stop the earth from waiting
for what it needs.
Carol Louise Munn