How To Cuddle
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How To Cuddle

 D.S. West
 D.S. West
How To Cuddle
by D.S. West  FollowFollow
D.S. West has always wanted to find a publisher who would let him write, "There are a couple reasons cunnilingus is recurring theme in D.S. West' more writing, and only one of those reasons is to upset patriarchal values." Not that writing about oral sex is sticking it to the man anymore, but. Bios are hard. D.S. West is an experimental writer and artist from Longmont, CO. He enjoys comic books, modern art, boiled yucca root, and writing about sex acts he hasn't performed in a while. Tastefully. In a matter of speaking.
How To Cuddle
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You annihilate me daily.

Crippling self-doubt:

what would she think if she saw?

am I a blip? am I a man?

am I the pool beneath the wick?

melted self to reflect the flame?


You draw hornets out the nests you built

in the rusty spokes, my spinning wheels.

I’ve been stung hundreds of times, ankles

swollen, immobilized, prone red infected

inside prize.


Wiser men who know better,

who don’t write sentimental poetry,

burn down her altars.

Time too valuable, these men marry

banging CPAs, sperm out high school soccer



[Soccer is the football of the future,

and wise men invest in the future.]


I am not a wise man. I’ve read

great things about honey, I can’t

bear all these bees but


honey reflects in amber, all wavy.

A scientist of sweet, I write

free verse grammatical apocalypse,

transcend time space and subject matter,

poke my finger inside the garbage disposal


to hold my breath, extend the metaphor

for slow burn Gaussian blur, the fear to

wake up to the next absurd stanza.


I resented you, the way you

snipped the central cross-stitch.

Now I see! you meant to

pull the stuffing out this

honey-drunk, beestung bear.


The wise men all call me crazy.

But Kali says, to the latest taping’s

starstruck studio audience:

“And you thought his FUR was soft!”


Kali, on the Insomniac Shopping Network:

“Feel his inside cotton!” As a model pulls

a handful, presses the honey bear’s contents

against her blushing, or is she made-up? cheek.


“Two at time! More! There’s plenty left.”

Product models swarm the sound stage,

and inside’s a skein of skinny fingers, cotton fibers.


The apple of my glossy button eyes

is the stinger, the needle that pokes

to draw the string through

to knot, both ends, a smile.


"Real bears don’t smile!" scoff

the wiser.

My tiny black button eyes reflect

the frightened children too:


Kali love makes the little bear

the forest.



  13 months ago
If women paid less attention to the bees and more attention to the humans there would be more peace and less war in the world.
  3 years ago
Nice poem suggest viagra

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