Eroticity/Erotic City

My name is Nicole Leigh Sterner, and these are my naughty thoughts. Enjoy.

I am also Charming or Tedious

Jan 12

Violence

I can feel my insides aching for you
Muscles tightening, contractions making my walls rub together.
The color of conch shells, the inside of my lips
When I eat ice cream I remember your skin…

I can feel my heartbeat throbbing for you
Quickened breath, the rise and fall of my cage.
Beads of sweat on my skin my lips parted in verse
Your hands should be blueprinting my veins.

In a myriad of ways I think you’re meant for me
Like the dawn in the morning or the sunset through the trees
Fingertips on my lips, as you crush them to silence
The words I aim to kill, another theory of violence.

I can feel my insides aching for you
Moisture dripping down thighs when I play back weeks ago.
I tuck my hair behind my ears when I bow down to you
I remember bite marks on your lips.

I can feel my heartbeat throbbing for you
Raise my arms, let your hands circle my ribs.
I am tall but I’m tiny, you can throw me around
Follow the exhales when you kiss down my skin.

Why must you hurt me so? We should just stay indoors
Under sheets, tied in satin, as I keep whispering “more”
You still taste like salt and I still smell like violets
Another tale untold, in this theory of violence.


Milk

You keep wanting to touch me, fingertips grasp at silk
You want to mix brown and white, put your cinnamon in my milk
And I remember the days when my skin ached for you
And I put handprints on your wall late at night.

You keep bruising my thighs, purple flowers that bloom
You want us to get back together, pretty bride and her groom
But I remember the way that your fists ball in anger
And I put balm on my split skin at dawn.

Your words used to cut me, now they fall on deaf ears
You see missed opportunity, but it’s been too many years
You want to touch me and take me, but those times have passed
And we’re trying to be friends…we’ll see how long this will last.

Love letter and tokens
Affection, bespoken
You twine my hair round your fingers and sigh
"I used to save all your strands, but now you have another man,"
And I nod and move a few inches over.

Oh, it is tempting you see; you know all of my secrets
You know dates, places, names; you know every sequence
I can smell me on your face, it seems you’ve kept my silk
More brown mixed with white; cinnamon mixed with milk.


May 20

I Want a Love Song But All You Give Me Is The Blues

I have something like an exhale on a cold day
(Fleeting in the moment but you knew it was warm)
I want something longer, I want something that lasts
I look down to see the lines in the palm of my hands.

Spoken words say I love you, but your written words hurt
Long songs with a chorus uncompleted, like wisps on water that bleed away
Push me and pull me, like a kite in the wind
Love letters I’ve written and with my eyes try to send.

Do this: I do it
Say this: it is said
"Validate all the dreams that manifest in my head"
I kiss the soles of your feet and the bruises on your skin
But it’s not good enough for you, such is the curse of all men.

I want a love song, with words tender and true
But all you give me is the wails of a guitar, and the blues…


Downtown

If I turn around quickly, I could swear you were just there
Because the smell of your skin is the ghost in my hair.
While my vertebrae pop under the hands of another
I mourn the loss of a man I thought could be my last lover.
But times change as I did; we’re not suited for the moment
(Be careful with my heart”, I said, “Don’t drop it, just hold it”)
You clung on to my coattails while I pushed you away
Wanting you always but not having the courage to say…
So I lost you again, this must be the last time
Hour hand’s on the three (three hours, three chimes)
I keep looking for your smile, in the crowds of Downtown
I see men, but not you; photographs of a clown
But it’s never you that I see, it’s never you that is there
It’s just the ghost of your skin in the strands of my hair.


Mar 3

Salt.

A playwright of pain and an author of violence

Left me alone in this scene, crushed by deafening silence

If he cuts me again, I can’t say what I’ll do

There is a history here, and it is bruised back and blue.

His altruistic intentions didn’t make it this far

Breaking bones like he snapped the strings of my guitar

I left him in the summer and was back by the fall

Seems I cannot resist roses and late-night drunken calls.

The expert on gloom and the queen of despair,

I’ll take all the voodoo I can, or Hail Marys or prayers

Put a rosary in my hands in this hospital bed

He was the author of my Bible, my eyes bled as I read

My mother wept when I came home with stitches and scars

But she doesn’t understand pain, and his placement of Mars.

'He is just…aggressive,' I say, and my father walks away

'Leave him now before we're forced to leave roses on your grave.'

But visit me in the hospital!  Broken bones! Punctured lungs!

Songs I can no longer sing, the final chorus unsung!

Nooses around my neck, crush my trachea dry

Adding salt to my wounds, licking tears from my eyes.


The author herself.

The author herself.


Feb 4

Secondary Alliances

Limbs tangled in sheets; I watched the sun rise over her skin like a baptismal pool at dawn.

She woke, groggy, hair in her face, so perfectly proportioned and equisitely flawed.  I draped an arm over her side.  We fit together like puzzle pieces.

"What time is it…?" she drawled, voice heavy with sleep and eyelids drooped with fawn colored lashes.  "When did you wake up?"

"About an hour ago," I said, running a fingertip down her shoulder.  "It’s still early.  Go back to sleep."

She nustled her head against me and slipped fitfully back into sleep.  I watched her side rise and fall with her breaths, the sun made her skin glow amber.  Auburn hair over her face, lips the color of peaches when they’re ripe.  She was pretty with makeup, but I liked her without.

Her tiny feet stuck out of the blanket and her toes curled up in the cold.  I smiled.

People have told me that the things that feel perfect are the things that never last.  Maybe that was true for those without gratitude…but not me.  I thanked the sun for rising, and the clouds for their rain.  I thanked God for every breath and saw His plan every time her eyes reflected my own image back to me.  In instants, I saw shades of a child not yet made.

I ran a hand down her back.  Such secondary alliances.



Fine Line.

"Bite," I rasped, blood curdling in the back of my throat as he bent over me, sweat dripping off of him and onto my wounds making my eyes tear up.

"No," he said, trying to get up, his palms slippery with sweat and gore on the synthetic flooring.  "I don’t have anything left."

I felt my eyelids swelling shut and the crack in my collarbone started to throb.  Blood ran like teardrops down my face, into the crook of my neck, down my chestbone and breasts.  It settled into the lines of my torso and began to congeal.  Dead blood smells like metal.

His muscled, sanguine body stood slowly, hands on knees pushing his frame upwards until he stood fully erect, muscles straining to keep him balanced and fighting gravity.  I had broken four of his teeth on the right side and left a gash mark in his side that had swollen up and smiled at me like a clown.  I rolled my head to the left and looked away. 

Time passed.  I found if I didn’t move, I didn’t hurt.  It was getting cold, though, being stationary, and I knew I’d need to go to a hospital soon.  I had a feeling I had broken a rib.

"And what will we tell them if it gets out of hand?" he had said, pacing frantically over the cement floor of our shared workspace.  "What if we can’t stop?"

I had shrugged.  “Either we’ll stop or we’ll kill each other.  If we kill each other, there won’t be much explaining to do, will there?”

His eyes glinted at me like knives.  Excitement.

"I’m going to need to go to the hospital," I gurgled, moving my head in his direction.  My muscles screamed in mutiny and my collarbone delived a jolt of pure, shocking pain.  I choked back a scream and attempted to stand up.  "Put your clothes on, I need-" I fell to the ground as my ankles buckled under my weight.  I was just a feather but my muscles were riddled with lactic acid.  The blood that had pooled onto my stomach cracked.

"I can’t take you to the hospital looking like THIS!" he screamed, recoiling.  "Jesus Christ!  I knew this would happen! What were we thinking!  You’ve got broken bones, I’m fucking missing teeth!  Jesus…Jesus Christ…".  He started sobbing into his hands. 

I didn’t know how much longer I could withstand the pain of my rib and collarbone.  I bit my lips until I pierced skin and then let out an anguished scream.  He froze and stared at me.

I don’t remember passing out, but who does?

Unknown assailant is what the police said I mumbled.  Sexual assault.  I almost corrected them.

There is a fine line between pleasure and pain. 

I don’t know where he went.



Jan 26

Paper Cuts

On my knees, pretty bruises, lips lined in steel and shivers
A postcard from your address was left, signed and delivered
I picked it up and it cut me, I dropped it quickly and gasped
It seems paper cuts hurt more than deeper slices or gashes.
If I traded a teardrop for a life lined in gold
Would my heartbeat be left? Or be part of what I sold?
That’s a question worth asking, because these teardrops are dripping
And I’ve been running from my heartbeat, but keep falling and slipping.
"Happy birthday, little girl, take my hand," as he whispered
I felt the lines in his palm, felt I was now indentured
Bleeding cuts on my skin, purple bruises on my knees
What is a life lined in gold worth if I can no longer see?
Rubies and diamonds, glitter and gold
The palm of a man on the leash of my soul
I breath in, he is watching, I exhale and he sighs
With his fingers on my flesh and his lips on my thighs.
Blindfolded and beaten, well loved and well treated
Wedding bands on my hands and his eyes on my throat
If I tell him I love him, is my freedom forsaken?
Another cut on my skin, another postcard you wrote…
Paper cuts.


Yours truly.

Yours truly.


Liquid Snapshots

I knew when I saw you, that the deeper I fell
The more soundly you would catch me, you breathe in as I exhale
And the longer I hold you, the harder I press my lips to your own
The liquid snapshots I paint become the pool from which we are born.
While on linen I lay, you run hands down my spine
And I try not to shiver, as clock hands count the time
I want to wrap you in velvet, cover your eyelashes in gold
Breathe your name in my lungs, give you something to hold.
You looked at me gently, eyes the shape of the moon
And I dropped into your lap, in your hands, in your room
Ever so slowly you smiled, moved my hair from my eyes
Kissed stardust from my skin, fingerprinted my thighs
My transitional period ended long, long ago
I am older, and wiser
And there is one thing I know…
I don’t need you to save me
We don’t need to be saved
And I know that you trust that I’ll do what I say
And I trust you to push me
And I trust that you’ll know
That the hinges on the door work two ways, for us both.
Linen dreams, written verses
Lips on petals and paper
Whispered words, songs on ivory
Gentles glances and shivers.
Everyone else had a purpose, and they’ll find love in time
Without them, I’d be nothing, just bones wrapped up in rhymes
For every person I hurt, I love you in forgiveness
For everyone who hurt me, I know that I deserved it
Liquid snapshots in tears and raindrops on glass panes
I keep trying not to fall, but it’s hard in the rain…



After All

You wish much too hard, you cry far too much
You screamed for my silence but beg for my touch
I cannot solve you, for you’re not an equation
I suggest this discovery is a cause for celebration.
You’ve got diamonds in your eyes, ruby red on your lips
You started off as a star then became an eclipse
While I love watching you rise, I’ll skip watching you fall
I hate bruised knees in my bed after all, after all.
“Tie this cross to my wound, I can’t breathe more disease!”
She keeps screaming in the wind, the only listeners: trees
I make signals in smoke, she makes wounds from the fire
Every woman is a lover, and yet also a liar.
Heels on her feet, roses in her arms
She feeds egos with smiles, collateral in charms
Beauty queen take the stage, she curtseys to the judges
But the scabs on her knees break and her mascara smudges.
You wish much too hard for that crown on your head
This is odd as you love humiliation in my bed
You want independence but also to drip in diamonds and gold
This ties you to my bedposts, begging for my billfold.
So keep running away, tiny girl swathed in silk
You rebuff my true love, but come back to my milk
Milk in rectangular forms that I rain down as you dance
After all, when there is money, what little girl needs romance?
Bathed in spotlights by night and “first place” ribbons by day
You’ve parlayed charm into a career, only it doesn’t seem to pay
I’ll pay to watch as you crawl, but I’ll skip watching you fall
I hate washed up women in my bed after all, after all.


Page 1 of 2