I was away, alone. A small studio with pale yellow walls, a single bed and a big balcony cradling Megas Limnionas beach. Each afternoon, on my way home, I would pick heavy purple figs from a nearby tree and eat them sitting on a plastic chair on the balcony, the juice running down between my fingers, my palms turning sticky. I had just fallen in love— she was meeting me in Barcelona in a month’s time. I had just fallen in love, and so everything was erotic.

The sun turning gold in the late afternoon, the slowness of everything brought on by the heat, salt water crust on my skin. Most of all— a longing for her. That feeling of expansive desire. Sitting in it turned any loneliness to solitude. A richer space. She would come in waves of memory. My hands reaching across the space between us, remembering the feel, smell, taste of her. Other times, I would dream us both beyond ourselves: into places we had never been.

These sensations were a revelation for me — my last relationship had grown stale, stagnant. Somewhere, I had forgotten desire, the feeling of being desired and being desirous. Being on both sides of the gaze. The pleasure in the unfurling of love. The fullness of everything. It was like she had cracked the surface of the world, and showed me the hidden landscapes beneath.The poems rushed out of me— me forming words around the shape of each new moment. Each pleasure. If I did that, if I saved it in words, I could slip back into it, anytime.

When I read my words now, a sensation flowers in me. It feels similar to shame, or embarrassment. The writing of those words seems far away and young; naive. Like I’m looking back on a past self. I have changed, become— and so too has the way I express myself. The words I choose, what I see, how I write. In the midst of this feeling, I realise, this is exactly what Messy Sex is about. The potential of the erotic to shift us. The erotic as something we should play with, talk about, express — without shame. Pleasure as a means, again and again. Pleasure as not just ephemeral — instead, something with the ability to seep into the fabric of our lives.

morning

I tear through the cloth of night head first into morning,
and find us so close our flesh spills into each other.

my eyes can’t focus, through them you are are a blur -

ripe peach
soft plum
wet sand
dark warm soil

your breath on me: invasive. humid, heady, everywhere.

your limbs over me: sleep stoned and heavy. they wrap me in you, my skin prickles.

the tendrils of your hair: Medusa’s on my sheets.

I kiss the brown earth between your breasts.
feel my thigh between your legs, your pussy wet on my skin -
I can smell you, salty
that sun baked cloudy sea salt you find in
pools freckled over rocks.

you’re so much to take in
a whole world to digest in my waking moments

I stand alone

, in
my small room.
my large window looks
over sunburnt roofs
and the sky forever looming.

I stand alone, in
the midst of my own revolution, in
midsummer heat that slips through every crack in my dusty old house
a silent but sweet visitor,
she knows
she is the season of seduction.

I stand alone,
dried flowers in Passata jars - their life gone, their colour not
book piled on books, a scattered scene
dusk blue sheets
sandalwood incense curling in the air
to me, all of it looks like some kind of liberation.

I stand alone, in

my solitude, I listen to a singing I haven’t heard in a long time
the reverberations fill my room, and
I feel full, I am full, and
swimming deep in the waters of pleasure,

oh

I am so full
new found magic in my skin
new found light illuminating
depth I forgot existed.

I stand alone, in
nakedness.
I pour rosehip oil into the palm of my hand, it pools
I massage it into my chest
looking down, I recognise my breasts as my own for maybe the first time ever.

now new energy inhabits my hands as they work their way down my body,
massaging a shy gratitude into myself
feeling myself; a universe
a full, fleshy universe

the hairs on my arms rise
my breath sinks and slows
and I fall

back into my bed
I feel my curves, my edges
the rings of Saturn
admire the shimmer of the fine stretch marks on my hips,
a Milky Way,
watch my nipples rise and harden under my fingers,
my collarbones protrude, strong and beautiful,
I feel the softness of my inner thighs,
my tongue on my lips,
the silk of my skin,

my pussy
its life, its hunger, its wanting, its colour,
it’s wet, it’s warm, it’s desirous of everything

I cum.

and I am thinking of nothing
but myself
in this moment

I am my own revelation

the fig

I wake hazy from a siesta
lying heavy, lazy
warm and still,

there’s a fig sitting by my bed,

I reach for it
slowly sink my teeth and break through its soft skin
slowly feel its sweetness spread over my tongue

the seeds pop.

slowly
swallow.

me and a fig; my erotic solitude.

I think of you.

I am no longer alone.

we lie close, facing each other
your breath is on me and I breathe it in, tasting it.
you’re bare and your eyes are drunk and heavy, and the day feels long and my hands run all over you, feeling all of you,
every groove, every curve, every hair, every thing.

I find my fingers everywhere, they set off electric shocks, goosebumps following me over your skin
- I trace your nose, the line of your jaw, your hair between my fingers, your neck, your collarbones, your breasts, brush over your bruise mauve nipples, your ribs, your beautiful stomach, your spine, your shoulder blades, your ass, your thighs outside and feel the warm sticky sweat on the inside, down your legs, golden and still, your feet, your toes, up your shins, your hips - they move slightly under my hands, wanting.
my hands have no where else to go.

I touch your pussy, finally.

you are wet and pink and soft and yearning and suddenly I can feel my heart and my breath is coming out in storm clouds and my whole body is beating and I kiss you

your lips are my fig: juicy and sweet and wet and so are you
you throw your head back and it’s like you're dying or being born, it’s animal, wild and beautiful.

I bite your neck, I want the taste of your skin in my mouth forever. my tongue follows your body down and I’m hungry and your nipples are in my mouth, under my tongue and they are hard and you’re looking down at me and I’m looking up at you and our eyes are full of sex and love.

I have to kiss you. I come up again and our kisses are full and tongues are wild and I want to climb into the rose cave inside you.

my hands work their way down you, firmer now, holding your skin. I sit up and pull your legs around me and you are a splendour below me. my fingers touch your pussy and you shiver and open your mouth and your eyes are passion dimmed as I fuck you - two fingers inside and my thumb rubbing against your clitoris and my other hand running wild over you, pulling at your thighs, grazing your nipples, I touch myself and smear my endless wetness over your thighs.
-I am so wet. I am fucking you and you are moaning and you hold your breath and your back arches and I feel you cum, in full glory, lit up and amazing and a whole world is flowing through you and I can feel it, free.
you let your breath go and give it all to me.

my tongue moves along your neck down in a straight line to your pussy and I can barely hold myself but I lick your pussy slowly up and and down up and down, flat and full and then I find your clitoris, beating and huge and take it in my lips and you are the best thing I’ve ever eaten.