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A review by aldoregan
Dirty Pretty Things by Michael Faudet
1.0
This was utterly shit. I may have found one or two poems that I liked, but the rest were just ridiculous. I get that this is erotic poetry but I was expecting it to be metaphorical and subtle in talking about sex. But the writing was so straightforward to the point where the author used words like "wet", "fucking", and "panties". I cannot tell you how many times I literally cringed or laughed out loud because of the ridiculousness of the poems. This book is a disgrace to poetry.
Here are some examples:
“Poetic
Now’s not the time to be poetic, she said. Just pull my panties down and do me up against this tree.”
“Overwhelmed
I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, she said, but I have
an overwhelming urge to fuck you—right here, right now.”
“Rainy Afternoons
I love spending rainy afternoons in bed getting wet.”
“Kindness
Do you know what really turns me on?
What I find incredibly sexy? Kindness.”
“Dirty
You make me feel a little dirty, she said, and I fucking love it.”
And lastly:
“Voyeur
There comes a moment, hidden beneath the gentle moans escaping your lips, where a wet line is crossed. Transforming the act of touching yourself to a whole different level. It suddenly becomes what it really is. Everything you want it to be. Raw, hardcore, legs apart, masturbation.
And as the intensity of the pleasure increases with each repeated circle, the fantasies start to flow. Sticky and swollen. Stretching your imagination and opening you up to your dirty little secrets—
Pulling your hair and fucking you fast.
A tiny mouth opens . . .
Spasms and shock waves of pleasure explode between your legs, mini aftershocks rippling over your clenched body, as tight fingers pull on a hard nipple.
You lay beneath the messy sheets, quietly exhausted and smiling.”
I can't believe these are actually considered as "poetry". Definitely the worst book that I've read this year so far.
Here are some examples:
“Poetic
Now’s not the time to be poetic, she said. Just pull my panties down and do me up against this tree.”
“Overwhelmed
I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, she said, but I have
an overwhelming urge to fuck you—right here, right now.”
“Rainy Afternoons
I love spending rainy afternoons in bed getting wet.”
“Kindness
Do you know what really turns me on?
What I find incredibly sexy? Kindness.”
“Dirty
You make me feel a little dirty, she said, and I fucking love it.”
And lastly:
“Voyeur
There comes a moment, hidden beneath the gentle moans escaping your lips, where a wet line is crossed. Transforming the act of touching yourself to a whole different level. It suddenly becomes what it really is. Everything you want it to be. Raw, hardcore, legs apart, masturbation.
And as the intensity of the pleasure increases with each repeated circle, the fantasies start to flow. Sticky and swollen. Stretching your imagination and opening you up to your dirty little secrets—
Pulling your hair and fucking you fast.
A tiny mouth opens . . .
Spasms and shock waves of pleasure explode between your legs, mini aftershocks rippling over your clenched body, as tight fingers pull on a hard nipple.
You lay beneath the messy sheets, quietly exhausted and smiling.”
I can't believe these are actually considered as "poetry". Definitely the worst book that I've read this year so far.