I bury my nose in her armpits, breathing deep
She exudes sweat and musk; funky and intoxicating
Soft curly hairs brushing my nose and face
My tongue flickering and tasting - salty and sour
My body touching hers in so many places
I don't know where I begin and she ends
Or how long we have been like this
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Cupping her ******
My hands the perfect vessels
For this precious gift
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
Being with you hurts
You always make me feel less
Less than I can be
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
I love her
I need his friendship
They love and need each other
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:02 PM UTC
Doorways of the soul
They can be warm or ice cold
In the young or old.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Pillars of the sky
Rooted to the Earth's mantle
Piercing through the clouds
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
I fell off the flat Earth and love is written in the stone
And love is the seventh wave that will always take me home
I feel wonderful tonight because I woke up laughing
I was climbing Solsbury hill where the wind was blowing
Keep it dark, they'll never know. I was a child for a day.
My heart tells me more than your raging eyes can ever say.
It's gonna get better. I'll follow you if you follow me.
I'm making contact, our bodies returning to the sea.
Earth Stone, wonderful laughter and the wind upon the hill.
The dark child believes in you, the once raging eyes are still.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
The land is dry and infertile.
The rivers and stream share the same fate.
This will mean the death of our people
Unless we can find some escape.
So we pack our belongings
And take one last look at our homes.
Leave what food we can for the elderly
And set out for the unknown.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
They came, the marauders, from out of the night
Burning, looting and setting our homes alight
We were murdered in our sleep and slaughtered in our beds
Our women-folk misused and then left for dead
But that was yesterday, now it's time to bury our folk
The pain inside is like a knife, is this some mad god's joke?
We will look to our knives and any sharp objects that we can find.
For tonight the farmers will become hunters with death burned into our minds.
For what can replace that empty space where our loved ones used to be.
But the blood of our enemies, flowing over the land and into the sea?
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
The sound of thunder
The mad rushing of the wind
Sparks fly from the hooves.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC