I'm caught swirling slipping, falling
into a world of night, all full of lights
and lapping luxury aligned down
breezy boulevards, and I can see beauty
in the streets,
and meaner, in the eyes of the girls
who clasp their knees together so their
skirts don't show their
precious cargo.
Im a believer of big dreams, starlight
bringing lines of fate like highways speeding down
to meet and greet
and she's a red hot fox and she's simmering,
glimmering less as her dress is messed, she
drops it and drips across the bed, lost her head in the
soft white moonlight, red
in the face when she sees me watching,
catching breaths but laughing, squealing, yes,
so give it all you got, you're quite the flower in her
*** and by the morning you have both all but forgot
the things you learned here.
Like no matter what, it sours, stupid hours go by like
swatting flies, babel's tower toppled over, under lies
and little bits of broken families finding others,
like themselves, sisters and brothers of the failed
pursuit of happiness, with which we all are burdened
and as children we perceive no better prize
than the chance to take a peek into her
longing little eyes and see her pretty peach,
and take a bite
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
I consume the scenery of Halloween,
impartially piercing the brooding gowns of girls who,
conforming to the timeless raindanced moons
and sweating under better moods,
fling their little masks into the void and
precious their skin melts into mine.
The groping feelers of insect heads impose
on a stark and fulfilled figure who
needs no bigger danger than the
needless release of a stranger's spring.
Flung like a frog onto the thorns of her
blooming petals and in ecstasy
deranged upon how sick and being free
she flies towards but up always reaching
unto nether maidens and whose heads have been raided
for the beds
which and onto the next ****** body they've sated
Time
and all the satellites of minute hands revolving
surround the years before you killed your calling
saying (please involve the fearful loathing
of the quarry which stalked by you befell me
to slay it and by bulging moonbeams
lick and lap of her that which remains)
and
by squealing pillow-muffled she
presses harder and into herself my shame
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC