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Andrew Crawford Dec 2022
Tensions wind with
sea's rising tide
then curtains' delicate divide.

Tongue's unsung syllables rhyme,
body's language replying in kind
its secrets, inclined to confide
in human passions
humid, dripping liquefied;
sweetness seizes and slides-
a taste inside
where nectar, ambrosial, resides.

Blurring in a flurry
of your nerves and mine
as if designed
to collide then combine
for a time,
you and i intertwined;
lying supine, your
spine obliged to writhe,
legs around head,
softest vices tightly bind,
hands on thighs,
slowly grind
upon this throne you ride,
crown for the divine;
unifying flesh and minds,
higher towards sky
you climb.

Then knot untied
leaves skin sweat soaked-
satisfied,
described only by
a sigh.
Reposting cuz this didnt really get any views last time lol

Never written a poem about *** before (I guess just cuz even reading poems about it always made feel kinda ****** afterwards lol) but tried to do it a bit more tastefully. Not even sure if I'll keep this one tbh, just a rough draft for now

Also just some side notes with this one (since these words have double meanings): Ambrosia - 1. (In Greek or Roman mythology) the perfume/food of the gods, often depicted as conferring longevity or immortality upon whoever consumed it, literally means "immortality" in Greek; 2. Something extremely pleasing to taste or smell.
Nectar - 1. The drink of the gods; 2. Something delicious to drink; 3. a sugary fluid secreted by plants, especially within flowers to encourage pollination by insects and other animals
Andrew Crawford Aug 2022
Daydreams-
scattered clouds
of feather down
radiating gold around,
lacing outer bounds,
heaven sent
and proudly crowned;
profound and renowned,
astounding throughout-
I bow, devout.

Drowsy, I arouse
raising brow
wondering about
shadows casting doubt
like a shroud.
Thunderstorm
announces with a howl,
sky’s wide mouth shouts,
with a sound devours;
growling gigawatts
of gouging power
on the prowl.

I cower,
loud as a mouse,
counting the amount
of seconds I allow
to slip by every hour;
scavenging and scrounging
to find a route,
I flounder
until I found
a seed endowed;
forged in drought
and valor.

Spouting fountain,
dousing the ground
in a shower;
unwound, this sprout
and boughs will tower;
a house beneath
its blossomed flower.
I build a mound,
even if I can't surmount,
my spirit is scoured-
and I vow this garden is ours.
How now brown cow?

This one's a repost from a couple years ago... ive had writers block going on 6 or 7 months now, so I've been going back over older poems trying to either fix the part that didnt sit right with me or scrap them altogether (in favor of trying to develop a newer, better poem)... the beginning of this one never sat right with me but I am happy with some parts of it
Andrew Crawford Jul 2022
Weary gaze's attention
drifts between dimensions,
mind eyes' pensive lenses
pondering past tenses,
my five upended senses
blended somewhere
in suspension.

Memory's tender reverie apprehended,
seeking splendid spring times
sweet scented;
garden's greener entrances
no fences,
nor damage from
relentless tempests
long since lamented.

When did
rhododendron's appendages,
flowering in a tremendous energy,
ascending to a trembling crescendo
end in
sour fruits of limes, clementines, and lemons?
Tulips' two lips
now whispering a slender mention.
Who else had rose blossoms befriended but their bodies' ornamented thorny brethren?
Men, lent their every hands extended
left with wounds weeping,
wrenched asunder, rended,
recoiling resented.

Pen's river runs
in quintessence,
drenches in each sentence;
blood can't cleanse
despite dispensing in
perennial attempts
as if gravity's
contention depended,
gentle tendrils built
tall walls defenses,
stems became cemented,
and how long have I been
within this glen hidden?
Sorry for a bit of a repost, had writers block for the last 6 or so months (despite writing and rewriting a lot, nothing seems to stick or amount to much) so ive been making a few final changes to some poems hoping it'll help oil the gears...
Put me through miles
Of tortuous trials
All while the torturous
Boredom beguiles
Me spending it
Pending
My breakthrough’s
Approval
Potential is fading
In tandem with youthful
Refusal to sit back
And idly by
Just observe and report
The cloud forms in the sky
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