I cried these dirges brashly,
After these long nights
While my skin cracks;
Irrigating it with my dry tears
By the desperate harmattan;
My cries are a rustling of leaves under a sun
That never fades- washing my face in strict rays
Its attendance is long overstayed;
Resting on my absent mind

I sit outside in the world’s
Quick-witted; criticizing eyes
Weeping proudly without a rush of blinking tears;
This everyday world isn’t my beloved home to own-
A shelter neglecting to cover my nakedness

I sit outside in the world’s
Quick-witted; criticizing eyes
With a tiny cloth left damp, sodden and weary
By the stretched tears flowing down my bare *******
The world quickly suckles on my grief –
Biting, pulling, and scarring them by their buds
calling it all fair by its, “Budding remarks”
With the goalmouth of getting itself full up;
Never nursing the agony.  

                     Oh, how my heart hurts!

I am not the man for a moment;-
more so trying to be a writer, and questioning
whether I actually still enjoy being a poet.

I am… an interlude, just another episode
in between two random pages- open to seeing
the anomaly of the next chapter, or more or less
staying blissfully content on the things of old.

Refusing to give up, but at the moment,
willing enough to give up the pen.
Sigh… I think the poet is finally dead.

Embrace the future's call
treasure the present's glow
and transcend the bygone flow.

Oh to owe what isn’t owned; glorifying riches at hand to hold
— not for long. Skeletons, carcases, dust to dust, bones grow cold
as they get old; as the foundations you place your wealth on –
grow hollow once more.

As a man with absolutely nothing, has all the space in the world, to feel
they don’t belong. A man with everything counts up the credits they’re
owed, alas counting up all of the funds, to be counting down their days.

The grounds we walk on are all so slippery- constantly sliding money for
food. Working all of your life; filling up twenty-four hour slots gambling
all that one has at hand, end to end for ends meet.

We cannot hold onto time any longer then we try to hold onto money;
trying to weather through it all - it’s only easier when the weather's fine,
As hard times slip under the door, and the key to it refuses to thaw.

Still the poverty trap has steel jaws that snap, the trap of chasing money
as an escape- rises ourselves as serpents, curved to swallow our own tail.

                                  Our own tragedy of ssss…success.

To these incoming affections, capricious
outcoming sentiments, for an escort to date;
Would I die for anything close to true love—
honestly, I’d pray I’m not too late.

Ole to the beautiful flower hidden underneath
a shadow- a beautiful flower in bloom, alongside
a naked truth. Sensual images, picturing gentle
moves to drive love so pure and never felt;
its eyes a flower garden of unspoiled- felt so heavenly.
Permit me to kiss you evenly by heaven’s sweet entry;
flowing in sync; we’ll rest in a lily field of complete
serenity.

And she replied to him:

Our first meeting of first feelings- never felt before,
as I waited in the shadows; longing for the needs
within us, for one another. Aroused in my inner core
to touch and explore love in treasured completeness
and wholeness. Share your life with me and within me;
darling fall into my arms, and allow me to feel my inner
spirit for you within- burning endlessly from my soul’s
aflame.

                                      Shall we burn together.

Body

Let me love and care for the art piece
of your body- every pulsating touch of your
spasms. Jumping wildly; while washing
me in your spring water on top a mountain
of passions. I’ll spurt within you, from its tip.

And in kind; let the wetness of your lips
sooth my skin. Kissed by your sensual soul, as
it echoes every word of thirst, running down your
throat; chasing after every breath we lose in
a moment.

                       Still, let us not love in haste.

Amazon Queen

I gaze at you, as my sprouting rose in
bloom. But not something so delicate; she is
tall, shapely, and sturdy— my Amazon Queen
that keeps me in the centre of her rainforest.

As she lets my words water her floret by
their tip- its warmth and gentleness spoke of
a love so deep and fulfilling.

*******

Oh, how she stimulates my eyes,
as I make out with her eye’s persuasion;
my mind often rehearses how I’ll love her
in it’s imaginations- my mind’s perfect
simulation;

For our desires are much sweeter,
by every bite of her smooth chocolate skin
I adore her more than I would have
yesterday- to quietly bless each step
she’ll take tomorrow. And a reason for me
to kiss her feet.

Moist

Surely as the night is washed by the gentle rains-
I have these saturated thoughts, pondering how
she’ll drown me over another night’

As she could never
have the most without I in the middle;
her underwear feels so moist.


Climactic Prelude & Conclusion

Would you love to experience a climactic
prelude; a middle so sweet in its time;

While my eyes ripen at the sight of your
ripening fruit,

Oh, so sweet in its time, let me capture
and savour that juicy fruit,

For yes indeed we had fallen in love-
but let not that fruit eventually fall;

From its tree, to rot off its vine; let me bite
you as mine- to taste your heaven’s ecstasy;

In this climactic prelude; I promise the middle
is filling, and its conclusion won’t be short lived.