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 Dec 2013 Amber S
Lili
And would you believe
      The twinkle in my eyes
              The fluttering in my chest
                      The awakening of my soul
When he spoke those smoldering words
"When I look into your eyes I'm home."
 Dec 2013 Amber S
kenye
Eye-******
by the
Pastor's Daughter

On Christmas Eve
With the rest of the
fair-weather Christians
it's the most wonderful
time of year
To pretend you care
about someone
other than yourself
just believe
in something
greater
and fake
infinity
for a minute

I'm pretty sure
There's a ring around her finger
Like the wreath around
some Savior
or whatever
her Dad was saying
in service
about some symbol of
love
being everlasting
being everlasting
Like a mirror
looking into a mirror
Staring down your own soul
and judging

In the background
I feel her at the back
of my head
she's staring me down
her sights are set
she's locked and loaded
she's racing
some sin circus
in my
Unraveling mind
She's begging me
to start unwrapping
her clothes
like a Christmas present
moaning
ripping
and tearing
her *******
off
like bows
on the gift
of transgressions

I look back to an empty pew
and the ghosts of
my past and future
temptations.
 Dec 2013 Amber S
kenye
She's no
Fragile
*******
Flower

She'll plant
Seeds
in
sanity

And grow
Through
Telepathic
Psychopathy

Passed
the
past
too rough
for diamonds

What didn't **** her
made her outpower
her ego

And she sent her soul
To cocktease
my cognitive construct
in haunting hallucinations

The girl next door
frantically feeling me up
via shared consciousness

She
suppressed
this obsession
So she's always
locked in my mind
like a ***** secret

She holds
the key
like a
cuckold

constricting roots
to hold me down
to Earth
with
no
release

She's
a wild
*******
flower
 Dec 2013 Amber S
kenye
Ultra violent
visions
of
grandeur
gracefully
spill the blood
of lost innocence
in the lust of the moment
I lunged for her throat
swallowed her moans
and left her writhing
in bed
beating her heart out
bleeding her love out
battling demons
of my ****** up
electromagnetic
heart
I left a war
in her head
waived the white flag
and walked away

Like God
leaving her to
her own
destructive
device

*Her Body
Her Weapon
Her Choice
 Dec 2013 Amber S
kenye
Your past
has constantly got you
trigger
finger itchin'
pulling
at the stitches

Tempting you to spill
your insides out
To re-write love on your arms
Like you meant the cuts
To cut the conversation short

Capitalizing
a blood loss
in a blog
of glamorized
self-inflicted
battle scars

Some masochistic pride
pulled you into the abyss
Where do you draw the line?
Between exploitation
and raising awareness?
 Dec 2013 Amber S
kenye
God Fetish
 Dec 2013 Amber S
kenye
Cursed with consciousness
Controlled by the cosmic
**** of knowledge

Dripping wet
Drowned out
Overstimulated senses

Turned on
by some higher power
Feeling up
from chakra to chakra

Angels moan in harmony
humming divine madness
through the electric bodies

A touch of fire
forces art from fingertips
forging
copies
of copies
of copies

Created in the image
of constant grace
Burning the original
without a trace
sorry/not sorry for the c-bomb
 Dec 2013 Amber S
JM
The small ones
 Dec 2013 Amber S
JM
It's these small hours; these slow and tired ones,
thick,
heavy with memories,
that can weigh a man down.

I miss you

Time creeps by.

This moment,
this Now,
I can taste your smells.
Rose oil,
amber,
coffee and fresh sheets.

Skin

It's these small hours,
these quiet hours.
 Dec 2013 Amber S
mûre
Is there anything so extraordinary as a hand?

I asked, as I ****** his finger
with a gusto hungry to milk some essence of him
that would nourish me after his body left.

Your divine digits! These brilliant explorers, who
fragile as separate spring shoots, can teach and tell and build what
would last for ever.

If a Renaissance lives, it lives in these hands , these ingenious orchestrations that can musick and paint and sculpt and-

          *-and write?


Yes darling, and that.

I migrated my tongue and attention to his palm and slowly painted his love-line pink, tasting his future.

Do you know, when I was once a little Catholic girl- they would tell their stories in Sunday School and I used to imagine the soul resided somewhere in your belly and felt like chicken noodle soup...

and perhaps not so, perhaps hands are the houses of soul where the most Authentic Self of selves resides waiting to touch, to hold, to caress... where the animal desires of humanity delight in the most truthful communication existing?


        -Then... what is the common language? Id?

Yes, perhaps you're right. And love.

His other hand, jealous of my attention, spoke aloud in a sonnet of pinches and strokes that could have drawn tears of reverence were I not held captive by the decadent finger between my lips.

Between gulps of air he queried my fixation
and with a final holy gasp I testified:

**"Darling, touch is the only transparent sensation"
 Dec 2013 Amber S
kenye
Girl
I wanna *******
In your glass house
As we skip rocks
slipping our tongues
into something more comfortable

something less cynical
than the effect
we have on ourselves
in a mirrored conversation
constantly
reflecting back
our insecure subconscious

So come on
let's get physical
Feel the frustration out
It's hijacking your
central nervous system
don't let it control
coax me to the back bedroom
and I'll show you how to ground yourself

Break glass
In case of emergency
We just need a release
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