I don't mind death, as long it
Comes under an open sky.

Crows and magpies go for the
Eyes first.

The dead need them the
Least.

Lack of life renders once living
Things more alien within

Walls. So
I don't mind death as long as it

Comes under an open sky.
Among trees, mountains,

Soil, and stones,
I'll surrender my

Eyes gladly to the
Birds.

Ships that sail into distant unknown oceans,
sunsets that shine on summer lawns,
water that glistens on a frosty morn,
flowers that unfurl in the springtime breeze,
darkest of gems that cannot be fathomed,
black mirrors of a fortune tellers wares,
flickering candles on a moonlit night,
shadows that move across a darkened room,
moon beams dancing across a hidden path,
eyes within eyes, soul within soul,
horizons new, my morning dew.

sitting here but not
my insides
       in a twist
my organs blooming,
their flower landscapes
rising in my solar plexus
like poetry expanding
its cellular shapes
into
        light frequencies
I need way more.
I need the pulling off
      and stripping down
of souls
I need to meet in
a depth of falling
I need to be pushed off
the silent gates of madness
into endless sea
no looking back
senses piqued
from slightest brush
of oral butter pouring
on hot cream
my mouth, a searing
crimson wound
oscillates in
contraction radar pulses
ripe for intense
tongue exploration
         aching to be filled up with
your distinct flavor
My essence molecular is
overflowing with fluid
giving me life
in throbbing, raw
electric vibes
whipped organic, in
                 rolling tides
Somewhere, out there
                  our volcanic impulses
                          meet in steamy ebbs
                     and send energyflow
to a new and ancient universe,
magnetic
and I am
a raging heaven's child
      wrapped in
           a tight little
              tourniquet
     blood pumping
through these veins
             my longing for
                 dark stretches
   of intimate caresses
to soothe
  the spikes
      of snaking pain
Give me
those airwaves that
let me breathe freedom
into the fields of our skin
Let me run like wild herds
of the animal within

and as I find myself
hanging off
my
      own
  edges
my many-braided loops
         in zigzag split,
a-fray
my skin rips open,
parting fibers
that expose my
very
      DNA
helix swivel
     undulation
hips grinding into
                     soul
reaching in to
pull out
fresh rebirth
from between my folds
O help me to allay
this tender affliction
undo me, already
so I lose control
one little shove
and I am over the cliff
deep into ocean
**** over spliff
I am beyond ready
so grind it to the hilt
Give me your
tender-ripped heart,
spill your honeycomb milk

I am here, ravenous
in the pan
uncooked yet ripe
saliva and breath
steaming my own innards
flushing out strife
I am piquant hot pepper
ready to be broiled
my blood is already
                             boiling
my tender meat oiled
mull me over
in your oral cavity
like sacred wine
until I drip
through your bones
and down your spine
Just meld with me
                        and flow
into that light tunnel
of dark time and space
so I can stake out
my rhythms
and claim
      my
new
sacred
      place

Find a girl
that makes you feel weird.
One that makes you do
really strange things.
The kind of beauty
that has you feeling so
hazy after morning ***  
you put milk in the bowl
before your cereal.

Now that's something.

it's in the lush lips of her smile
and the stars that freckle
her cheeks and her nose

the soft beat of her heart
just beneath the flannel cloth
worn over her chest

the poems she keeps
in the pockets of her jeans
and the legs they cover

the songs of her milky skin
and its playful sins
and haunting seduction

part dream
  part lust
    part love

it's in all that she does
and all that she is
and all that is beautiful

the ******* doing here?!*

it usually happens with that sort
of italic question...

a 3 year old maine ****
cat, trying to fall asleep in
my bed...

     he's past the 9kg mark of
weight-lifting,
and i'm starting to think
around orientating myself
within the claustro- -phobia
of excuses...

i picked up a dead corpse of a dead
fox once, walked the corpse for
about 3 miles, and threw it into
the bushes once i weighed him...
came up as almost 10kg...

    i was thinking of buying some beers
and going into the brothel
at goodmayes to say hello
to my bulgarian "girlfriend"...

   now i have this feline "love" lazing
in my bed...
so i'm pulling faces,
and he's pulling faces...
          and i want him out of
my bed, and he wants to remain in it...

i've a problem on my hands...
a maine **** ginger,
9kg+ loitering sleepy, feeling funny
in my bed...

    sad as it might sound,
i find it hard sleeping with animals,
which encrusts a follow-up of saying:
should this cat turn into a woman?
i'd find it double the trouble
of falling asleep next to it...

       however sad, however true,
you can only laugh at the reality
of it being managed by counter measures
of: well, i tried my bitterest best,
     i like a comfy bed,
  no point asking for an extra
cushion, in the form of a woman;

i don't want to be a sad loner type in
writing...
i really don't want to be the secondary
inconvenience of the "nice guy"...
i.e.: great father, ****** huspand,
ever-more the ******* lover...
    
               you want a dog, ask me...
i have this 9+ k.g. maine **** "lover"
asking me to lie with him...
          i keep looking at him,
inquiring him: the ******* doing
in my bed?!

       and he replies:
you got something to argue about
with me getting a sun-tan?

it's 2 a.m., if you can pulverise the *******
moon, i can't see how you can turn copper
skinned!

stop being funny... he replies

i reply: stop being a rent "boy"!

       then he replies:
ask me to yawn and meow at the same time,
i ****** know that you can **** and yawn
at the same time...

i say:

              to be honest, arguing with you,
will end up being a chance for admiring the mona lisa
in an electric chair;

call that the electric grin,
    chattering chambers of grease...
the sean connery turkish...
shom-shing short of a shaken, shnot shtirred.

In the currency of our current world
I have been taught for as long as I can remember
That my value as a woman
Exists only
In how worthy I am deemed by men.

'Remember, no one wants someone that everyone's had'
Was a favourite of my elders.
A line reiterated to me
Since I was old enough
To be made conscious of being sexualised
To be considered one day by men
Disregarding any of my own desires.
Letting me know
My exchange value
Is worth nothing more
Than how much they might want my body
Or by this we mean
How little they may want it
Once they might not have been the first
Or somewhere thereabouts.

I am no one's virginal prize  
No one's to define or demonise.
I am too much ******* woman
To be reduced to such confines
To be fit into a category
Fit for only men to use
To determine what it is I am good for.

I can be the Madonna and the *****,
Whatever I choose
And every bit of brilliance in between.
But make no mistake
Not one bit of our womanhood
Is here for your judgement
Make no mistake
Not one bit of my existence
Is woven into how worthy you find me.