Playfully, on my *****
did her ******* painfully prance
teasing us...then tangled together
promising to tell those thoughts forever
My heavy hands
   hovering high over
   your hips:
It's so **** to see
   such a salaciously slow
   spanking.

120609~9.3p

God made a soul,
Called her mother
And gave her a task
Like no other.

According to His
Divine decree
A guardian of life
She should be.

A nurturer, teacher
And a guide
With her lil broods
Right by her side.

He told her to call
When the task is hard.
And He’d see her thro',
For He is God.

And that He’d lead
And guide her too
In all He has given
Her to do.

I don’t cry.
I never have.
Not when my childhood friend died,
Or even when I found out my grandparents had cancer.
I am a really tough girl,
Or so I would like to think I am.
Or rather I was a very tough girl.
I used to be a pro at being sad and showing zero emotion.
Lately, it’s been too easy to be standing at a bus stop and think myself into streaming tears and a runny nose.
I guess I do cry now…
And a lot thanks to you.

Men are mad dogs,
 women, finessed felines
we'd no sooner claw
    your eyes out
than admit you're right,
we'll undoubtedly,
without hesitation - -
use our feminine wiles,
to get our own way,
and you bloodhounds
   best get used to it
or no ***** for you
    tonight, or any given day

We've got the upper paw...MEow


And, if you're a bird dog
   well, that's a whole other story,
no telling what could happen

=^;^=

Expecting a different outcome
                      *I try
            just one last time

she was
just a
caterpillar which
happened to
be jealous
of butterflies.

The pink places he
kissed on her body
opened up the way
flowers do in the
season of spring.
And the fluids that
came out looked
like morning dew
on the petals before
the sunshine pours
down and dries them
off drop by drop* ~

Felt the pretense behind closed eyes,
  composed vibrations of rhetoric              
   freelancing in executing ignis fatuus

drank the kool-aid of your own grandeur
   a punch drunk conviction's onus
   in false pretenses of a  mislead head trip

a study in contradiction's convulsions
    simmered of half past lucid judgement,
   junctures of reality submersed
      in cloudy formations
        impervious to reasoning*

...a saga written upon piqued skies of indifference