You are the eye
Under whose lids
I bask without
having to ask
“Why should I die?”

And your thighs, ah!
When my eyes
Conjure up your thighs
I become certain
Of one thing:
That the dead will rise again.
LazharBouazzi, May 13, 2018

(explicit)

**** my soul
        with poetry
           scream out my gracious name
             slay me with words
               that peel my layers
                and simultaneously
                                   drive me
                                           insane

finger me slowly, hotly
with just the right rhythm and rhyme
    push me past my
                 tender limits
                       into tongues of syntax,
                                                      sublime

a­lliterate my senses
   (in swift stac
                    c-at
                           o)
until my mind is but blank verse
    mess up my stressed
              and unstressed syllables
in unsung language, versed

I will speak to you in vowels
(the only sound
       I will be able to make)
as you stroke
   my iambic pentameter
             in the heat of frothed-up
                                                     ache

we are this heroic couplet, you see
        even if the meaning seems veiled
           no need for simile or metaphor
               as I feel your chest rise
                              in deep inhale

we are a natural paradox
       so many ironies abound
         discordant harmony
is our synaesthesia
     in visible darkness found

and I love this delicious enjambment
as your aura invisibly slips
                               into mine
our lines have no beginning,
                                 no end
    as we undo
          the boundaries
                      of time

A torrid rumbling in my head
Chants for the making of a poem,
But no words in my head respond
To the hungry, chanting plea.

A brass rim hugs an acre of
A zinc ocean, no fish no birds,
Save an empty body, no soul no words,
Fluttering on a broken sea.

And lifting from time to time,
From wave to wave, a valedictory
Pallid hand in lieu of a grimace.


©LazharBouazzi (August 11, 2017)

In her closet next to a shirt
hangs a concertina pleated skirt
she slips it on with grace and ease
the tiny pleats are there to please
like a million shimmering crystal shards
all tightly pressed like a pack of cards
as she moves they sway and dance
upon her legs they tickle and prance
the feeling makes her smile and shiver
which makes the pleats start to quiver
they skim and flatter her  hips and ***
like the majestic rays of a rising sun
such carnal delights found in a skirt
as she hangs it back next to the shirt.

I am hungry
and it is reflected
in the contours
of every inch
                  of skin
every cell a-flutter
tiny wings and heartbeats
activated within
right down to
the ribosomes and
kidney-shaped
mitochondria
right up through epidermis
woven as threads
of softness penetrating
your inner hard, dark parts
causing them
to melt into
                my light
I am craving
to feel your
absolute heart's
raging core
my aching flesh burning,
my heart, wrapped in
a love
              so pure
My need to be
devoured surfaces
in smoothness,
at a glance
You feel it acutely,
no room for doubt
or subtle chance
               I am ravenous
for muscle-worked arms
(arms that could easily
try to break)
to be supremely
gentle as you part
my thighs like the ocean
and sacredly partake
the slickness of your tongue
in my feminine grace
the stains of my love
drenching
                your noble face
your eyes on mine
as I sharply breathe
         need to hold your
head stroke your
           hair know that for me              
the king takes off that
garland of gold
breaking free of
all symbols of status
the only real treasure
the queen who
gives to him,
and who he now pleasures
     and I let myself be consumed
with the reverence
of a psalm
my love pouring into you
healing your hurts,
               like a balm
in this private landscape
we are the most
ferocious of tender
estuaries
in an eternal vista
in this hour of somewhere,
the sea hauls us in
like ancient creatures,
     bringing the fossils
back to life
in lustrous foam
as they
         inch their way
into the spirals
    that we
feel we could
call
     home‎

Officially sweet.
Like sweet nectar
from a honey bee.
Linger on my lips
so gently.
Texture so softly.
Sun warms my skin.
I wonder if you
feel the love within.
My hand on your heart
as you breathe in.
My head on your chest.
If you are laying comfortably.
My eyes are closed.
Just dreaming away.
Wish all of you beautiful people
a sweet sunny sunday.

~Christi Michaels~12/2014~
   ☆⊙☆⊙☆⊙☆

you with an onion
in the palm of your hand
pulling back layers
seeing just who I am

removing the papery
outer shell
the flesh beneath
holding slight color tan

folding back the next
begining to understand
sweet juicy onion
cradled
in the palm of your hand

brave to peel 
the next layer
spicey as onions can be
a tear begins to form
a tear just for me

now you are intoxicated
as only an onion can do
you pull back again
translucent flesh
coming through

sweeter and sweeter
I become
as you genlty find my core
you've settled in
found your way
what a delectable
delicious score

  ☆⊙☆⊙☆⊙☆
Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.

They say it is highly paying to keep calm
That she's gracefully walking my way
That someday love will surely come
To shed light of joy upon my desolate soul and to stay

They tell me to keep my eyes on the look out
They tell me it might come like a bird from the blue sky
And steal loneliness and hurt something I highly doubt
That someday drunken in romance I'll sigh

They say the walk of love is that of a hunting lion
Treading softly not to ***** its absorbed prey
That It's worth the wait as love renders a shoulder to cry on
**** hopeless but a thing for which I still pray

It isn't what they say but what I know that keeps me strong
I know I'll slap love when she's finally here for taking so long