Happy birthday- its what they'll say
With voices that typed words delay
Where on your behalf today they'll wish
Simply for your happiness.
A wish to me, is the Horizon;
An imaginary line
of limitless potential
& endless opportunity,
preceding the powerless thrill of pursuit,
Forever fading when approached.
When Happiness is fleeting
as all emotions are,
The golden light of April's dawn
'S morning's Silhouetted scar.




After the soul's darkest night
Drifts into deepest blues,
nightmarily, the waking dream's reveal
relentlessly nothings through.

No love is true or false
Love is love
Same for all
Sacred and pure.

It is just that
Some people love and
some only pretend.

will you still love me
if I don't smile today?
if my tears fall like raindrops
and my world tears at the seams?
if my voice breaks when I talk
and I seek the comfort of dreams?

will you still love me
if I don't cheer up today?
if I sit rigid in silence
and spend the whole day in bed?
if I find solace in cigarettes
and don't keep myself fed?

will you still love me
if I don't laugh today?
if I keep my thoughts hidden
and don't say what I mean?
if I curl up in darkness
and stare at a screen?

will you still love me
if I don't calm down today?
if my patience wears thin
and snaps like a thread?
if my eyes no longer sparkle
and are absent instead?

will you still love me
if I don't smile today?

My gorgeous, beautiful, lovely, hot, shy, brunette, ***-naked wife without kids, is about to have a very memorable ****** in front of a totally safe, mixed audience of couples, with the HARDEST, LONGEST, MOST-PROTRUDING ******* EVER on her deliciously suckable, creamy, milk-white, B-cup *****;—a full-on, ****-naked, gushing, shattering, full-bodied ****** that will leave no muscles uninvolved.  She's going to feel it in her pinky toes.  It's broad daylight on a sunny day.  It couldn't be brighter.  The light couldn't be lighter.  It's hot and summery.  The room is silent except for the sounds of her breathing and heaving and moaning, and the sound of skin on skin contact, and the wet sounds of her very wet ******.  She's facing the transfixed faces.  Her legs are spread wide apart; her knees bend over my knees.  Her ***** is spread wide open; her juicy ****** glistens in the natural light.  My fingertips are all over her ****.  And then I go deep inside the glory of her womanhood.  My fingers come out soaking wet.  I firmly massage her own juices into her own ****.  They shine like high beams in the rain.  And then I pinch and twist and pull her bodacious ******* before I go back down for more basting nectar.  
     I'm fully clothed.  She's the only one who's naked, and she couldn't be more naked.  No one else has ever been so naked.  She's so naked you can almost see her ovaries.  We're in a huge, bulky recliner with plush pillows.  My hands are handling her more and more vigorously.  Her naked **** heave and bounce, and she touches herself as much as I touch her.  She's all over my lap, and up and down my chest.  Sometimes her ******* almost swallows my nose, sometimes it's eye to eye with an aroused spectator.  She jumps up and down on the cushion of her chubby *******.  She sounds like a wildcat in heat.  Her arms come down; she arches her back; her hands grip the armrests.  Her ****, straight up, look like two Tetons with Space Needles.  She holds the pose but keeps her hips in motion, riding my right hand.  Then she folds forward and ***** my fingers with naked enthusiasm and a ******* while tuning her sweaty Space Needles.  Her ******* are like toilet plungers.  You could fly flags from them.  She's 5'2" and her ******* are 5'3".  She could joust two knights at once with her hands tied behind her back.  Later, she'll be shy and embarrassed, but now she hides nothing.  She ***** my fingers like nobody's watching...and everybody's watching.  Her hormonal stank thickens the atmosphere in the small room like the heavy aroma of concupiscent flowers.  The pleasure dominates her.  She comes comes comes to the ******.  She loses all control.  She moans loudly and labors, looks into the audience (her face in a free fall), leans back into me, and gushes like her water just broke.  She has the greatest, longest, strongest, wettest, craziest ******* ****** of all time in front of an audience of embarrassed couples.
     And then it's over.  The spell is broken.  She goes limp.  We wrap a towel around her nakedness, and we lay there while the watchers dissemble to go **** and fantasize about this shy, lovely woman with the naked face and dangerous ******* and assertive ******* and succulent ******.  She laughs a little and cries a little, and she thanks me over and over.  And when all is said and done, she cannot stop smiling.  
     Whenever she remembers it, she blushes a beet-red blush.  But she savors the memory.  Her memory of it is excellent and accurate and very detailed.  We still see these same friends, and they're still good friends.  And they remember it just as well.  She'll never live it down, and she doesn't want to.  She takes playful teasing about it with equal parts grace and blushful embarrassment.  And she loves it.  She's good and true and faithful, my gorgeous, beautiful, lovely, hot-as-**** wife.  She's good and sweet and kind and shy and humble; and she had the greatest ****** of all time in front of an audience of friends who know exactly what she looks like ***-naked, back to front, hanging **** to open *******, writhing and spasming in ecstasy, with a totally, completely, absolutely unmasked ****** face.  She's the only friend for whom this is true.  She's not a pornstar.  She's otherwise anonymous.  She wants, needs, and loves my **** alone.  We make love a lot, and we **** a lot, and we love ******* each other...a lot.  We live happily ever after.  The end.

You arrived
like breath drawn
before the world had lungs.

Not loud.
Not sudden.
Just known.

Like hands that fit
before fingers are taught
what touching means.

We’ve been this before.
I don’t know when.
But my bones do.

My mouth
does not remember
your name—
only the taste
of syllables
I’ve missed
since the last time
we let go.

You looked at me
like you’d seen me
fall before.
I looked at you
like I knew
how you break
when no one is watching.

There’s no story here,
just a pull—
not magnetic,
but cellular.

And a quiet
that builds a room
for both of us
to tremble in.

You,
telling the night
it doesn’t need
to be brave.
Me,
learning the sound
of not flinching.

Time and time again,
we find each other.

In every life
our paths cross—
two souls entwined,
learning more to return.

To grow each other.
To know this feeling
and better express it.

They say there's no thing as true love,
Humans are also fondly known to lie,
I just can't believe it,
Not after knowing you.

I can't say it enough times,
I need something more to really let you know,
I yearn for you,
You are a necessity.

Even when times get dark,
We light each other up,
Even when they plant seeds of doubt,
We sprout even brighter than before.

We grow, we love,
We tire, we sleep,
We rest, we're restless.
I think, I think of you.

i want to peel your skin back
and reveal your deepest sweetness.
to look at your veins
and memorize their paths.
maybe then i’d understand
why you are so rough on the outside.
it takes a lot of work,
digging your fingernails into the flesh,
pulling and pulling until you are bare.
but it is all worth it;
to visit your center,
to break past what conceals you,
and take you apart
slice by slice.

the forming of substance 05
Stephan W

"But I will not drive them (the 'inhabitants') out in a single year,
because the land would become desolate
and the wild animals too numerous for you.
Little by little I will drive them out before you;

Until you have increased enough to take
possession of the land."
~Exodus

.
Within the sphere- formless and void,
there was all but nothing to inhabit.
Existing within the eternity of the moment,
unable to retain--
it could only experience.

It could behold perfection,
but not hold on to it;

No need..
perfection was ever-present--
In full view of the sphere
and the precious spirit- encased within,
now, wrapped within a living, breathing skin-
this body- for the spirit,
and the spirit for the one body

each part of the heart-- a city in itself.

.  .
Reaching across the chasm,
there is an almost symmetry in
the layout of the cities

     but their inhabitants are unruly

and the spaces between far too great
for any kind of order to become able to
break through the chaos--
there is no longer communication
between the cities.

There is a yearning for consolidated-Sovereignty,
but the cities have long forgotten themselves-
Strewn about.. in the pain of it all,
they no longer know each other.

.  .  .
But the spirit within the body-- it remembers.
There is a gathering back into wholeness-
waiting..
and so we learn how to wait also.

Parts, and pieces-- members rebuilt-
little by little
Not too fast- take it easy;
70 years, maybe more.
Which way will it go-


There is a promised land;
waiting to be taken--

    one city at a time.

I’m no longer a kid.
I care what people think of me;
the way I act,
the way I look,
the clothes I wear.

I’m no longer a kid.
Back then, letters were only building blocks used for spelling,
Why do they now mark the corner of my work?
Why do they determine my academic future?

I’m no longer a kid.
My tears are no longer spilled over a grazed knee
For now they pour over anxious thoughts-
Will they ever stop falling?

I'm no longer a kid.
We were told to be bodies full of kindness,
because everyone deserves love.
Why are some people treated differently?

I’m no longer a kid.
The world has opened up it’s true self to me
and now I drown in it.

-thelosstpoetjournals

Time carves out the stone—
Leaves return to soil as breath,
Then rise up again.

I yearn for something long gone in the depths of the future;
Not able to place a finger on its familiarity.

Discovering what is already known
Can be a clarifying process of redundancy.

When a step forward feels like a tumble backward
Toward the inevitable direction of it all.

When a puzzle forms around me
I stand there, inert.

The challenge beckons me further. It calls me closer,
Etching itself deeper into my path.

Smiling at the fantasy of completion on the other side,
A field of emotional mishaps rains down before me.

Why is being ‘shameless’
something bad
but ‘fearless’
a desired quality
when shame
closes doors
and fear
saves lives?

How many times
must I think it through?
It's been three years now,
I no longer even know you.
Some may argue I never did.

But I saw it in you.
I saw it in your eyes, kid.
Two out of two, they both sat low.
Tears welled in your eyes when it was time for you to go.

Where am I runnin' to,
Where is this world comin' to,
What kinda bangs am I jumpin' to,
What doors will I be bustin' through,
Be good cause I'll be trustin' you,
What burning bridges will I be duckin' through,
Who will I be becomin' into in the future to come?

Every day on this train station,
I stand and wait for confirmation.
She's standing on the other side,
and lets her hair out in a glide.

Shadows spilling on the platform,
wind is blowing in my face.
Number 23 incoming,
she is getting on the train.

And as I stand on this train station,
she turns around in confirmation.
The train doors close, I wave goodbye.
We'll see each other in no time.

The air feels nice, the station – empty,
next train is scheduled, one of many.
A windy summer afternoon,
it's cool, it's quiet, it goes too soon.

If I am a planet
then you are my sun
my centre
my light
you keep me safe
grounded
without you I drift
you are comfort
you are warmth
you sustain me
my sunshine

Moo—

MOOOOO—
Moo, Moo, Moo
Moo, Moo

Moo?

MOOOOO?
Moo? Moo? Moo?
Moo? Moo?

Ribbit—

MOOOOO!?
MOOOOO!? MOOOOO!? MOOOOO!?
MOOOOO!? MOOOOO!

The petals cling—
not out of need,
but by nature.
Crushed silk
beneath my boots,
they rise with each step,
trailing inside
like secrets.
I didn’t mean
to bring the outside in,
but they hitchhike
on rubber treads,
on the hush of my leaving.
Now they scatter
across tile and rug,
bright bits of ruin
that refuse to stay buried.
They mark where I’ve been—
not loudly,
just enough.
A quiet bloom
in the hallway,
a whisper of red
by the door.
Nothing dies,
it just follows.

I pray,
   to find a way.
To express,
    with success.
What I need,
     to say.

im getting better
but im scared for the downfall

Every poem is a new world
where wonder and beauty richly unfurl

my emotions lurch
like a boat in a storm;
violent and unrelenting.
the time has come
to abandon ship
and sink to the inky depths
*calm at last

there’s an
impostor
in the mirror
and she has
my smile.

In the Indiana Jones movies
Spielberg uses a device
Where the heroes
Get pushed toward
Or away from danger by a crowd
Layers of meaning
Is his vice.

I don’t think I could ever like my face,
not even on its best day.
It’s the only hall in my life
where you never lost your place.

In the cold of space and time,
There exists the state of superposition.

This means particles can be two things at once.
A particle can spin in both directions at the same time.

Reality is a mix, a measure, a melt.
And we have so much to discover.
We are just one tiny piece.