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Stage One - Experimentation:
I've seen it before, on movies and television shows.
The peer pressure, the giving in, the going back again.
And that's exactly what it felt like to me.
The pressure of your hand against the small of my back,
The way my body fell apart at your touch,
Like an ancient foundation crumbling,
And the desire that stirred in my chest to feel your touch once more.
At first, I only wanted a taste of you.
But the thrill that you brought me was something not easily forgotten.

Stage Two - Regular Use:
It became a casual thing,
Feeling you coursing through my bloodstream.
A knock on the door like the prep of a needle,
And your hand pulling me in like the ***** of skin,
And within seconds, a high I couldn't recognize,
As though I was walking on the sky and the
Grass was tickling my eyelashes,
And your fingers were pressed
Into the dimples in my hips.

Step Three - Risky Use/Abuse:
Before I knew it,
I was lying awake,
Wide-eyed in bed at night,
Imagining your fingertips
Tracing the inside of my thighs.
So I brought my pillow and blanket
And pitched a tent at the foot of your bed.
Then swore to myself I'd never leave your house again.

Step Four - Drug Dependency:*
A minute without your breath against my neck
Causes my chest to burn and my knees to shake,
But every time your breath fills my lungs,
I can feel the years of my life falling away.
Your lips are my nourishment,
Your sighs are my fluids,
And your kiss is my IV drip.
Every part of you has consumed every inch of my thoughts,
Even the dusty corners I have forgotten about,
And with every gentle touch, I can feel the withering of my heart,
Like a flower never to bloom again,
But it's a beautiful destruction.
I like to sit around and ****
lean back and watch my room cloud with smoke
beginning to feel every hit
Mary Jane you're it
I enjoy these moments with my boy
he always brings me joy
I listen to your fingers glide
strumming those guitar strings
I love your voice
when you serenade me
when we sit back and enjoy the smoke
I love you
even behind my cloudy eyes
you're the one who makes me shine
we take a moment
we take another ****
we take time and watch my room fill with smoke
with you by my side
I'll always be all right
 Jun 2013 day dreamer
Samy Ounon
The stone prophet calls, "you've got some work to do, son"
Moon's sleepy coruscation wake before me runs
I instead reflect the light of the pulsing hot sun
To blind all the answers until the question's given up

A light warm and safe and easy to unfold
For another to wrap 'round your tongue and your nose
But my dance you catch in your searching eye rolls
So I refuse to bow and to pick up my rose

Because light is simple and reflected and not mine
Far easier to slice into thrices and dine
On the fine wafer fillers and loose-legged wine
Because though light is heartless- it's far from unkind

So why must I face, then, the undulating moon?
The immensity, instensity, the blue lover's swoon?
The well of reflection white clarity in tune
To the spotted man crouching, denying his rheum

My starry knight buckles and falls down depleted
In a panic, I frantically get my men seated
I wring out the cosmos for what I've become
As I turn and say
"You've got some work to do, son"
first, if you're intoxicated,
   don't be surprised
      to see a lipstick stain
(that's still fresh red)
         on your cheeks.

second, if you're intoxicated,
   don't be confused
      about who is the owner
         of the number
            embedded in your palms.

lastly, if you're drunk with love,
   don't be surprised
      if you are knocked down


      with only one smile.
title from shinee's punch drunk love.
The music shot into her eardrum like a trance-inducing drug, each bang of the drum, each rhythmic flow, each string of the guitar would slowly take her under. Under hypnosis.
The power of the beat was so intense, that it lifted her chin and shoved her into the floor of dance. There, was where she found herself in a state of uncontrolled and vigorous rhythmic movement. The music had somewhat possessed  her limbs as though they had a mind of their own. Her routine was calculated and her foot movement, unique.
She, all at once, knew and knew not what she was doing. As her surroundings stood marvelled in awe, she was alone. Her hips shaking and bouncing as though a chemical mixture was being synthesised deep within her, a mixture that was yet to explode. Explode with power so great, it would possess others in her 'roundings. Surroundings that would, in time faster than inhalation, be under the same knife. With movements and sways that embodied and humanised the worship of music.
Rhythm is their God, the controller of beings. Almost as if dance is the ritual of prayer, and the club, a mosque or sacred ground.
Like rhythm is the favoured slave-driver. Like rhythm is the unfeared tyrant. Like rhythm is what brings the animalistic spirit within us all back to life after daylight and spiritual rest. Like rhythm is the pair of unspoken arms that push them, its subjects, over the precipise and into the river of flow. And under The Rhythm's spell, they will move, they will love it.
As the summer sun above us shines
and warms our very bones
The world around us dissappears
and we are here alone

Two lovers laid upon the sand
of a small secluded beach
surrounded by the sound of surf
but safely out of reach

We come here every weekend
escaping from our lives
to be alone together
on this island paradise
 May 2013 day dreamer
David
They said,
"You are Icarus!"
Because I dared to hide my face from the sun,
I do not build these heights on wax,
And the wind is not my champion,
I shall not melt my man made matters,
Under a star setting on days doomed to dissonance
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