With want me eyes he wraps my hair around his fist
He gives it a little tug bringing me closer to his wrist
My lips are warm and inviting
and already so long overdue
He starts off slow and soft
As I feel his breath on my lips
His tongue traces my bottom lip teasing
giving me a little nip
His sweet kisses cause a warm wave to take over me
As he heats me up from the inside
Slick with a need and burning
That only he can subside
He tweaks my ******* with his
fingers through my shirt
A sly smile forms as he starts *******
me thinking of his dessert
His mouth and tongue start kissing its way down
Tempting...Teasing...and Feasting
While I am just laying there
Trembling...Needing...and Pleading
Oh My ~ is all I could muster when his lips move
like a breeze over my thighs
Passion explodes as my will erodes
I revel in the sensation of being Conquered
And at the same time....*Conquering

I have dealt with this before,
This feeling...
I am dealing with it again,
This feeling...

The outer look matters
Rather the taste of inner
The shape and color of a bottle
Looks fancy and appealing
Rather its contents, so bitter

Beauty on face, complexion
So beautiful
Inside a dark, deep infested nest
Ugly and untruthful

Painted figures, expensive makeup
Lucious lips
Pleasing to ones eyes
Caring heart, kind soul, unpleasant appearance
Yet, doubtful cries

Whatever is beautiful, matters!
Regardless to the consequences
Most see the outer appearance and judge
Hardly see the innocent smile,
                            ...of the less fortunate

©sim

Do not dream too loudly
You may awaken your conscience

                                        By Phil Roberts

Some girls
Have butterflies
Beautiful winged elegance
Flying through their cerebrums

Me?

I've got old ghosts
That turn into whiskey drunk monsters
Saying
"I should put a bullet
In your brain".

I saw him yesterday.
Standing in front of me.
Blowing his brains out
Over and over.

A movie stuck on repeat
In my brain.

And some small part
Of me
Hopes he does it.
So he doesn't come after me
Anymore.

Maybe
The monster is me.

In the high sky
Where the air is weak
And full of strangers
Nothing lives for long
Only gypsy-footed drifters
Come here on their way
To who knows where

And this place can only be reached
Without anchor or rudder
Nor even a moral compass
Riding on clouds of smoke
And it's such a long way down
Through falling-about laughter
And blood in the gutter
To the hungry crushing ground

                                              By Phil Roberts

It was a Thursday night
As dull as mud
And the guy I was with
Was as much fun as a broken tv
Then this bloke came into the bar
Who knew my companion
And came to join us
He said to our mutual friend,
"Eyup, Brooksy.
D'yer fancy gettin' ******?"
Brooksy sat there moaning
With a face like a slapped ****
"Nah...I'm workin' in the morniin'"
I, who was also working next day
Said, "I'll get ****** with yer."
And a lasting friendship was born

Now, my mate and me
Both needed the kind of friend
Who would calmly say
"Now hang on....that's not clever."
But instead we were both the sort
That said, "Yea, let's do it.
It'll be a laugh!"
Which led to dubious adventures
Sometimes things got dangerous
And others just plain daft
But I have to say, on the whole
It usually was a laugh

                                      By Phil Roberts

I felt this primal urge
This trance-like instinct
To set things right
In case I have to leave
Move on, so to speak

So
I took my jaundiced eye
And rolled it from corner to corner
Of this, my situation
And I felt so very small and hard
Lost in largeness
For cynicism is a tight thing
Which allows little movement
A strange kind of chastity

And then, you see
Changes
Honesty demanded that I see more
Grow, so to speak

And oh, my poor sore eyes
See how the children starve
All over this bitter world
This bitter, sickened world
And cynicism did this
Through the slack hands of millions
Who still refuse to believe
That things can be changed

                                    By Phil Roberts

Dark again
Darker than
Colourless sounds
From ceiling to walls
Always
Strange doors
Like gaping mouths
Dragging tears
Cracking open
Screams of silence

A day or night
Then comes the light
At long weary last
Ended future
Useless past
Nothing holds
Narrow roads
Damaged junction
There's a time
Comes the light
Follow the light

                          By Phil Roberts