Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
To touch the skin of one,
To match the touch of two.
A reciprocated heat,
a touch of two flesh,
With the creation of one body.
Fluids of love,
Mixing
Binding
Digging deep,
Finding,
Whatever treasures lie beneath the waters.

Therapeutic,
A rhythmic click,
with each deep dive,
Perfect synchronisation
Creating the sweetest sensation,
Push,
With no hesitation.
No rest,
Full concentration.
When the weight
on your chest is gone
what do you do?
Anything you
want
© Daniel Magner 2013
 Feb 2013 Emily Jane
kody
I don't mind sitting here playing with my thoughts for I can only remember what I have previously been taught.
Trying to remember a recurring dream to find out what it means to be seen.
Only expectations can lead you so far, when the perception is black as tar.
In order to understand life bounces back,
like an elastic band into the hands, sinking like quicksand,
stand with open hands to the grand stand of enlightenment.


Everything is beautiful so just open the eyes to the surprise that lies inside the mind.
One can only tell the next thing to accrue for we make our own.
Impossible to rewind time,
that's fine for one whom can turn on a dime.
A disastrous moment can be oh so delightful ,
as long as one has the ability to be insightful.


Life goes on some will say, but if you ask me life already ends when the self is born.
One is just beginning there journey to death . Death is life, a contradiction upon life itself,
which is a contradiction upon death. We say the blind and deaf are the unfortunate ones
but if you ask me,
when they die?
There life has just begun.
For they have no concept of true reality,
the brutality of mortality.
Thy shall not be save for no mater what god we think we represent in the presents of the present.


We all have an obligation,
that is to live, to give, to receive and to deceive ones dreams.
Is that the true reality?  


So there it lies inside my mind,
flying around like six legged flies. I can hear the buzz of constant thought,
for I can only remember what I have previously been thought.
Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.
 Sep 2012 Emily Jane
Red Starr
Tired
 Sep 2012 Emily Jane
Red Starr
i fell and skinned my knees today
you were supposed to keep me from falling
i shattered today
you didn't try to mend the crystal pieces
you flipped my book around
and read the back side
i should have watched where i was going
so i wouldn't fall, you said
i bandaged my knees
tried to glue the glinting pieces back together
you were in a hazy dream when i fell
smoke and sting filling your nose
breathing for you
apathy filling your mind
filling your soul
and now my mind-soul is weary
my body is tired
tired of your gas-lighting ways
too tired to notice when i fall anymore
too tired to pick up my shining pieces of crystal and glass
dulled and falling to the floor
you've dulled and tired me
and i can't pick myself up anymore
 Sep 2012 Emily Jane
Kiddo
the day begins at the middle of the night.
i am not paying attention to the clock.
i am the one who takes the ticking,
the pulsing underneath every part of this moment.
i am listening and i am not listening,
because its something i am feeling all over.
"SISTER, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.

"Do you want a battered hide,
Or scratches to your face applied?"
Thus his sister calm replied.

"Sister, do not raise my wrath.
I'd make you into mutton broth
As easily as **** a moth"

The sister raised her beaming eye
And looked on him indignantly
And sternly answered, "Only try!"

Off to the cook he quickly ran.
"Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan
To me as quickly as you can."

And wherefore should I lend it you?"
"The reason, Cook, is plain to view.
I wish to make an Irish stew."

"What meat is in that stew to go?"
"My sister'll be the contents!"
"Oh"
"You'll lend the pan to me, Cook?"
"No!"

Moral: Never stew your sister.

— The End —