this is not a ten stepper essay.  You are, and you admit it, full stop. Addicted to HP.  No help here.

but to answer the question...

the writing of a poem,
no matter what your style,
eye dropper word selection,
slow methodical,
or furious expelling, frying oil
until crescendo is achieved
is clearly a fulfillment of
a ****** type of need.

Afterwards,
after words,
when you repeatedly
check the number of likes,
it is just you asking me

was it as good for you
as it was for me?

Usually, eventually,
the answer is a
quiet, soft spoken,
very few reads version of:

"Uh, just let me sleep"
which means you will try again
in the the morning suncomeforth.

Her hips are angel wings,
Taking her higher,
Than the pitches in her moans,
Take a deep breath,

~~
Where I stand
Hundreds of thousands of years,
I see
Among times, a time,
In the form of waves
repeatedly touch my feet on the shore

In one milliseconds
with the speed of light
I go to the back of time
response could kiss my ancestors forehead
Come back again
In front of you

I beg love to you
If you give
After a moment,
An angel carries me to Space
To learn the secrets of creation

I do not know where is the end of the road
not to return home
not even call you at all
But continuing with the dreams
Running from one end to the other end of the universe

Anywhere else in the thought
The outcome beyond what is love
Then Another bunch of waves
Seemed to push my feet again-
~~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

flutters by...
        (some) rise a'flitter

    rising airborne
on drafts,
        (by winds, blown
drift , coaxed:
        where known are
teases)

my interest (focused,)
    aloft on wings to drift till ;
expecting the next ,,,


puff.

muted waters
curtains of ice clouds
silvered rivers
hymns of shivering
hushed waves over stone
a shadow brushes
the cold edges here
under violet skies
gnarled boughs
twist my soul into roots

Let me tell you something, Sir

You are the reason of my endless waits.
You, Sir, are the reason
Women like me drink coffee at 10 p.m
Believing that maybe
Only maybe
I would hear your voice at 3 a.m
Before I unwillingly fall asleep at 3:10 a.m
To wake up the next morning cursing my coffee.



-LynnAA