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250 · Feb 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Feb 2014
quietly mysterious and far away i love you
i love you the big and small unnearness
of your imagined hands i wonder which
on your body's wrists (and the head upon
clothed in shortness) are skinny so nice
and never to be known by my hands you
are so unloud will not ever close and


                         (i will love you always even though you will never know)
249 · Nov 2016
Untitled
PK Wakefield Nov 2016
she tastes like something
inside slick
and red between the legs,

her mouth makes lips
make hips
and i between them

churn thickly
over the cup and hem
hot within bleeding;

my mouth drinks her
lips speaking–
drinking lips

and mouth, my
fingers drown inside
her; i kiss over fumbling


and she tastes

(and i taste)

inside our mouth:

rust,

       .
249 · Apr 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Apr 2014
oh death do me,
when i'm
become
just

A

pale jet
(in the night)flowers
between the nimble
lips of darkness

a careening bolt of hot remembrance
all the bodies that my hands have been:
the ease and tremors of their *******.

death, this catch, rest, carry
(the hollow of my stem)
the love each new as old
nor less than any other

that lived within me tightness
that go with me in end.
249 · Mar 2012
Untitled
PK Wakefield Mar 2012
i don't think you
and without
should
            and just
do it
248 · Sep 2016
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2016
being inside
too long to taste
or see,

there is the
dumb something
naked which

laughter and youth
have forgotten;

(the move music
and art sound;

the color and splay
of vibrant self)

being where


              (some     where)


inside too much
without feeling
or smelling

has just to want
and taste something seems:

of flower,
,hips
grass,
,and petal.
248 · Jul 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Jul 2014
summer that like into the entering of cold hands open constantly some
crystal breath like dream such as has been dreamt of twisting into cold
figures of unlived bodies

                              : the earth the sun the moon the stars :
247 · Oct 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Oct 2015
.




























                                        Pleasure is the church of slaves.





                                          Church is the pleasure of slaves.
































.
247 · Sep 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2015
edges just something
from under darkness
where over it wears
a girl in 22 years of
****** by brutal slender
beauty:

words and with lips
mouth around thick
and says,"

I want you to *** on my face
and make me pretty                               ."
246 · Sep 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2014
the moon that
i like parting waters
of brief ocean
have kissed

is like
(cheeked more in)
downy vests
of young flesh

( red haired
  firm titted
  laughing. )        a very slender hollow



between deep roots



(where even dying grows)
246 · Nov 2016
Untitled
PK Wakefield Nov 2016
I will return again in you. In these
hands of night, made lean and
gleaming. I will move within you and
my body shall be as light. I will turn
my face into your cool fingers and I
will love them.

(I will make my body in your body.
      "I will always love you."
                  Goodbye.
246 · Feb 2012
Untitled
PK Wakefield Feb 2012
hello, today sun

       i

like you


                i
              
                     like the ample
                     pleasure
                     of your skin
                     i like it
                     and it likes
                     i
246 · Feb 2012
Untitled
PK Wakefield Feb 2012
my whole life i
,to say 1 raw
perfect thing
,t' would trade
246 · Feb 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Feb 2014
of

(do you suppose)?raintime morning with

creeping.

                               shadowlightshadowlight

crreping


strands,


                      hands as



soft can be? the inching,

caress,
and deeply?
246 · Nov 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Nov 2015
"I don't know how much longer I can do this."
245 · Mar 2012
Untitled
PK Wakefield Mar 2012
i'm
      

             a
  

    
                    little

                             bit


                        love

                           with


                                     you
245 · Aug 2016
Untitled
PK Wakefield Aug 2016
i loved you
that you were something
easyweak
between the flesh and eyes;

doing with precise smallness
your hands within my hands.
245 · Sep 2013
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2013
venez à moi, mon frère.
245 · Mar 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Mar 2015
this world alive with night
tinly bruised by
chimes seems to
wither seems to

hold the ready mystery of
life between its hips mouth
full of lips steaming up one
spectral flower of luminous self;

(i wander and suddenly am)

the garden is rough
momentarily i make a fist
of five fingers

somewhere there is a sound
a totally superfluous noise

i yawn and turn through clouds
of just spring air towards the
bashful eclipse of silence

i count my fingers and there is my hand
i mark it and pleasantly ingest the pale
twinkling swaddled of the wide sky;

how many days are there?
how many nights(and a petal
catches in the groove of my palm)?

it's thick
i'm drunk
the night is alive with
world is tinly
bruised by chimes


(And purple easily conquers the horizon
244 · Feb 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Feb 2015
eyes big love crumbs
the delicate thrill
of quite so new
You;

stroking by
the coarse fuzz
of electric fur:

i like it

more my fingers when
drunk with monthly blood are in.
244 · May 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield May 2014
is           is
(the way)
your
hurts hurts

me to(Dear apart

          )****(

the clenching of thy fist   )

you hands around the neck  (

'nd release the torrent held at Christ; )


tighter                        tighter
till
breathin'
can't                             (

DEAR, and
in their pearl'd unfurling
crimson run hot of burning

)
)

in your mouth full of me

(
(

at the twaining of my touch;
in the cloak of youth's cloven clutch)

hard spit thick as tongue swallowing.

up ***


down head
244 · Sep 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2015
some broken poem lives(idon'tknowwhere)won't let word or sound touch its thin thighs and scarred knees from being on them between the knees of boys too many times; demure and easy as rain in April where Christ is born again to the rough feeling of a broken poem in the backseat of her car running with face of eyeliner and still trying to be pretty.
244 · Mar 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Mar 2014
it feels too heavy with people
and sounds often
in little boxes

, people

little boxes in them

where sounds

are too heavy.
243 · Sep 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2015
some kissing,
of flesh parts
under my tongue

–finger fulll–

tastes something
salty a little
musk and slick
through curtain
of sharply

tiny, cut
closely to skin

and rubs my cheeks raw.
243 · Mar 2021
Untitled
PK Wakefield Mar 2021
of some lost,
did you make?

And how
would you know?

(typed rapidly)

it will unpersist.

the rain and the earth
will eat it.

the skin will come off.

and all the night
WiLL SiNG.
242 · Nov 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Nov 2014
crimson little lake break
where there

          (sigh)

"again"

emits

           twixt


thigh and thigh

           apart

suddenly when

17 "please  ?      "
242 · Jun 2018
Untitled
PK Wakefield Jun 2018
that you are
after all
who i wish i had become,

       (i do not know you)  .

the lips neither the mouth nor
teeth between neck.

i kiss,
and again
i am not you.

i make after the rain
my skin to run
with rivulets of sun.

i do not live early
or sweet between you.

i do not make the small sound
of your breath
inside my own breath.

but, after all, i have my son.

and what more is there than that?

nothing.

and perhaps
(after all)
he shall be
who i wish i had become.
242 · Jun 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Jun 2014
Is, the definitive
not me when
whose hands(?
)are these
in my hands, Spring?(the grass)

and trees occasionally
mirror the always of
my body as dirt;
there won't be
a day when. I or i shall

go amongst the chansons
of lilies the dilute spell of
life mysteriously. a flense

of an ember parted on
on the parting of a blade
of green and waxy earth

gardens will where gods
do not go and grow
more deep than worms

into each body their roots
as hard as soft as
and light might apparently
become a mote

of your wrists will
pass into the lips
of other lovers

a very tiny song.
241 · Oct 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Oct 2014
everything hurts inside 21
she can't have a baby her
daddy don't love she
likes girls some times
boys some times
she doesn't
understand
the big
ugly
straining
of the whole
big ugly world it's
so ******* unfair nobody
cares about me **** the amount
of money every girl makes less than
a man makes it's so ******* unfair how

((everything hurts inside 21)


                       except me.       )
241 · May 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield May 2015
there is laughter a girl fills the naked silence with her shoulders through
the angled tress of her white flower (a rose that) whose mouth speak
saying to live through careless moments of hurt sunlight: SUMMER the
curling sigh of ******* **** fingers between where sleeps her sonnet and
her hair.
241 · Sep 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2015
i am dead tomorrow
i wonder will i
live again the next day
or the night beyond perhaps?where

there is a silver stair
reaches through cloud
and shevel of
moonlight

up into a garden
of lilacs sleeping
betwixt a girl
and her thighs

a song will start
of dawn over the
valley of her
hips springing

into each lifeless
trestle of flower
the shaking lurch
of life to live

through jerking
happenstance of
body and make
in some other

garden between
the hips of
girl flowers
and down by

the lewd shoot
of stem
their seed to break
and life to end.
239 · Aug 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Aug 2014
Nobody cares.
238 · Nov 2013
Untitled
PK Wakefield Nov 2013
her mouth was
(it did)
i heard it
--and a whole ocean
went pouring
237 · Feb 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Feb 2014
my knees hurt-- praying in your church

issohard
for

25 minutes of writhing

i pray

my mouth runneth over
with your cup and

my knees hurt

pr
ayingi
n y
our church
237 · Sep 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2014
be being being
–gold sometimes
,Spring never
in winter always:
Summer and summer
go entering

every sunset
their frail whoop
and last gasp
as shoulders unneat;

as boys and girls in garlands
whose hands they fail to keep

and make their mouths as gardens
)with death they hope to beat
(
236 · Sep 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2014
how way what water repeats
itself
repeats itself
over two stones

between parting
of dark woods

a light blade
of

sunlight

carouse
236 · May 2012
Untitled
PK Wakefield May 2012
i just feel beautifully

       inside

as a word
                       i strive

                                      to
                                              say

                                                      (but never can)
235 · Sep 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2014
i want you. the
coalesced flower of
Autumn in
wriggling manifolds
of
freshest
death,

that by who
paints with strokes of crimson
their brush becomes
the coy feather
of once a month
between
your
thighs:


                                                           blood
235 · Nov 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Nov 2015
"I'm not always very nice."
235 · Sep 2013
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2013
to open is such a sweet thing, and dear it's so a nice and easy thing to please and unfold maybe the petals of your heat


(where might boys play to eat)
234 · Dec 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Dec 2015
simple is works hard
and stupidly grins
at little this joke and
little that story of
fishing or going to
the zoo one summer
with his kids–

breathing and is
alive he (simply)

smiles and knows
without knowing

it is good to live
232 · Mar 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Mar 2015
.




















                                                         "So,                                                         what

kind                       of                                                ****

              are                                       you


                                into


                                                                                                          ?"





                                                




                                                 "Consensual ****."
231 · Oct 2016
Untitled
PK Wakefield Oct 2016
within these lips
are 2 folds of kiss,

pulling with feeling
to saltwine and ****.
231 · Aug 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Aug 2015
this suddenly flesh over me
which saying not words
speaks

              (says)

with brushed by fineness
of slightly golden hair:
back and knee and shoulder

who web between sequence of bone
muscles in hurling coils of, "yes."

deeply and more fair than
roiling plate of sea
seething and curves
with wave of heat;

(turned heat)
curved by blade
of mouth and neck.

(i am love you) the which
parted and swelling
to fit within;

eyes, ******* and freckle.

(and do the undoing thing
from where all newness comes:

the "Dear," the "I,"
tongue into
kiss;

breach the fold
where's silent–bliss       .)
230 · Sep 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2015
there is very cute inside to feel its breaking–**** which–throat full of knees
getting onto its ******* ***** a little pink and so white gags on gulping of
clean seems innocently with needs to be.
230 · Oct 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Oct 2014
a thorn gently
palm
eager with which
to meet:

red
229 · Sep 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2015
"I'm so tired of being alone. It's like a weight; just heavy on me. And sometimes I almost want it to crush me. Just to get it over with. Just to be done with it."
229 · Jul 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Jul 2015
.































































­


















"Let's put it this way: if anyone was
actually honest all the time you would
hate them–you would deride them,
you would do anything to disbelieve
the things they told you. Honesty
disgusts us. Only someone who was
insane or hated themselves would
always be honest–absolute honesty is
the same thing as insanity."







































.
229 · Sep 2013
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2013
A pen is sometimes
(books)

the pages of which(between)



ink.
228 · Aug 2015
Untitled
PK Wakefield Aug 2015
.



























                  "I'm objectifying you–you're an object to me."





























.
228 · Nov 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Nov 2014
this little gilt feels into darkness more
everyday Pink
emblazoned
on its *** emblazoned
every day
Pink
into
darkness
f
e
els.
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