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746 · Sep 2010
32
PK Wakefield Sep 2010
32
masterfully composed.she's a twinkling savant
of gently murdered stars

    the eve

a girl in fornicating hues drunk and limp of life
and breathe

                       stunning decay

i like your skin
746 · Oct 2012
Untitled
PK Wakefield Oct 2012
i have coughed a small star
from my throat it tumbled
by all love though littleand
frail it charged urgently for
reckless girl things sinking
deftly into sweet crimson
parting miles of sound it
brusquely twained still blood
pushing rush(hearts clamped
)it pried from hinges doors
singeing crisply all downy
things and it though unfurled(
small; by all love)a fist of
hulking lust
746 · Oct 2010
you,re bone deep pleasure
PK Wakefield Oct 2010
you,re bone deep pleasure soaked carnival of and laughing cinders mucoused in the rampant hand of slick bloodless night by the bay
gradually.
    
a and a

    follicle of dangerous sleep. pastinate is the brooding cobble
a womb secluded giggle

coughing bubbly mirth

         wrack the svelte ocean o
f

          we are three
                                       in
    the bland coffer of the darkness
         plunging our stink
into each

                       others
    i
745 · Mar 2013
Untitled
PK Wakefield Mar 2013
morning
you cruelly who
in lust Springfully come

your mouth wet
feels in dew lathered




uncurling

brutish





pinkat
the fringes
cool steaming
in the jeer of rounding light
pierced at the aperture of closing
darkness by a ***** of slothful mounting earth upon earth
745 · Aug 2012
because, "fuck you?"
PK Wakefield Aug 2012
because, "*******?" a black eyed
two tonguer
with: from svelte stoic lips
spat
an ember(glowly softer)
on the ultimate
cigarette's girl
behind face stood

a pair of **** squirming
minutely gorgeous, their
body was "maybe," and, "in about an hour."
742 · May 2011
Unlike wind
PK Wakefield May 2011
Unlike wind. tall and walking leaf's
curling in bushy locks of. the very,
naked and servile, moon she's
street bounding rills of semisweet
chatter. the togetherness too much
,in,of comely arms a fawn thing, in
the forest of metal's. just leapt vanishing
smoke, into, the carnival of neon
large singing signs. post day well,
in gloom unanimously, slunk with
girl's skinny. they brushed fair and wane
as light's face creeping furtive


                                                ,        "weLL­
                                                         i was said
                                                       in those walls
                                                     sterile and seething
                                                   manic lewd gracefully
                                                  stum­bling,
                                                          ­             i
                                                               ­        was mounted with
                                                            ­           paint of sinning luscious
                                                        ­               lips who carefully
                                                       ­                rampaged, blithe node
                                                            ­           ,a noggin, mine.
                                                          cavort­ing straight narrow
                                                        un­bent sharp green eye's slip.
                                                   s
                                                  l
           ­                                      i
                                                p
             ­                                   r
                            ­                     i
                                                  g
           ­                                        h
                                                     t
                                                       i
                                                        n
     ­                                                    t
                                                         o
                                                        M
     ­                                                   y
            ­                                       f
                                              a
               ­                         s
                                  t
  ­                      D
                            r
           ­                     i
                                      n
  ­                                           k
                                                Down my throat" (ouch!)
741 · Aug 2010
2
PK Wakefield Aug 2010
2
she was the
nascent verdant        emerald
chips                     ,
brimming irises            A
virus of

her docile features  in-
fecting
the air swooning
at                                     her
gaze

and chomping at the bit        ;
my fingers
(swollen. desirous to limp
upon her plain

and                                           the
shifting of its curves


                       !
741 · Apr 2010
sing sigh's
PK Wakefield Apr 2010
sordid silhouette
sing sigh's
savage  grace
tongues akimbo

a pink laughter booms over silent cloudy grays

(the day's sister
was all the same
differently purple
in that way which
so is the night)

in such was the straight little pickets
onebyonebyonebyonebyone
marching in oscillating
still



-ness
741 · Dec 2013
Untitled
PK Wakefield Dec 2013
immortal is to die
it is
when arrives

(cleanly)

out of jerking
lances of
mysterious night

kisses gargantuanly slender

(as the petals of a poppy are slender)

meet furiously with knowing
and becomes unknowing

(faster than a lips become
nothings easily)

eeking from brief impossible slumber
the crisp whiteness of its noose

to hang by all men
instantly into dying forever
739 · May 2011
white
PK Wakefield May 2011
WhiTe
            ,
               you
             are   a
          fine colour
        you are a fast
      colour.youarethe
    morning i found U
  sleeping in slump and
polished heather with rust
                                              gilding just the morsels O'
                                               your canny fist of petals
                                                who hides in splendor
                                                 ed morning's vest pr
                                                  icking up your glos
                                                   sy neck to rub you
                                                    r cheeks on the fe
                                                     lt of gorgeous b
                                                      rinded sky. U
                                                       wHitE, you
                                                        are the ve
                                                         ry lust O'
                                                           faries
                                                          ­ you R
                                                            lig­ht
                                                        and heavy
                                                      froli­cking wo
                                                     men as with th
                                                    eir skin you pain
                                                   t they stark and w
                                                   ith just their morse
                                                    ls very slightly ro
                                                     sy rouged and r
                                                      osy slightly he
                                                       aps of hips o'
                                                        roses and
                                                         heather:
                                                        ­     URwhIte
PK Wakefield Apr 2012
i think with a sometimes smile
meanders playfully filling the
erudite sphere comically of my
face digs with a small gape a
mouth where my voice comes
from in a slight eager wiggle

         out on the air

it just comes and i can't stop how
it wants to say something that
of a new wholly unbelievable
incredibly unviolent softnot sharp
aching to touch somebody else
throat with small noose of muscles
rollicking with the small snow
of your fingertips hulking gorgeous
and barely
737 · Jan 2011
ready
PK Wakefield Jan 2011
ready
             ,
                    iwaseruptingamagicallyschoolyardchantinthe
                    alabasterpromenadeofthewrinkledtoneofyour
                    belly,difficultofthincottonfixtureItoreloosleyf-
                    romyourreticentcurveswhippingperfectlyin
                    eagersexualitymyhandstodrinktheirpasteand
                    dimplerashlylipsinsharpnudgesofgropinghaste
                    
                                                                                                             ,
which is to say i lashed in pink billows my farcical contrition a skinny
american **** punctuating exclamations in your furnace brightly gorgeous
736 · Aug 2010
. i
PK Wakefield Aug 2010
. i
it's in (behind (and flittering)) the palisade of your *******
and empire of crimson beats 10,000 times more magnificent
than any razor of dawn slashing nights enormous throat
the precious pumping of its chambers sweltering majestic pulses
and from the ***** of your love comes galloping your aromatic
flavors. a tongue of passionate lilies bubbling incandescent. and
the habitual crescent of your lips. it,s loved more astutely by no other
save this I. dithering about the delicious hillocks bounding from
your ivory femurs. a blossom in the courtyard of your hips. more caressed
than
          . i
735 · Sep 2012
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2012
i could (outside hear  )

            "clip

                     clop


                     clip


                                  clop

                                      clip"

                                                  outside

                                                     i
                                                    could
                                                   hear
                                                  (smell)
                                                 steam
                                                expelled
                                               rapidly
                                              night
                                             children
                                            laughter
                                           and
                                                  "clip

                                                clop
                                             clipclop
                                    clip

                                           clop


                                clip"

ears pricked

                       eyes

                                 bloodshot


                                            and

                                                  "clop
                                                           clip

                                                         clop
                                                             clip

                                                             clop
                                                                 clip"

                                                             gentler
                                                               farther
                                                                 gentler
                                                                    farther

                                     and


                         "clop
                                clip
                              clop
                                clip
                               clipclop
                              clopclip
                             clicclop



                                

                                         clip

                                                      "
734 · Dec 2011
some harts
PK Wakefield Dec 2011
some harts through forests dappled lope
gentlest
keen feet
rumple leaves
scatter
or trees unspeaking sing
with the fat incurable
lust of sharp
lovers sore
                             hands
fingers
            nuzzled
                          against

the fair muscles of arched
backs wriggling muscles
so sudored magic muscles
viscously
o'er
the pretty spines of
roots
splendor
splits and

out bursting
harts
through loping forests
lovers sorely
hurt with crisp intricate eyes
looking
lean raw eyes
wide into omnipotent pain
734 · Oct 2011
like oceans
PK Wakefield Oct 2011
like oceans
stars fold outward
ever ceaseless muttering
outward stars fall(like oceans)
upward into me, they set their
teeth, on farther nearly shores
fluttering faster
stars sputter
quickly                                                                     (I
                                                                                  wade
                                                                                 into them
                                                                                they glitter
                                                                               fully shining
                                                                              flecks of gorgeous
                                                                             spittle they catch on
                                                                            my sleeves they have
                                                                           nice little exact faces
                                                                          those stars does such
                                                                         marvelous sheets of
                                                                        flickering)in the big dark house
                                                                       coiffed in locks o' goldest
                                                                      and palest ******* o' dawn
                                                                     they rest every morning
                                                                    to begin again
                                                                   that night,
                                                                                   '
                                                                                      ,
                    
                                                                                   .
733 · Oct 2010
i wasn,t a god
PK Wakefield Oct 2010
i wasn,t a god but i('ve)
                  
          drohc detonk tsrif eht detsat

of ****** silence tonguing
the velvety paint of nothing
plastic thorns punishing sweetly
a rose
       patient hands searing nouns
of shapeless conformity
      straightly bending smooth roughness
and red
              and yes
       and and and and
               smile little blood
i'll cup your naked furnishings
        and we'll go strongly
into the darkness burdened vine
       of stringy gargled nightmares
and
           ;'hiccup"
733 · Dec 2010
}
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
}
how my aching carpals howl stiff imposing glory
a to a page stark incredulity fouled
     and blast a flock of stunning rabble
in vernacular du fulgurer
   alighting ecstaticly            )          a wasted improbable perfection

           'pon your lush intricate handles
733 · Nov 2013
Untitled
PK Wakefield Nov 2013
fall into sleep thy body always Spring,
let thy hair uncrisply from mutest gold
turn from youth's splendors

                        towar' wrinkles; fold.


of thy mouth make early nothing,
as April flowers tender

pass thy lips to clearings cold
with kissless hours slender.


fear not the weary mile
treaded years shall always bring

walk in fasted silence
and of thy ending slowly sing.
732 · Jan 2012
wwu iii
PK Wakefield Jan 2012
city winter waiting
short haired trollops
you gathered flocks
husk the abrupt
crumbling stones
of knowingthings
houses
where frail men
wear words
(but you septum
pierced cuties you
're so candy
in your skinny thighs
leggings
you keep sweat
trapped in your
skin
and i just want to get it out)
732 · Jul 2012
7 days for 1nce a month
PK Wakefield Jul 2012
7 days for 1nce a month you're vermillion

taste like in the middle of copper thighs

2 lips magneticly parted

by 2 lips 1 tongue

and weeks a year you're like iron
and salt and copper reddish between
hunks of femurs pours a 12 times

dear, the crawling vapid sweet acidity
of 7 mouthfuls of queer drink surge
delightfully opaque crimson gallons of

         you

          r clefted

      love h

           eap

                    is



      the best kind of drowned
731 · May 2011
.01
PK Wakefield May 2011
.01
a city is a where a city is laying clumsily sprawling glittered
wrecks of cubes and
                            opaque
                          ­  lucid
                                   smoke
                                            o
             ­                              u
                                          t
                   ­                         , its manicured slouching lungs
731 · May 2010
clean toothed fascination:
PK Wakefield May 2010
clean toothed fascination:
   where in what do you see
your hideous perfection rising
sublime fists, raining terrible
love laughing onto correct cheeks?

it hurts so when you touch my face
scribble painful eloquent filigree

i elected you to blossom purple puddles
  drowning eyes. lash out craven son.

but know this: i will bathe you in my beautiful
violence screaming burst membranes across
   the breadth of your fiber loaded structure

                                 sleeping
at
                   my
horrible

                              whim
PK Wakefield Jun 2012
"by the way," i thought, "you looked real nice
pierced (thigh barb) by a." mouth that should
instantly lingers

                                   down your hip
                                   on its bladed heap, my wholly *****
                                   love stands on end

leans more steeply into them and like vague
intense teasing tenses at the scalloped fringe
of madness, stings soft pink lipped rivers of
gasping(fingernails in my                                    shoulders)in yours

an army of smallsharp, agilemuscled, and into colored
chips of searing spend a long
ruddy

                 scratching
PK Wakefield Apr 2012
girl necks feel like real smooth
under fingers a gentle spindle
a cool pillar of lust when you
creep up them into those tiniest
beginning hairs(at the starting
scalp a little bit courser than the
tousled ocean of finer silken rills
which pour fiercely from)and
you eat the completely small
and unserious round nub of the
back of their head and you pull
the whole teeming perfect sad
sphere into yours

                                and an entire
                                garden of
                                kissing erupts

                                          !
PK Wakefield Mar 2011
Perhaps this Spring will ,suddenly,
and i will shuffle in its amorous *****
the large quake              my sheaf of naked
colour
the greatest lunging dallop
;this spring;
which gradually instant
like rain which
opens stunning
its big impromptu gorgeous
leafed in giddy golden god
        this spring,perhaps,suddenly,Will
728 · Apr 2011
Untitled
PK Wakefield Apr 2011
some last night clutched the sorry sorely sack of clean rigid muscles
that tomorrow contemplates in wearing under ***** flaccid skin
that everybody wears more commonly on the brushing wane
of their frailing dying bodies that they wear on the short
folds of hours that everyday wears between sleeping
and starting cupping sunlight's wriggling adept
worm that in the corpse of night in through
its sallow ginger skin the hard creeping
the cool creeping; the slender cylinder
of its fornicating colors slips right
through it the basic plain extra
ordinarily placid death of
of strong brutish approp
riate night, "i wonder
why the wind with
legs as hard as
silk opens
never
right at
the seam
it's got at the
back of its small
its tiny, its fast white
hair lip, but who would
care how ugly its face got
because the way its hands got
all sharp and soft on my meandyou
" that's probably like how it was the
window's summer's open closing falling
clots of creamless clouds that nuzzled under
heaven onto armor, spears, and lovely amber
sunsets all over the back of my car when you
candy(like the lithe arguable sugar men did with
ruby apples and made them even sweeter with the
hot supple red shells they rubbed all over the pert negligee
of autumn's hard little luscious)ied the nape of my neck with
the lunging elegance of your saintly slightly painted painting my
nape lips those rushing throngs of sturdy cords that made me. Barely
728 · Feb 2012
Untitled
PK Wakefield Feb 2012
your mouth is a beauty
whose word i long to pronounce
whose keenness is marigold in summer
whose almost too fragile a slit
makes the fragrance of desire
whose language is heavy and soft
and suddenly across
your face it slices
more pink than bubble gum
and more sweetly to taste
more sugared and awefull
more impossibly resisted
your mouth is too delicate a flowering
destroying sound
of which i long to pronounce
PK Wakefield Oct 2010
i think. i think the trees are thinking.
i think
     the
tre
        es
   a
   R
e      thinking        

                                      OCTOBER
                                       ?

they say death. and they wear it. and they ware it.

                 and.

it's yellow talking on the gnarled limpets breathing
from their bruising trunks. suckling my apt pupils
         discharging lovely decay in my small
pocket of teeth and thoughts and veins. they,re an ******
   of crunching golden mort
  i walk through its delicious corpse
       and i take her.
      i take here. this is:

                YES
727 · Nov 2010
how came thy to thee?
PK Wakefield Nov 2010
how came thy to thee? thou who art tantalizing(the champion of slender
******(
               art thou intricate and feared mostly of death?
fear not, thou who doth gestate sumptuously and fair in the dumb
fickle knot of my lazy arms. see serenity blood surely fierce of my tangled
morbid odor; claim its ardor with loathsome gross pleasant fingers and
comb the destitute morals therein which is panting a muzzle supremely
nuzzling my flaccid dearth of voltage.
      i know thee sweetly my goddess of sweat
                                                                                 , pain

        ,       and shearing passion and fear nothing

                        i       am        
  
                   splendidly         stitched in your fabric

   and we'll rot together.
                                           .
                                        .
                                          .
                                      .

                                            .



                                                            .
726 · Feb 2013
Untitled
PK Wakefield Feb 2013
which utters coolly out of totally sleep tingling
the unclosing voice of Summer
an enormous prism of kissing waits in sweat
and lakes about the necks
of mountains where the uncoiling bodies are
hard in skin of gold
and nothing hurts

and nothing's old
PK Wakefield Nov 2011
in summers fist winters come
(a daughter
    )
day and frost together
(her croup languid
***** heavy cherries
)******* beautifully
freckled darlings

(with downy and petals
freezing
)her thighs run thick and
perfect
laying fingers between
those fullest
(fat fingers lazily)
autumn tickles

thronging innumerable
crunching death
(between her *******
)lays dust and fancy
juice and coffee

but she don't care
she'll **** him pretty
that season brightest
loves getting dead
between those thighs
725 · Dec 2011
Untitled
PK Wakefield Dec 2011
christ you hang tinsel on a wooden cross
(drooping) your unsmiling figure
by the christmas tree tinseled too
silver clever ringlets wreathing
hung by hands delicate
ornaments dote 'pon
the boughs swinging
swaying

in

some unfelt
breeze they jounce
those
lovely sparkle sprinkled
spheres

mingle in the arms
of pine and soft
cinnamon
smells

cru
mbl
i
ng

wafts increase
from
the hot busy
pocket
of
the kitchen

into soon sleeping hands
my body enters
to the sound
of small
laughter
725 · May 2010
apart
PK Wakefield May 2010
n                                      
                                                                                        
                                                                    
                                                                                        
                 i                                                  
                                                                                        
                                            m
                                                                                        
        b     g                   o                              
i am a bit worried. i am a bit worried that. i'm a bit worried that i                 nn
     g  t       o    e apart
                                                                                        
    'm                               c    
                                                                                        
           e                                                      
                                                                                        
                          i
724 · Jan 2012
heaven pinkly
PK Wakefield Jan 2012
heaven pinkly the
distinct hurt of your

       armor's folded

breach is
so
rawly
sore with

                 lust heaven and
so
sharp with

wetness heaven
letme
(heaven
               )pierce your folded
armor's
coiling cherry
with
my hand's
ablest
jousts heaven let
(when you're
ready                      heaven ) me i'll
smoothly
                shudder
                           ­   smother
                                            salted
honey fingers
heaven i'll
                         deeply tickle
                         your hurting
                         bones lusting(heaven)
723 · Mar 2010
epoc
PK Wakefield Mar 2010
Strike a cord
Shoot the vile
Break my hands
Type a bible

Spring soft chimes
Across the glass
A million childs
Start to laugh

Burning leaves
Acrid taste
Fill my cuts
Creamy paste

Delicious country
Sprawling space
Infinity beckons
Take your place

Take your place
722 · Jun 2010
I
PK Wakefield Jun 2010
I
outside, through my window, i see the
peaches mingling ripe scowls mumbling
  outside,
       through
                                                     m
                               y
window)  is ee the glitter speckled ****
rough the minds of passing strands
   acting like they know.
serenely etherise  the bone patients
lay them in a stillness. the quiet drug silences
the noisy outside my window see   i   ssseeee   outside my window
go a reveling do the distilled cells replicating.
          cloudy      ever        always         yet          goes
the contractions to the blue violins serenade and moisten
the taverns on HOlly St.
                                              '
722 · Aug 2010
WWU
PK Wakefield Aug 2010
WWU
curve lush forest cresting simple green
empty jeans crumpled indolently

    skinny thighs;the swiftness of your teeth

it apprehends: a smile, slender, apparating specifically
imbued cleverly upon my face. incorrect light sputters
   drifting merrily on the music of muscles. an apex of exhausted
    threads contracted sanguine,

         tactful ***. moan the pavement of youth flocked resilient streets
some about, where is a hall of dusted antiquity

                   they put their heads in books
721 · Jan 2014
Untitled
PK Wakefield Jan 2014
shout, i know it's dark you might
hear they
might
hear
please
shout
(into darkness)
the fullness of your throat to make
a sound of such irrevocable self,
will part on its smoldering blade all darkness
will fold 'pon itself
fold upon itself and it will
tremble apart the walls of creaking death


(And you will ride it something brightly of destroying light into terse nightness of body
A colour splendid to feel as flowers,
You will on it fly
And your throat might crack to waiver slightly its beating,
But O heart you will
By fleet improbable wings of music
Fill the voice
And fling through dying
Rills of love so blinding

Even darkness cannot be seen.  )
721 · May 2013
Untitled
PK Wakefield May 2013
i'm sitting i can hear the ocean way out over the moon hangs deftly round in all the fitness of chaste and cool darkness my hands are at my waist i'm sure they are and where are my hands i wonder at the split milken and tenderly dripping sea it whispers my heart is in it deeper than a seagirl their ******* are like cherries popping sweetly with just a crisp flens if pinkness at their tips at their **** i'm feckless staring harder than and harder then a star leaps wholly the blouse of night one unsharp button of her quickly tousled hem i'm tearing to by bit by into her tear and a boy is sitting on his door step he looks thinking one day he will make a boy in a girl spilling her full of him
720 · Aug 2011
1 word coiled warmly
PK Wakefield Aug 2011
1 word coiled warmly
your nape about swarms
it exactly spoken from
mouths strangely perfect
ly unclosed and jointed

                                          (your body
                                                             sort of is a
                                         crumbling feverish
                                                hot sound
                                                                   (
                                      
ocean your body sort of is an
depthless puddling skin right
down into i swim courageously
fleshy pinkness strutting gorgeously
your thighs do thatness charmingly
scrambling against my cheeks
(and your nails are sharpness
beautifully grinding lovely
in my scalp trenches) O'                you                     are                                               pain




                                                                         deliciously,
720 · May 2010
i recall
PK Wakefield May 2010
i recall: (with some clarity(
a day spread with hot hours
testing the cool root of light
bursting forth the summation of
an instant stretched into
infinite chaste shade) but
however thus
an apple blossom hung
heavy on knowledge)

i hope the suns
challenge to my pallid construct
doesn't engender
a sense of
red
720 · May 2010
firstlight
PK Wakefield May 2010
firstlight
fingered frailing night
             mustering a silent
moan in this, our lady of night's
                        shivering onyx
*******;lacquered with the chromatic saliva
              of a coming day
719 · Jan 2011
hard is soft
PK Wakefield Jan 2011
HARD Issoft, nearly almost always
to phalanges strung in distinct feminine howling
striations pressed on all the everywhere of
cobbled mucous enunciated with thick muscles bent
on masculine bones packed slightly tight
and i'm **** lungs bunching across the varied consistent
folds of your open naked mouth
        that i         sting                  in                               everfor

a hideously beautyfull beAst
718 · Nov 2010
by keen edged light
PK Wakefield Nov 2010
by keen edged light do slice and fray the knotted chord of sanity
shed miraculous logic
for 2 bold fantasy, thy fancy of bulging rainbows,  a serrated pillar
of luminous children
midnight is a laughing thing, a great greeting lassitude, as carefully
collapses silken hair
for who's art i slaughter apprehensively motion, becoming prone
a receptive son             of the calming burst of gleaming fur
i stoke repetitiously the cambered vertebrae of fire
and by fingered velocity i stroke about the brash sliver of hair
  bashing aggressively from thy stupor of unclad flesh(a bastion
slight fragranced as aphrodite, the hollow of thy lip brimming
incandescent droplet

     a treat
                    i thee
                                oral
)...!
PK Wakefield May 2010
when cloistered drabs of yellow &
orange
              frail
in the vestige of coming eve
so did a thrush call                the period immediately preceding
                                        it
a silent that became
                                             A twittering song
summoning the claws of
                           my curiosity to rake it
hoping to draw a crimson
                                                        bead
o
                         f

understanding to land on the pool of recognition
still it is never known
                                        nor
                 shall it
ever
                                 be
717 · Sep 2012
Untitled
PK Wakefield Sep 2012
i have said you
have said i and
through your
lips have walked
my words has
parted human
breath and from
it shook a whole
sea has threaded
by moonlight
never stilled the
words that are you
that i have spoken
and you have said
restless coils of ******
silver thick waves has
heaved in silence and
gasping ****** unstill
forever the word i have
spoken and that have
parted a whole sea from
****** coils of human breath
716 · Nov 2013
Untitled
PK Wakefield Nov 2013
your *** is like ****
(i think) and the backs of your knees
are like
i think. very nice to be inside of

i would you,

do you think too?

your lips and perhaps?

i would like oh dear to fit
like rain fits in April;
very wet and strictly.

oh dear and to eat you tinly i would hurt myself
with the hardness of earth. i would climb
into your fist very stiffly a flower. andear,
i would lay a hand against your unmeeting(
i would enter the primness of your heap
A mountain of unsleep. ) andear

i think you,

(do you think tooo)?
716 · Sep 2010
she was speaking a forest
PK Wakefield Sep 2010
she was
             s
               p
                   eaking
a forest a
              n
                 d
it ex

              P
LO                      DED
! a mercury ankle flexed wings digital crunch of elated
cleating sunlight through the tiny between of slatted window treatments.
a vanilla of hot dreaming darkness. the best nothing. a fleeting
permanent second burning. and we climbed
    into each others mouths our pink snakes tremendously. the air
           was sweating jealous vanity of her. an aphrodite detonating in my
cotton ocean. 500 threadcount pleasure bashful sheets clamoring
          beneath a writhing light of feminine stink.
      what a splinter. in my flavor
  it
             loves well
and
                i
PK Wakefield Jan 2012
it emits a curious colour when i am summer
(a curiously on edge colour)
when nights of me are balmy
and thick with viscous laughing
smoke between the necks of ladies
such musically ivory necks of ladies

a colour
               (curiously) when
is Summer me? rests upon the
napes of trees in parks
where dirt and goldest
crush of dawn collide
with unmuscled violence

(this colour is me totally
ambiguous
                     and clear as
the rain dropless eaves of
heaven which are so ****
before the body of her
husband (the sun) who
in those mornings warmly
comes to her and penetrates
her smoothly scratching
the heaped body of the earth)

In summer curious,
colours are me
eyes, nose, knees, and hair
all hued
and erupting
gallons of fresh colour
and wade out into Summer
deep thighs burning cut by
the sharp petals of daffodils
and tulips.  i set running hot
colours from each razored
hewing of my skin and fall
upward into gabled satisfied
skies forever
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