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butch-decatoriaPoems
Moan.       Y a w n. Purr. How I adore our meanderings. Mornings of misfit nomads waking to the sturdy fur of you,      pecks, abs, inner thigh unclad body heat... The world outside feels absent, your hardness your breath presently itching against yesterday's 5-o'clock      shadow... We breakfast on such sensations      satin thousand threads sifting in grips of sheets           creating     silken dunes of flesh creamy hues soft mounds from our twist                 tied tethered limbs then opening passages with kisses      and humid licks our lips: camelback & cobra songs to Sahara            Heatwave where we worship obelisks until slumber has rendered us               stardust and sphinx mused and fused - our flesh again in hymns      this Sunday morning... Less stealth of night but copious is touch          slithering undulations          of parched needs for us to swim in the hunger of its seas Since sensing sensual stiffness      your shifting             your shaft my blood collects     to tighten what is mine within When this grabs hold of us like the blinding noon we forgive            that it is Sunday mourn that I thirst for you. Such thickets of urges    juicy sweet confection / completion's masculine deprevation          half grin half flurry,                      No worry displacing thoughts of infection secure in our relations... Stretching with both my hands behind me         gripping with claws of the passionate buttocks raised (waiting for rain) as if to be seen & named       by the gods' - creative breath and shame            I yearn for your embrace Heaven forgive me for the heaven he gives me... Affirmed as though we were the firmaments       sky without permission (or air rights) to fly comely and in our rhythmic trance we become Spartans (with our war cry)          Driven                  Breathing One defeat           Shriven as we're falling One choice to leap.                           Exhale Olympus Fallen pillars' hush. Good morning, Love    a taste of how Nirvana feels constellations and the heavenly wheel. Stretching. Eyes open to take in my world.          Stretching Behind Reaching for you if just briefly knowing the whole truth...
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Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 7:39 PM UTC
ONE SUNDAY MORNING
Moan.       Y a w n. Purr. How I adore our meanderings. Mornings of misfit nomads waking to the sturdy fur of you,      pecks, abs, inner thigh unclad body heat... The world outside feels absent, your hardness your breath presently itching against yesterday's 5-o'clock      shadow... We breakfast on such sensations      satin thousand threads sifting in grips of sheets           creating     silken dunes of flesh creamy hues soft mounds from our twist                 tied tethered limbs then opening passages with kisses      and humid licks our lips: camelback & cobra songs to Sahara            Heatwave where we worship obelisks until slumber has rendered us               stardust and sphinx mused and fused - our flesh again in hymns      this Sunday morning... Less stealth of night but copious is touch          slithering undulations          of parched needs for us to swim in the hunger of its seas Since sensing sensual stiffness      your shifting             your shaft my blood collects     to tighten what is mine within When this grabs hold of us like the blinding noon we forgive            that it is Sunday mourn that I thirst for you. Such thickets of urges    juicy sweet confection / completion's masculine deprevation          half grin half flurry,                      No worry displacing thoughts of infection secure in our relations... Stretching with both my hands behind me         gripping with claws of the passionate buttocks raised (waiting for rain) as if to be seen & named       by the gods' - creative breath and shame            I yearn for your embrace Heaven forgive me for the heaven he gives me... Affirmed as though we were the firmaments       sky without permission (or air rights) to fly comely and in our rhythmic trance we become Spartans (with our war cry)          Driven                  Breathing One defeat           Shriven as we're falling One choice to leap.                           Exhale Olympus Fallen pillars' hush. Good morning, Love    a taste of how Nirvana feels constellations and the heavenly wheel. Stretching. Eyes open to take in my world.          Stretching Behind Reaching for you if just briefly knowing the whole truth...
Rewrite. Now a final draft.
butch-decatoria
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butch-decatoria
47/M
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 7:39 PM UTC
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