*reflecting on
what drives me
the sensuality
of her willing sacrifice
every inch
a supplicant
feminine vulnerability
a badge of courage
how gorgeous
she is
my little dancer
*** perfect
foot perfect
body flexed
**** drooling tears
vessel of the Goddess
caresses that
turn a pitcher
into
Aladdin's lamp
dream maker
a philosophers stone
Aphrodite's afterbirth
hysterical elasticities
she my savior
let me eat her like Christ
sublime posed flexed
**** open
ready please she whispers
to be impaled
bat thighs like spread wings
inside dark brooding interiors
ready to be engorged
blood like ink
octupussies arms
that **** and pull
that write i love you
in writhing gasmus
Our suns last gasp
tumultuous
igniting soul quakes
eats its own
with
kisses of fire
tremulous
taking all life with it
oh jewel of night
scrambling a thousand moons
swallowed
by hells
shimmering constellations
like starved arterial glistening *****
no mercy
in the glitter of cleavers
yet all
ecstasy
ecstasy
ecstasy*
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
*reflecting on
what drives me
the sensuality
of her willing sacrifice
every inch
a supplicant
feminine vulnerability
a badge of courage
how gorgeous
she is
my little dancer
*** perfect
foot perfect
body flexed
**** drooling tears
vessel of the Goddess
caresses that
turn a pitcher
into
Aladdin's lamp
dream maker
a philosophers stone
Aphrodite's afterbirth
hysterical elasticities
she my savior
let me eat her like Christ
sublime posed flexed
**** open
ready please she whispers
to be impaled
bat thighs like spread wings
inside dark brooding interiors
ready to be engorged
blood like ink
octupussies arms
that **** and pull
that write i love you
in writhing gasmus
Our suns last gasp
tumultuous
igniting soul quakes
eats its own
with
kisses of fire
tremulous
taking all life with it
oh jewel of night
scrambling a thousand moons
swallowed
by hells
shimmering constellations
like starved arterial glistening *****
no mercy
in the glitter of cleavers
yet all
ecstasy
ecstasy
ecstasy*
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist you would see me telling a story, not judge me, although i admit to my paraphilias
These poems are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
