I asked her to blow the dust of my bean bags,
she looked at me like I was asking of something ungiven.

But she cleansed them within a volume of gargled verse,
vacuuming the soiled reminisce of who's last tongue
had woven there words of lust upon them.

"You dumped me, we were on a break,

But teeth are sharper than a particular female anatomy.

Saying a few syllables in gargled verse,

"This is my **** gun,  "And your fired,

"We were on a BREAK,

I had so many stitches that my ***** looked Frankenstein's
face, never ******* a woman when she has your bean bags
in her mouth, tears of crimson fell as I fainted.

I held it momentarily at my throat gliding
it effortlessly as it permeated in tears of release.

You should have known this was coming,
the signs were there, but I couldn't keep it
hidden. I released the blade upon my throat.

I held it momentarily, then cleansed myself
of a burden that had hung there far to long.

You should have seen your tears in the mirror,
that part of me now gone. Laying on the ground
crumbled lifeless, A history of growth now fallen.

Rumpled paper, palms full.

                      Detour of eyes wondering


Moments of ecstasy, sight widens...

                  

                                                     Wallet empty.....

Numb of surroundings
                         eyes watching afar.

Fifteen minutes, a lifetime of regrets..

Tears falling  inwards....

Enveloped within the musings of ardour,
I was the pencil etching upon the refined
blank verses of her needing's.

Engraving within the crevasses of her
yearning, writing syllables felt deep within.
She was an impression on my heart.

We were woven of different silks that merged
beautifully woven deep within the emotions
of each others rousing verses.

Hillsides of evergreen where the breath of nature
weaved within the branches, kissing every leaf
they bowed in sensibility of this moving.

Below magnetic in its roaming, barks of trees
caressing its need to scratch needing of relief.
The pack awaiting for there brother to join again.

Playful in there roughing up of others, but never
blemishing a brothers flesh, always looking out
for each the alpha always feeing first respect earned.

When the seasons linger between lucid hues of
decay and the white washing of scenery they,
Playful times are less, hunger is there regress.

White lingers as tears of life's wine saturates,
the need of the many feeding on the fallen
motions of there prey, living for another day.

My Muse comes in waves slashing
on my mind, some times drowning
me in imagery.

But then when I just want to skinny dip,
I'm just sitting on the sand, seeing others
ink sinking in.