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 Apr 2014 st64
Stephen E Yocum
Our breathing quickens as we touch,
Kisses mingle in perfect harmony,
Wet and deep and lingering.

I stroke your warm nakedness
And shudder in disbelief.
Tracing the lines and curves,
Of your form, one more perfect,
Softer than the next.
And I shutter still more.

Tasting then each other’s
Ultimate intimacy,
The salty-sweet nectar
of human love exchanged.
Tongues and wet warm mouths
moving as if they are possessed,
Having minds of their own.  
Our mutual excitement pushing
us both to nearly explode!

You whispering words of love
That deepen my desire even more.
We are actually panting now,
I can feel the intense beating
Of the heart within your Chest
And it matches that of my own.

Our bodies’ moving ever closer,
Deeper to the object,
Of our collective desire,
My head spinning,
Dizzy in response to this,
Our compelling growing excitement,
As we franticly rhythmically dance,
In Loves penetrating embrace.

The loving complete,
Our passions spent,
We lay exhausted,
Wrapped in each other’s arms,
Both of us clinging as if unwilling,
Or perhaps even afraid to let go.
For all that have loved and been loved,
Even time and age can not erase
our desire and ability to love.
 Apr 2014 st64
Michala
Him..
 Apr 2014 st64
Michala
I couldn't tell you why he was the way he was, but for the short time I have known him I've learned who he is. He was gorgeous; the kind of beautiful you read about in romance novels. I met him some time ago on a cold evening. From the moment I saw him he intrigued me. I had spent that night wondering who he was, what he did with his life, how he thought.  He was a mystery to me, and that was what attracted me to him. For the majority of that night I could discover very little about him. I had only known what others had told me, but I knew I had to find out for myself. Later on that evening I had gotten the opportunity to speak with him and through that I had learned what a kindred spirit he was. He had an outlook on the world that many had lost over the years. He still had that childlike wonder but also knew the pain the world could bring on someone like that. As we sat and spoke I learned of his life and how he had chosen to live it. I learned of his wants and needs, the things he favored, and the things he despised. As morning came to be I learned of his gentleness, his kind heart, and his warm embrace. After that night I had not seen him for some time, not until recently. Soon he was a regular in my life, and as we continued on I learned more. He spoke to me of his heartache, his pain, and his love. Throughout that time I was privileged to enjoy his many talents and his intelligence. We spoke of many things, some irrelevant and some deep. He opened up to me more and our friendship had gotten more in depth. As a man he was the prime example of what a man should be. As a person he was divine. His soul was one no other could compare to. His eyes were warm and welcoming. No matter what pain or obstacle he had to suffer, he kept his head up and his heart pure. The man I had gotten to know was deep, caring, knowledgeable, and most of all beautiful inside and out. This is the man I have chosen to keep in my life. This is the man I met on that cold evening and this is the man I love.
 Mar 2014 st64
E. E. Cummings
yours is the music for no instrument
yours the preposterous colour unbeheld

—mine the unbought contemptuous intent
till this our felsh merely shall be excelled
by speaking flower
                      (if I have made songs

it does not greatly matter to the sun,
nor will rain care
                      cautiously who prolongs
unserious twilight)Shadows have begun

the hair’s worm huge,ecstatic,rathe….

yours are the poems i do not write.

In this at least we have got a bulge on death,
silence,and the keenly musical light

of sudden nothing….la bocca mia “he
kissed wholly trembling”

                              or so thought the lady.
 Mar 2014 st64
Yours et cetera
go on and drone about some *******
of us not making the same mistakes as you did
i hope the puppeteer burns in his hearts own inferno
for he is the truest testament to Satan's existence

i can't deny this anymore; it's far too obtuse
the repercussions of his actions too palpable
you vicariously suffering for his faults
when you've already got so much to endure

so to hell with this devil incarnation
my love to whom has been extinguished
God died but not eight months ago
and to mourn, i live for my own existence
 Feb 2014 st64
Charles Bukowski
lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.

shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.

taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.

a hanky is in order your lord your
worship.

the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.

and everywhere is
nowhere---
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:

why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school---
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.

we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.

don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.
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