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Rain water soaks us
Runny mascara, but you still think I'm beautiful
Lips so soft
Lips so sweet
We're pressed up against each other
Bare chest to bare chest
You on top
Me on bottom
Hips locked in place with the other
Warm soft sweet lips slowly caressing my body, my lips and my neck you **** on
Soft gentle hands caress my ******* thoughtfully
Finally, her lips reach my thighs, I, trembling with lust and fear
I was scared and she knew it
Her hands and lips touched me
*So softly, so gently
My first erotica poem. Hope you like it.
It is not about me though. I'm still a ******. Comment what you think about my poem please?
Thank you.
Because there are no sides and
It doesn't matter what you believe
Or who you are
There is no left or right
We are all feel the same
Maybe a little broken
Or flawed or angry
It is a respite and relief from pain
It is spoken from the soul and to the soul
And it is the only time
That I can be fully human
I love the neutral ground of poetry where we all come to lament or rejoice or vent.  There are no differences or borders when someone leaves or dies that you love and you express that.
My mind is racing,
Sprinting down the track.
Spinning in a burn out.

I am at loss for words,
I cannot speak..

Such a sight tis thee,
Thy sweet and good man.

What might be in store for me?
Is it love,
Or is it hate?

Only one way to find out.

"Hey, whats your name?"
 Apr 2014 Steven Fortune
Wanderer
If it comes to pass
That these words are my last
Lay me down easy
Beside salty shores, warm and breezy
You'll find many thoughts left undone
Broken sentences, tales only half-spun
Hearts lay throughout, fluid and true
None so precious as the one shaped like you
I've protected and shielded those needing care
Handing gently to death love found so rare
Judge softly for I, like you, have sin
The line between morality grown porous and thin
To ashes and dust my mortal form go
Such is the rhythm of our ebb and flow
Quiet now children
Trailing your ****** rags
The lights must go out
Back to your cells
Back into your minds
Each of you
Retreat into your personal hell and nirvana
Toss and turn
quietly now...
Burn - be reborn
in remembrance of the torture and the pain

We can all be the village
Carry her bones through the streets
Raise her as our own
As though she is alive

The wind whistles into her skin
Gusting through her body
She is not alive
Her muscles mechanically quiver
Trying to bring warmth to the congealed veins

But if she gave up so long ago
Her heart refusing to pump again
Why shouldn't her body sleep too?
Rest my child
Hush, hush.
This one is a bit older.
I found it in my high school notebook.
My writing style has changed a little.
When will art die?
Maybe when darkness covers the sky,
Or when we **** each other in atomic war
And our bombs destroy the earth's core
Will art fade away?
When there's nothing left to say,
Will art go out with the sun?
Or be taken away with a gun,
What will be the last song or dance?
Will it end in Kansas, or Paris France?
Who'll make the last painting?
Will they know? Their hands shaking,
Will anyone even cry?
On the day art will die...
But i have to admit,
Seeing the end would be quite a hit,
Second only to the beginning,
When art goes out exploding
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