A ritual
of lust
is my
attitude to
play as
victuals there
subordinate trust
oft hype
where hyperbole
may end
politics of
right and
result in
death as
eco is
new house
with pep.

I don't want to feel this anymore-
That emptiness I felt as I walked out your door.
You were so kind when telling me to go.
Trying to make it less of a blow.
I know you meant well, but I'm two steps ahead.
I knew this would happen the second I layed in your bed.
I'm empty-
I'm crying-
And I don't know why.
It's not like we even really said goodbye.
"I'll see you tomorrow!", you assured.
But my heart still sank; I felt insecure.
With shoulders slumped, I moped out the door.
I'm a fool for even thinking we'd be more-
Than something you needed-
Than something you tried-
For a second there, I made you feel alive.
Until you were bored and sent me away.
I get it, you still love me, but in a different kind of way.

Some people will never experience Berlin
Except through stories,
Have their thirst for the thrill quenched
Than by reading.
Close, but never close enough ;
I never saw that sunset,
Just the reflection of it,
And it was just as perfect.

Not all love stories have the happy ending
But that does not make them any less real
Than the real thing.

If a stupendous  thought
more often than not
let me mix her caldron
atop her stove there
my tomorrows work upon
a lover and a poetess
with genuine prognosis
only tailor-made suffice
another lovely evening immanent
she quenches my desire mag.

Getting it all out 2

There is one thing that can not compare with the space that I call
my endless noise free affair.
It's simple, you get stuck here in this
judgement box, very little space, then cornered over someones personal
worries or whatever is really going on down there.

You see, I have this theory that most people are driven by one thing and one thing alone, the idea of hinting at
someones innermost secrets and only
concentrating on invading their own "guilty" space when they are finally home.

Yes, I "did it," whatever, I can never explain, you and your stupid doors,
you breath on them and it's ****** just the same. So much for just living life in peace, now we're just running to make sure that the creeps ***** rotten pervert lives are filled with ease!

A stream of strawberry argot
and swift her auburn hair
let her shoal uptick in sluice
only a cheeseburger made grace
as her mamilla bare her cheek in crest there
if the goat made milk for perfect cheese
where she must have peas too
that keep her neat and trim
and with her dessert of ice cream
when she'll delight in luxury bob again.