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your disgusting ****,
makes you touch,
your nauseating desire,
doesn't care who it is,
or sometimes what it is,
obsession, mania?
whatever your reason be,
**** will never be acceptable.
Sharon Talbot Jan 20
Perhaps his duality would always be
For had he not been made this way
by genetic chance?
A hulking man with gardener's shirt
and biker's leather pants?
He might speed along a coastal highway,
Wind in his greasy hair,
Unchopped Harley shivering,
Eyes watering from the wind,
or was it because of sheer depth of soul?
As he peeled along, avoiding fatal curves,
Did his thoughts of roses blooming
keep him from launching himself
into the fog?
Were the droplets on his face,
full of salt from the sea,
the same as those he saw
in the morning dew on his flowers?
He was a not a Hunter Thompson,
who might return home to drink and write
reams of rage against the foul Effendi,
who beset him at night
after descending from their mansions.
Yet he too needed respite and beauty,
an Owl Farm in his mind,
Or a hotel on Sunset Boulevard,
Safe under the canopy, among the palms,
His security, not a typewriter
but a garden of perfect roses
that he would tend and breed,
Keeping beauty alive to feed
His hidden desire for peace and order.
Like an old man in the country,
The “rose rustler”he played
Lived in a little house,
His unassuming paradise,
with a cat, as secretive as him,
a lone goldfish in a bowl,
who looked out each day on
manicured paths and brick walls,
worthy of any English manor,
with acres of flowers,
dozens of colors...
but every single one a rose.
This whole thing sprang out of a title from a photo site, combined with an excellent book I read, "Freak Kingdom", by Timothy Denevi, about Hunter Thompson's "Ten years of fighting against American Fascism". If you read this, it would help to listen to Elvis Costello's "Brilliant Mistake" simultaneously!
Honey tastes slow, glowing like amber
Trapping touch in a heady crush of warm
Nestling between my ******* where sweat pools, delicate
Dipping fingers into pots, swirling, lingering
Licking the syrupy sweetness
Craving the rose scented dark and the musk

You, above me like summer
Creating me from the flesh of your hands
Describe me with your kisses, unwrap me with whispers
Suspend the rules of us between my lips
Breathe your will into words that glint with
Consequence, etching heat into flesh
Charge the oxygen around us with sweet almostpain
That draws out my ghosts, blood over flames
Leading the Moon out into the depths, into the crevasse
Wallowing in my softest curves as you
Follow me down to the forest bed and
Claim my world as your Fetish

And if I open to your insistence, slowly unlaced
Kiss me in obscenity until I speak in tongues
Silence me with your sternest hand of fire on flesh
Bring my bruises to boil beneath your gaze while l,
Shyly revealed by your voice,
Try to cover my eggshells and hush my moans

You, beneath me like summer
The seed will grow where l place my kisses
Divining water from your ancient well
Suckling the slick pomegranate flesh
Until the star on your forehead is burning
Shudderfall down into night, into my storm
Collide in me, where the clouds are heavy with rain and ****
Leading the Moon down into the depths, into the crevasse
Melding desire with Fate as you
Meet me down on the forest floor and
Claim my love as your Fetish

Wrap my body in silken cords that sing of you
Handfast beyond gesture
My flesh, your manifesto
Sketcher Dec 2018
She said the song was charming,
She had said the boy was cute,
She said I was easy to talk to,
Because I usually remained mute.

She said she liked the biting,
Teeth sunk right into her hips,
She said the blood really turned her on,
But I much rather preferred her lips.

She had a decent boyfriend,
But his love wasn't enough,
She ****** and ****** **** out in the woods,
She was a ***** that preferred this stuff.

At one point I wanted her,
All of her just to myself,
Now I'll avoid her and stay away,
Until she decides to fix herself.

Or should I stay and help her?
I am not sure what to do,
I'll stick around to cure her sickness,
Hopefully I won't catch her flue.
Stay and help or leave and ignore?
Kieran Nov 2018
You bite my lips
I hold your hips
I bet you thought
you could never do it like this

Beads of sweat
My dark silhouette
I like the taste
You watch my face
My eyes and parted lips
induces your quickened pace

***** of desire
Our fornication ignites a fire
Soft or mean
my realm for you outperforms
any late night screen

Your favourite dish
And you, my love?
My biggest fetish
Deidre Lockyer Nov 2018
Musing, thinking aloud, of
Taking a little line for a walk, down my spine, down curves of flesh
Over pale creamy rises and falls
Interrupted by the gathering storm of you
Declaring tattoos for others, not me
No story of me in black ink on white, no tale in twisted vine and script, no
Desecration of your terrain,
Alteration in rhythmic refrain and ouch, red everywhere.
I would argue with you but I must please
Your gravity has me riveted, taken aback by the venom
Vehement and pure, spat in their direction
The canvas people walking around
Illustrated versions of lifelong perspectives
Their jewels of ink shimmering in trapped caresses,
Gathered in unison images binding intent to design...
My wont, this desire to be amongst them
Magick workers unleashing heaven as they pass through their days
Eating lunch with their besties in an act of casual sorcery
A beauty never intended
For me.
Sulking, quiet mouthed, you
Taking a little hand for a walk, down my spine, down curve of limb
Over pale milky hills and valleys
You would stop short at the first letter advance
Touch me not, touch me not
Simmering anger at the craven trespass, inelegant in your eyes, crass
Decoration of your domain
Knives in your eyes makes me think twice, cut by ice
I drop the question, keep the peace, yet

I remain
An open page to the world’s eyes
And wear my secret inkings on the inside.
Matthew Roe Sep 2018
The void
Or the scowl.

Are you sure you know which you’d pick.
When the right hand that feeds you,
Succulent wisdom,
While the left hand kills the next breed.

You see the void on sundays,
in time that is only passing seconds.
in moments where you scream silently.
When precious life is the cold bone you hold.
Down the path you walk, you long to be led.

Is the game for so long,
Catch a ball, avoid a fall
Until you chase it when rolls
Off the edge
And you follow it in faith
Rather than in fear
Keeping your white collar near.
Please comment what you think this one can be about cuz I barely know myself, it is quite a collage of ideas. A mix of the Philosophical, the *****, the fascist and the boringly bleak.
Note: the bit about a dog chasing a ball off a cliff is something my Dad actually saw, at beach head.
'White collar' does not refer to class, but a Vicar's collar.
Damon Beckemeyer Aug 2018
The cigarette I had afterwards
Felt better than every time we had *** combined

I'd rather get cancer

If having *** was getting ******
I was drowning in it
But somehow you're okay with me ramming my **** into your skull
And this letter will be the mindfuck

Let me extrapolate
So extra!
pull those sheets off the bed late at night because you made a ******* mess again
And I don't enjoy laying in wet sheets

Because having to hold your head out of the toilet when you threw up from partying like a Highschool sophomore got old pretty ****** quick

And having to be the answer to every problem you had
trying to tell you how to fix it on your own
Was like handing you a loaded pistol, helping you aim at the target,
And then watching you shoot yourself in the foot

If sitcoms were ****** tunes
And you were still too simple to get it
That'd be my favorite ******* show

Until it bursts through the tv screen and moves all its baggage into the room where my writing desk used to be

I can't wait to beat the *** of the love child you thought we had
Shake and wake it up
Tell him the tooth fairy doesn't exist
And no matter how much **** she talks
That he will walk away with less money in the end
And all it will take is a fleshy hole to remind him of her

Your sugar daddy has a cavity
And before I replace it with a tooth wrapped up in a gold ring
I'm pulling you out
I guess you'll know what it feels like now?

Because for every time you made an excuse
I ran around in circles to
made sure you were happy
And when I got to the end of the marathon
You made me take you by the hand and walk to buy you ice cream

“Daddy” is not for grown ups
So don't act like it was serious
All you did was child's play
You wanted me to be a single father who ****** his daughter's brains out every night
And bought her toys whenever she wanted

If that was love
You were a game
And I got played

it's ******* disgusting
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