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i have scars all over my body.
ones that you see,
and ones that you cannot see—
engraved deeper in my flesh;
down the bones,
penetrating my whole soul.
in this flesh,
at its rawness,
inside these skins
and bones, all that I seek
and ever thirst for,
is peace.
Sarah Aug 30
Love spills out from me in the form of words and tears and laughter.

I want to touch you and hold you and kiss you and love you so tenderly and with such softness that one wrong step could crush me.

Put me in your mouth and chew me up.
Take a bite out of my ripe, tender skin.
All you’ll find in this flesh, is love love love. Sweet and soft and juicy the way a peach bleeds.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 18
“and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”  

Walt Whitman


having recently been on standby for a permanent-entry residency visa
to over & just beyond death’s door, Walt’s prescient prescription strikes my broken breastbone even harder much, than the persistent
periodic pains confirming the breaking and the healing
of this man’s mending of the human centric poetic *****

for this warped heart mine, now rejoicingly rejiggered with some threads and wires to deliver a new but fresh bloodied wisdom,
begs me, eggs me to torrent word streams, but Whitman’s wisdom cautions a new slowness, the wisdom of mortality’s hot breath urges careful consideration of every letter that my second chance, consignment shop flesh, eagerly embraces, to both prescribe and proscribe inside-insights tween the deafening sounds of eyelashes beating synchronized to the revived heart rates rapid renewal and
last second-chances….

torn tween minute torso sensations and the running silence of
a new battery’s internal rapid intervals, the silent timing gaps tween beats leaves-just-enough-space to ask over and over again,
from whence will come my richest fluency? (1)

at 300am, I lay carefully caressing and chewing well each transitory
thought, absent the former energetic ability to just spill,
though highly desired,
now requires, like me,
steady re-piecing together

the steady drumbeat of now-nearer-my-god-than-thee Titanic reflections
demands a slowing rapidity

this I thought before and now ken, even and ever better, that our primary endeavor shall always be the giving, the disbursement of the act of love…for therein lies the healing of each, and wet eyes,
make necessarily concluding this poem about nothing and everything
and I comprehend Walt’s dictum:

my very flesh is a poem,
every sensation a lyric,
every breath taken and returned to the atmosphere
so unconsciously
are my oldest
and newest
3:00 AM poetry companions
(1) I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from?
Psalms 121:1-4
leeaaun Jun 29
the goodness in you
will make you feel like
a true goddess

only if you will try to look it
inside your flesh
instead of other's

because your skin isn't rotten
it's going through a process
that will take time

as being a goddess
is not an easy task
she's good yet carries all flaws

who believes in herself
who stands up for herself
who take breaks when things get hard

she accepts the goodness
with all fears
she learns to face her problems

that's how you become
a goddess
who do good for you
Howling, brawling
it's me, my darling!
My ****** aunt that I found so nice to haunt
bones and slimy saucerlies ground and bound
combined from our perished unsound insides.

Presented and well served right upon the table
your heart's halves on each side
crispy textures consist of  hole complexure
your eyes glisten no more, those poor meaty fries.

It's time for the feast, I guess,
I will be just turning away, can't bear to see
honestly, your nice smelling thighs from the inside
the same I bear inside of me too, dear twin sister.

So glad they saved up your skull for me.
The shadows dance to our candlelight kiss
just between ghostly fondles played by frosty fingers
missing you, blood-eyed moonshine, as well.
Trojan Mar 19
I stared once at this box
With a golden pink sign
"Femininity" it said

And yet the box was black
A sealed and hidden front
Pry it open? T'was quite hard

I know that this Pandororos' box
Holds some treasure at the top
I dread however, all the rot below

I think often of this box
All the treasure near its top
Creativity, care and justice

Pandororos - all the gifts at the top
And I still dread, what hides just below that top
Blood and tears, bits of flesh
All the rot below the top
August, 2022
LD Goodwin Aug 2022
**** the clock, leave me be
I have an itch that can not be fully scratched
a hunger never sated
a Jones that never peaks

I am a slave, a concubine,
a conscript to words
they shiver up my spine
and are as a Dragon's flame

I need more to live
like air, and water and love
or the wind's subtle touch
and my muse's flesh against mine

For she has shown them to me
Her rings of passion
that shimmer in the sun
and I swell, hypnotized

**** the clock
rest your hands
I am bewitched
and must needs be met

Leave me be
to our fantasy
She waits for me still
true and wanting

My drug calls
my veins throb
the words, the words
they tell her where I am

I am still here
and the Dragon
must be appeased

Oh tenderness
the sweetness left in my memory
for my wild imagination
to ferment like wine

Drunk now on these visions
impaired with temptation
I taste their milk of love
and suckle to sleep.

**** the clock
though I can not stay here
nestled within her *****
safe from the Dragon's flame

Aye, I must leave
but a spark of permanence remains
a tattoo on my brain
of flesh and sun and rings
*as always, thank you for your inspiration*
Serendipity Jun 2022
I feel flesh on fire
light my skin
and name me pleasure.

All hands
and waist
and thighs
and bare.

Lips not only inhaling
what the other exhales.

I still trace my hands on my collarbone
the way you did that night.

I named my pleasure after you.
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