Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Our greatest urge, our yearning and desire,
Our crave, our demon and angels.
Its the holy grill, an expectation, it seems near but its far fetched.

In all history, in all legends in all religion, eternity we seek. Our bodies are mortal and we long for eternity. Where can we live for eons?

Its the desire, the furnace of our essence to live forever. Where even after years, we are valid and acknowleded. Where we are not feared but revered, where  our presence evokes Eros and not dread.

That's why am here on this portal, that's why my grandpa tells me stories, that's why others **** themselves and others seek to impress.
That's why we have slay Queens and gigallos. That's why I always ask, "after am gone will I be remembered?"
We infuse and want to transmit our ideals, we want to have a mental exchange, pass our memories and what we want to be remembered. We want to sire longevity and immortality that's why we have a mental ******* with all.
We long for longevity, that's why fairy tales exist.
Hopeless Outlet Mar 2018
I never said I was - she said
on hitching breath
while two knuckles deep,
can we go three with three

Guttural moan

Against this, so don't - she purred
A lick of fire against my lips
In a moment like this
I want more
Can I at least
for once
just a random thought of being in the moment
Agaphy Dec 2017
I once have a dream
that I will marry before
having an ****** *******
but my dream have been killed
all because of Love...
Love make you do things that you don't wish to do...
Tommy Randell Nov 2016
Safe in the wet nest's rocking
I listen, with a passion. to a conversation about passions
Rising muffled from the party's tossing to and fro, below, below,

While a world away, upstairs on a huge expanse of white cotton,
With one gesture becoming an origami whale
Breaching silently the smoked-glass horizons of dresser-mirrors

She and I, remembering some tricks for odd half hours spent alone
Travel tides not knowing what needs destroy our hearts.
The Party's ceiling, our bed's floor, hardly creaking with our pressing.

But just as the Ocean's creases can become too fine    
So cruising her body my hands have no future    
Await the tragedy of the ******* to fly true and strike home -    

So, at the moment of our coming, killing the whale    
Only I know the enormous guessing it takes
Striking the blow personally in a spiral stupor.
Does the whaler harpooner dream of his girl or does the young man with his girl imagine harpooning the whale? Ah well, who knows ...
Next page