(the drug cos. have invented this,
tablet, capsule, even injectable;
but the pharma cabal says
no to all,
who know & ask for a public release)
|~|
For

A Kiss That Lasts All Week
it will cure most illnesses,
and what’s the point in that?

you will just have to learn it
with practice, practice & tactics
no need to hurry, play with
the concept, roll it over the tongue,
ready for overseas deployment
said tongue,
the tongue now
the advance force

close your eyes
focus on the overwhelming
(says the now all powerful Wizard of Lips)
those underestimated sensors of the lips,
too oft disdained
in a overhurrief hurricane rush
to the
“big n’ better “ orifices,
and the slow luxury
of the tingly
uttering of

WOW~

shooting through you to the parts of you
suddenly rewoked
& now revoked
from the
quietude of functional boredom

and think
but do not speak
***, ***, o m g,
this is
the fountain of youth,
the revitalized
cellular generation,
the speeding up of the
flow of blood
to places long forgot,
allowing the heart to pump
its gifts to the deadened spots,
reawakening the invisible
soul
that we all have in common

so:

get to “work”

A promise ,
One that shattered my trust.
A promise,
That surely won't last.

A promise, one, at last
For I'm sorry I keep living in the past,
But I saw a light, far far away
Now I hope it's worth the wait,
Until I dig myself from the grave,
I fell into, drowned in pain.

I broke my trust,
I knew for sure.
Thought I tried to give my best,
My life was only headed west.

It won't last,
I'll never reach the end.
For the treasure is nowhere I can see,
I'll give away my life for free.

It won't last,
A promise.
It shattered my trust,
A promise.

An Autumn moon
glowing in a purple sky
along with lesser lights
watching as
I lost my mind..

Stars gathered in
her tired eyes..
Every cosmic cluster
Glimmering, dimming
then falling into the night..

Constellations poured
across her pretty face
Recklessly they'd
c

r

a
s
h
s    l    s    i    g
     p   a   h   n    
on the ground

then were gone
without a trace..

Her tender hand consoled
the pieces left of me
And I just knew those
falling stars
would be the death of me

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I'm well aware that nothing makes sense, including this poem :>

content is not something we give consent
you hold your pen yet the ink spills as it pleads
you are a walker of blood yet it sheds out when cut & bent
you have a brain yet the tongue blurts out the feels

content is not something we color
just an acceptance of the past
just a canvas you get to paint with limit bother
good for a day then a memory till it lasts

the kiss of a palm forehead & cheek
drafts in my head just to render a sleep
some greed never fed or a satisfaction to meet
yellow till it goes mustard & a shade deep

the saving of a night that would save the day
it's like it's gold but you're swallowing the sand?
the desperation for a treasure at some bay
how would I even find content when out of the hand?


                                                         ­                         --------ravenfeeels