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Sumairupoetry Jan 31
She laid on the bed and opened the cover to her book, and I began to read, consuming myself with each ****** that ensued.

The words from her pages began to get louder and wilder with every flick of my moist finger, my tongue felt heavy with an appetite - an insatiable hunger for a good book.

I read until she began to unravel at the spine and covers began to submit to its own weight, she could not let me read another drop, her final words on her last chapter were good.
A sensual poetry
Just Ivan Jan 18
I have no soul to make use of my spirit.
I have no love to make use of my body.
I have no dreams to make use of my heart.  
I have no paths to make use of my legs.
I have no depth to make use of my arms.  
I have no words to make use of my breath.
I have no gardens to make use of my nose.
I have no kitchen to make use of my tongue.
I have no thunder to make use of my ears.
I have no imagination to make use of my eyes.
I have no needles to make use of my hands.

I have no me to make use of the world.
Bhill Oct 2019
Stretch it out

Your internal time clock says it time
You feel your self waking up...
Yawn, open your eyes just a bit to see if it's light
Remember where you are
Stretch out those sleeping legs
Throw your arms over your head and...
Stretch till you feel the muscles wake up
Wow...  Wow that feels good
Are you ready?
Let's go
Forget that, I'm going back to sleep....

Stretch it out...

Brian Hill - 2019 # 250
Wake up, get out of bed...
Terry Collett Aug 2019
The artificial legs seem
like appendages,
and I feel
both sickened,
and yet pleased at last
to be able to get about again
without being
in the wheelchair.

They are attached
and then I am balanced,
a nurse either side.

I imagined
it would be easier,
but it is strange,
like being attached to objects
which move if I lift
and move I leg stumps.

I walk forward slowly,
the nurses at my side,
encouraging me on,
knowing I am blind.

This is it; this is how
it will always be now
if I want to walk.

It is learning
to walk again,
as I learnt
as  a little girl,
with the falls
and missteps
which came then.

I walk onward,
one step at a time,
learning to throw
the leg stump,
balancing as I go.

Philip will be pleased
when he comes,
seeing me walk,
seeing me eye to eye,
not looking down
at the wheelchair.

After a while
the nurses
suggest I rest;
I want to keep on,
but I sit,
not an easy task,
and try to accept
the legs will
be there now;
no longer promises,
but attached,
new limbs;
how it always will be,
my old legs,
damaged beyond repair,
no longer there.
Jo Barber Jun 2019
My body twists in reverse,
Each foot perched above me
In an arch on the couch.
A bottle of gin lies to the side,
And a book flutters open
To a dog-eared page of a poem
That’s often been reread.
My eyes droop
Under the weight
Of another day done.
The work is over,
The money is made,
But it must be made again

For now,
We sleep.
I fell of the stairs for the 2nd time today.

(This is a joke ssshhh)
(I did fall off the stairs though)
A poem every day.
x Jun 2019
i wonder if you see the fear in my eyes
when you show me your love
in hopes that i will compromise,
but i know i am not enough.
so instead i shove your face between my thighs
in hopes that, that will be enough.
because you see my dear,
no love lives here
can you smell the fear?
can you taste it?
as i open my legs for you?
as i lie in a bed for you you?
as my body begs for you?
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