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Clay Face Aug 2021
I’m sick of watching them squirm on the floor.
But it never ends, I always want more.
Once the feeling seeds,
it’s put on the list of needs.

Is it shameful?
Or is it natural?
I have a needle I can’t get rid of.
It refills itself after each use for free.

It’s plunger is pulled back so easily.
Anything over the course of the day.
Can fill it’s tube with lives.

Can’t help but push it forward.

It ends not so clean,
Because I am ****** Machine.
Marri Apr 2020
My eyes close gently
Like butterflies finding peace.

My breathing is soft
Like the winds that move music.

On my back,
Covered with duvet,
I come alive.

Don’t you hear it?
The call to an ancient rhythm?

I start to dance.

My eyes clench shut
Like doors to an argument.

My breathing picks up pace
Like the smoke of heat in winter.

On my back,
Covered with sweat,
I come alive.

The dance begins:
It starts at my toes.

Clenching, curling,
Pirouette Princess.

Moves up my thighs,
Shaking, sliding,
Shimmy salsa.

My hands join in,
They create foreign mundras.

Massaging circles into soft flowers.
I’m blooming all over again.

The rhythm picks up pace,
The drum beats vibrations into my existence.

The process repeats,
Pirouette toes,
Salsa thighs,
And flowers blooming from fingertips.

This time,

My eyelids play movies I’ve never seen,
My breath hitches in my throat,
I’m coming alive.

I feel everything all at once.

My head starts to spin,
The good kind of dizzy.

On my back,
Lifting up,
Soul leaving body in unspoken essence,
I’m coming undone.

In a estranged voice I’ve never known,
Your name leaves my parted lips.

The music stops,
The dance is complete,
And the petals wilt.

Fingertips sticky with nectar.
Or is it pollen?

Doesn’t matter—
It still tastes sweet.
joel jokonia Nov 2017
me and my sub-conscience fight over weird things
i wrote this poem with a vision of making this the longest poem if possible
i poem by poets around the world in one topic
any poet can add at least one phrase keeping the topic at hand, a twist could do to but keeping the head on

i would appreciate to write with you all
it would the greaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatest of all

i am going tag all words cause you never know what it will become.

you can start from
'me and my sub-conscience fight over weird things.....
Cheyenne Baker Nov 2015
I can hear you in the other room,
your pounding heart
and your pounding fist,
one pounds in your chest,
one pounds on your ****.
You think you are quiet
but really, you aren’t -
your heavy breathing
penetrates the walls
and whispers into my ears:
“I’m not sorry for doing this”.
I close my eyes
And lick my lips
As Full hands
Turn into finger tips
They go down my side
Then over my thighs
The hands begin to undo
The laces on my shoe
Then the buttons on my pants
Maybe this is what they call romance
The hands know what's next
And what'll feel best
As they slip between my legs
The more my body begs
They stroke where it feels right
And my muscles become tight
When I finally I ***
And all of my body is numb
I finally open my eyes
And realize my body has told lies
For I lay in bed alone
With only hands of my own

— The End —