there's a ghost in the wall, how do I know
there are sounds of moaning that sound like hello
the walls might be haunted by an unlikely mind
from way back in history or the future aligned
it's not at all scary, it's mostly just weird
it would be so awesome if they decide to appear
there's a ghost in my wall and I'm not really mad
it's nice to have friends in he walls of your pad....

Brian Hill - 2020 # 151

Virginal
by Michael R. Burch

For an hour
every wildflower
beseeches her,
"To thy breast,
Elizabeth."

But she is mine;
her lips divine
and her ******* and hair
are mine alone.
Let the wildflowers moan.

Published by Songs of Innocence. Keywords/Tags: Love, wildflowers, lips, *******, hair, virginal, moan, moaning, ***, passion, desire, divine, divinity

A night slept with disgrace
Common sense; misplaced
A stance or an actual race?
A trace to be erased
Image has its own pace

Unknown; just skin and bone
Embrace like a close kin you've never met  before
Sometimes as if just a daily chore
Longing for lust from my true inner core
Shut up!
You're such a moaning stranger
Nothing more

Get out! Madam
Just bring my ***
Pack your flesh and roll your drums
You're just trash plus a mess
I know love, lust
that all hurts

Does it burden you to say
that you can barely measure the length of your tongue?

I wasn't here out of my own volition.
We're just literally bound by blood.

So...

Here's your free pass.
You can frolic all you'd like.
For the six quintillionth time,
Here's your pass.

It's not like most people reap what is sown.

At least I have my sanctum residing here.

I don't know what I'd do if you stepped inside.

she dreams of him at night
touching herself
under the covers

silent beautiful moans
escape her parted lips
as her dainty fingers
linger to the most
precious part of her

slowly moving in and out
imagining it's him
touching her all over

she closes her eyes
picturing his rough
large hands roaming
all over her petite body

her breath hitches
her toes curl
her stomach knots

it's coming
she's coming

all because of him

- wet dreams

Sweat trickles down her forehead and down the back of her neck
His chest glistens with sweat accumulated over the past two hours
Hands grasping at his broad shoulders towering over her
Breaths have become shorter and moans have become longer
Legs dangled over the leather car seats
Thighs spread as far apart as they allow her
He bites her bottom lip mixing pain with pleasure
Their hot breaths fogging up the windows
Bodies harmonizing perfectly with each others movements
Till they have drained each others energy
He lays his head on her bare stomach
Dozing off to the sound of her breathing reducing to normal
Her hands run through his hair
She wondered how she allowed herself to enable this behavior
After all he was only supposed to give her a ride home from work

I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”

Now I don’t ask “Why me, God?”
I realized I was wishing another
Poor somebody suffered my fate.
Who? My sister, father, mother?
When did I gain so much clout
That I deserve a better fate
That moves me up so high
And makes the rest second rate?

I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”

I had to take stock of life
And realize I have what I need.
Anything else is at least excess
But even more likely it’s greed.
I was looking around to see
What my neighbors had got
And running to my toy box
Moaning of what I had not.

Did I look around me and see
The many who had so little?
Not a crust of bread or a home
Where they could sit and whittle?
So many had no toys at all
They were grateful for a bed;
A place where they could be safe
When they lay down their head.

I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”

Finally I awoke and saw the truth,
How much I need to be grateful for;
For breathing and resting and joy
A roof, for walls and a floor.
And a place to call my own home
When so many don’t have one.
The day I counted my blessings
Was when a good life was begun.

I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”