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Sam Faisal Jul 29
Wildly tamed,
an oxymoron I didn't see coming.
Beneath the sheet,
kisses exchange fluid,
words of endearment
as I ****** in
and out slowly,
reaching the spot
of pure sensory relief.

RnB fills the room's acoustics,
you feeling my ****,
"Give it to me,"
you moan,
as if it's your final
dying wish.

Sweat runs down my temple,
heat swells up against
our bodies,
that won't give you sickness,
but liberates you from it.

Pounding hard,
like hammering nails,
stuck out veins,
full of energy,
bursting with passion.

I turn your body around,
hunching down,
with a looser opening as
your thighs spread wide.
Shaft slides inside,
smooth sailing
to the sea of glory.

Your ****** is a mystery,
excitement shifting to slight pain.
Moving fast like I'm on *******,
never lined one,
I'm sure the high is the same.

You beg me to stop,
but I'm only getting
not ready to hit the off switch.
"Just let me stay inside
a little longer,"
warm like morning coffee,
moist like an oasis,

Redness tingles,
reaching the pinnacle,
declaring imminent freedom and
pulling out from the delicacy.
The bird flies
back to its nest that
is your mouth,
load’s shot inside,
swallowed like it was
favourite meal.

Wildly tamed,
an oxymoron that depicts
the wild beast
you awakened,
then tamed,
with assured love,
as we cuddle
into the night’s embrace.
Amelia Rose Jul 3
Sometimes I feel defeated
by the fact that socks
can make or break my day
How the same socks
worn numerous times before
can suddenly make me feel
Too tense
Too triggered
Too trapped

Uncomfortable socks is an omen
of the bad things to come
if I walk out the front door
Yet when I have a bad socks day
I find the strength to continue
Safe in the knowledge
that when the day ends
I can throw them on the floor
Upon the heaps of ***** laundry
That I'm not in trouble for
Carlo C Gomez Apr 24
Major blue empty:
first listen to the weather pattern;
the scaffolding remains,
but the holding songs
of color are threadbare;
simulacra of imperfection
simply swirls like seagrass,
a pointillist matrix
of rainfall rustles
gathering scene -- nothing
stands on its own initially;
but after a few localized
moments it collects
to articulate this silence,
as each sound looms and subsides
in the garden of
selective speculation.

Brandon Sep 2022
the thought of you whispers to me
in my lonesome moments
your stride glides swiftly to me
eyes of earthly-tinged emeralds
fire-soaked whiskers brush upon me
and the slightest rosy sweetness
leaves me yearning for you
Kitt Jun 2022
Sometimes, such as on days like today
I sit and I mourn for my long-forgotten faith
I miss the certainty of a Most Divine Plan
Those self-assured speeches of a holy man
Assurances he speaks for the Ordained Track
Promises of a Supreme Being who's got my back
On these days when I wish, reminisce and long
I can't help but wonder where it all went so wrong

It's not that I Believe that There Is No God
Or even that I am unsure whether to believe or not
I don't bother questioning if god is real
For there is a bigger issue at play, I feel
When I became faithless, it was just in HIS eyes
"Faithless" I am not; there's just so much to surmise

I have Faith that the sun will warm each new day
I have Faith that these heavy clouds will give rain
I have Faith in the ground solid on which I stand
I have faith; just not Faith in the Words of a Man

See, I have come to accept that I soon will die
More surely, in fact, than the sun that may rise
Any day that sun may not appear
That day of darkness that we so fear
I accept that any moment May advent my end
I accept that there May be a sunrise just round the bend

With my flawed, weak powers of human perception
Dependent as they are on my senses' inception
I cannot Know a god, not many nor One
Just as I cannot Know that tomorrow will come

Maybe it will, and maybe there is
after all,
But truly--
who among us can Know anything
at all?
Lately I’ve felt as though every little sound and feeling and smell and sight is grating at my nerves and chipping away at my sanity.

My clothes feel constricting and too loose and scratchy and smooth and not right

My ears are full of constant ticking and ringing and noise

My skin wraps my frame too tightly and I want to rip it apart and off of me but then I’d be cold and miserable

It’s all too much and everything is loud and jarring and I feel frenzied and too stuck and not stuck enough and all I want to do is jump in front of a van because then everything would
Blessed and sought-after and evasively, quiet.
Sensory overload *****.
Fianna Beth Jun 2022
words swirl in my head
and dance between the lines

antsy hands tingle

I know the way out
but I want the way through
lillia Jun 2022
listless, tongue twist
the litany of love, call and response till death do us
standing on a street corner in his head,
'c'mon baby', rubbing legs like a cricket,
recalling playful jabs as he carefully tears them apart-

again and again and again.
the clip- clop of a police horse is the soundtrack to a rapture
hand slips against the condensation,
the thrill of fire and ice, cold burns
the moon reflects in his eyes, lunar purity
in a puddle of stale water.
Katie Jan 2022
I'm suffocating
Isolated from nature
Cut off from freedom
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