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I don't
understand why
my mind
drifts to thoughts
of you, in the
spring when I'm
alone in the woods.
The dew is on the
grass, and the small
flowers begin to
bud, the petals
slippery and wet,
glistening in the
morning
sun.
The birds sing
their symphonies of
praise, and the trees,
***** and strong, reach
to the waiting sky.
The rain shoots
down, and I
rest.
(This is a repost)
Here is a link to my YouTube channel, where I read my poetry. This reading is from an open mic I did via Zoom in Iowa City.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOOnc9BpmIg

www.thomaswcase.com
My book, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and Jump to the Madhouse is available on Amazon.com
Johnson Oyeniran Nov 2021
Fat or skinny I really do not care,

So long as I get to stick my pipe in there.
Johnson Oyeniran Oct 2021
-Naughty, Naughty!

So to keep it simple, long story short, way back when,
I drove to a pleasure house only for ***** men.

The worker was **** from her head down to her feet,
I loved the way she looked at me when she ****** my meat.

According to her, mine was the biggest she had seen,
I told her I'd treat her with respect, like a queen.

In every postion I penetrated her real good,
She could not get enough of my massive long black wood.

After moaning and groaining and dripping with sweat,
The worker's C u next Tuesday became soaking wet.

And once she came after letting out a **** cry,
I painted her cute face with my white juicey *******!
MetaVerse Feb 27
There once was a woman from Norway
Who'd hang by her toes in the doorway:
     She went to her dude
     And his friends in the ****
And requested a fjordian fjour-way.
Compare limericks by Lear and Swinburne about the woman of Norway.
Inevitable Feb 25
I'm trying to fill your gaps with the lengths of me,
inhale your essence in form of hyperventilating.
Handling a ****** that i'll purposely procrastinate
I wont commiserate , it's more so a proclamation.

Guide your hands to the utmost high.
Religion can be a lie but we will pray tonight,
atone for sins, all while committing them,
a sip from our fountains before we begin.

Holy water. Instinctual desire.
Theres no hell in this fire created in our friction.
We've taken a fiction into reality.
We can lack diction in our expression tonight.
I'll read more into the thrusting of hips
and the curling of toes and lips
and the feeling of finger tips
to verify what your physical reactions
and floods already tell me.
I confess at your feet, i'm on my knees
begging for saving.
I'm praying on a rosary thats choking me.
No tithing but offering daily communion;
you have my body for free.
We worship in my house. Eucharist.
Natural inebriation, no tantalus.
and when your ready to spill your secrets,
call out my name through your bliss
while you grip my sheets in your fists.
You didn't know heaven could be visited
but we just did.
You know what they say about men with big feet –
“the socks don’t fit so easily on the first try”
And by the series of events, the more you get to
know someone; the easier it is to relax together –
"Netflix and chill"

But a job not done so well has an obvious result –
“hit it, and quit it”
A few men put up so well with a woman’s
whole bag of *******; lets just blame –
“that good junk in the trunk”

Find someone to rest your worries on –
“some good pillow talk”
Have a kick out of extracurricular activities –
“with an *** to boot, in your boot knocking”

Still stand on your standards, but avoid living
on double standards – not everything works
so well with their – “double meanings”
Loreley Feb 24
Straddled, lovingly, fibers needle into bone
Your anxiety of anticipation,
How I wish it were potable,
So I may drink the terror I have bred in you

I perch above you, heinous desires for your flora to overrun my entrails
Of all the silt eyes in the world, yours are the darkest

Pining for your validation,
For your attention,
As withered roots desperately crawl towards the damp soil
But your heart is barren of solicitude

And so I will soak the soil with your blood.
This charming man,
So cunning, and so wise
If it is not I who fulfills your ****** appetite,
No one will.

Undergrowth impels into irrigated bushes
Hedonism, even as your eyes paint such terror inimitable to capture in brush strokes
Voraciously, desperately,
It builds, the adrenaline, the bliss,
And into me you are, fulminating, everything your pedigree can give

I raise the steel, and I am unafraid
For my calloused hands have been soiled for generations
Plunging,
Squelching,
Broken yawps.

Your lineage,
Cradled by forever empty organs,
Is just as barren as your soul.

As your gore suffocates your lungs,
And my tongue caresses my blade,
I watch those silt eyes turn even darker
You will expire in me,
And no one will have you again.
Taÿpen Feb 23
I don’t speak many languages but I’m fluent in *******
My tongue is bilingual in moans and *******
A professional cunnilinguist that teaches her to forget every word in the English language except for my name.
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