as the gunmen circle around my fragile corpse
and my ichor seeps out my hollow vessel
my eyes will be forever trained on you
as i ask one final question:
is my love to be
paid in blood?

Indigo silence?
Above the ley we intone:
Special to us, the speed of thus
Hope you same the ides of worldly fun...

Predators of let, lots to a man that can
A whole reason, to verify a loose thought
Resplendency as a candor was, a sense of a plan
Where no man has a dread for you, a place for a spirit mocked

Live up to a wall of service, the voice spoken, the voice proven
Has you by the family of gall, if not the gaiety
We accustom to a liberation of the yet to be loving...
Ask the silence, if we can spare the gait of anxiety?

Hatred, patron, and saccharine
In a rolling cloud of disproof, we saw your knickers
When a bird has come home, for the worst a callous stare means
Create a sunny rational with a blessing that has none for a future...

Winds of solemnity
Winds of paradise, to reach the truth
Winds of persuasion, perceived in a chosen liberty
Winds of virtue, with a stipend for youth

Is it us, or the winds changed direction?
Solace in the name of strength, and the might of a friend
In the way of your chaste, if not hastes inflection
Is this wind a fury in the voice of empathy or an enemies rend?

Notice the guitar...
Asking a power, is mercy in the wishes we gave
Is a clash with youth, a head to turn or an answer
With the sweetest you, we have ever seen a hair give, you a savior

Shame on a placebo, that has intone for the pride of glue?
Here, pissy, and ****
We wave the colors of remembering, your example to fruit
On the table, in the tree, and the eyes we are seeking for a world's vexation...

This poem was mused by:
"Shakespeare won't look at me" by ThomasW.Case
-----------------------------------  -------------­-------------------

We fill our lives with work and stress
in the lust for new possessions
we're taught that this is called success
and it makes for good impressions

But pleasures we’re taught to suppress
so our souls will fly up to the heavens
but this flesh that god has gifted us
are our only true possessions

If we find ourselves casually undressed
which is frankly, our natural condition
and if ****** needs should be addressed
there’s no need for ****** confessions

for pleasure is something to be expressed
if we’re alone or in a marvelous coalition
So I wish you satisfaction in elations quest
as you work the knobs, slants and levers
because this isn’t some kind of competition

P.S. Will Shakespeare was familiar with *******'s guilty thrills.
"The expense of spirit, in a waste of shame is lust in action"
.
.
A song for this:
Flowers by Miley Cyrus

Tell me the truth
It was a lie
How can you make death
feel so Alive
I would have spit
The venom out
But rather
I'll walk out
Because I can love a girl or a guy...

He's a beauty, like

a flower, I pick and stick --


him between my teeth.

In the dressing room

I have seen smooth-shaven girls --


I've seen what you want.

Thinking of him flings me from these plains
to the nearest body
of water whose mist smells of salt and life
the unrestrained passion
and ****** of sea.

The book, Odes to Common Things,
a gift of a dear friend
who knew not the arousal,
the seed of near sensual desire
it would plant in me
like the buttery aroma of a woman’s hair
or the taste of her moist lips.

Even a thought of Neruda
takes me to the stormy stirrings
wrought from the ***** of the Pacific.
and sounding on the shores of Chile.

How could the writing of a man
a continent away
foment in my chest
a fervor akin
to a spiritual awakening?

I read him in English
but feel the thump
of his Latin heart
in my body.