Musical night chants in summer night a calling in stilled darkness
An impending scattered thought soothed by the nightingale

Reflection in a cool reverie
as the great earth-shadow stretches in abundance
The body caressed by moonbeams
dances the rhythm,
and the rhythm flows upon another;
a time to stroke and embrace
the eternal night passion

Participation of the Venus ritual involving heated flesh,
sweet, sweaty smell of pleasure
entwined excitement in a ******
chorus of Nirvana
And the final falling limp relaxation of
the aaah wow...

i was playing skindred and you were looking at me with an undeniable smirk and i pulled you closer, not with my hands but with my eyes and i can stay awake til 4am writing poetry for you

and i'd never sleep again to write poetry for you

and i'd never talk again so i could listen to all your words and all your stories

and i'd never walk again unless it meant beside you

and i'll never grasp anything tighter than i did you

and i'll never caress anything the way i did you because i'll never be within reach of something more precious

and i want to touch you, not even sexually, i just want to feel the hairs on your arms rise because of my fingertips

you are so pretty
i'd give my eyesight so that the images of you burned into my brain aren't ever replaced

brown bear, brown bear,
What do you see?
A sky of shining lights
slowly fills your dark cavity.

brown bear, brown bear,
What do you hear?
A rebellious, rumbustious crowd
yelling with hate and cheer.

brown bear, brown bear,
What do you smell?
A rising fire of hatred
that always seems to dwell.

brown bear, brown bear,
What do you taste?
The sweet satisfaction of victory,
but a bitter mouthful of disgrace.

brown bear, brown bear,
What do you feel?
nothing.
None of it seems real.

i.
i know that the ear is connected to the nose and the nose is connected to the throat and the throat is connected to the mouth
which is probably why, when we kiss, i hear symphonies
and when i hear "i love you" travel from your lips to my ear
i taste bliss on the tip of my tongue

ii.
i read somewhere that smell is most strongly attached to memory
this means that i will keep your t shirt forever, and maybe your shampoo, too
apparently photographs are not enough

iii.
someone told me that it is not the eyes, but the brain that sees
eyes are just transmitters
but what i see in front of me must be love because it does not register with my mind at all
but my heart translates it beautifully for me
it knows exactly why its own beat becomes erratic when you enter my thoughts
it knows exactly what's going on in this tenement of flesh i call my body

iv.
they say that the last of the five senses is not touch, but equilibrium
which is probably why, when i don't feel your hands in mine
when there is air and not skin
my whole world is off-kilter
i know what it means to fall in love

I know you won't, but don't dare say it.
I can tell.
When you're pushed up
against the small of my
back,
fingers wrapped around my neck,
breathing in my
smell.