So little so much
Brief brush of fingers
That soft touch
Heat that lingers

“Mine” she could swear she heard
Her heart for a moment stands still
With that whispered word
A devilishly divine thrill

Hint of Everything
In a gentle brush
Makes her soul sing
Blood starts to rush

Thoughts, want, and need, a ravenous desire
Taking Form
Capricious Fire
Fanciful Storm

Growing tempest of lust
A she devil of need
Feed soon she must
Dances in her eyes, take heed

Growing lustful state
Hunger and thirst, in wicked measure
She wants to sate
With pain and pleasure

~Wes Noneya

Satietatem potare dulci nectare tua desiderium ego
Ad nos transeat, usque mane
Nostra corpora convol
Corpora nostra lusibus
Sol ortus, Sitis commoratur

Amorem vivere devora tua suavita
Vitae caelestis
Nostra ad et aut angelus diaboli
Quod viget, vitae singulis nobis,
Retorta peccatorum gaudium de salute nos

Corpora *** carnis luxuriam
Tenebrae concupiscentiis saginatus
Dolorem voluptatem servus
Impium impium fames
Sanctus diversitas peccatorum

Ita et nos, in manus nostras et amore peccatorum nos
Nos ad unum corpus est cor

Translation Latin to English

I drink my fill of sweet nectar of your desire
To pass to us until morning
Our bodies roll
Our bodies dance
The sun rises, thirst lingers

Love, live, eat your sweetness
heavenly life
Our call to the devil or an angel
That is active, the life of each of us,
Twisted sins, the joy of our salvation

Bodies with carnal lust
Dark desires fed
Pain and pleasure slave
wicked, wicked hunger
Holy diversity of sins

Even so we, in our hands, and the love of our sins
We are one body and heart

~Wes Noneya

My Latin isn't the best but I gave it a go. I like both versions.

Do truly only the good die young?

Or

Do we simply care not
       Nor notice
When the wicked
       And the hated
Pass away?

No matter their age,
       Who or what they left behind,
Or what they could have done,
       Who they could have been,
Who will miss the wicked youth
        Thinking them unchangeable
When they are gone?

By Arcassin Burnham

Everything stays the way it should in days
where we belong in beauty on the television
that could make the brain upset from all the
controversies that flood the earth with wickedness
and lies to make people like me resent the world
bury me
learn from me
until the death of me
Ya see the people want to believe that we could be
as free as we want to be in this economy while no
difference has been made
the evil ones think to block out the sun so we could
have all the shade
for their amusement,
bury me
learn from me
until we are truly free.

I arrive, weary, weak, wonderous
Daily work of a woman, it seems
It's not over, never over...

She sits in her spot,
beneath the shine of the evening sun.
A deep inhale, soft expulsion of my sanity.

I smile into her glare, a calm resolute
To the coming war.
Her eyes like daggers enflaming every flaw.
Of those things entombed within,
That bite, scratch, and gnaw.

And oh how my skin does crawl!
Oh how I yearn for the day to dance upon her in celebration of a life well lived...
Well over.

I love her, in all her 90 ways
I love her much more on her better days

Yet my heart can be fooled
When her monsterous drool
Exudes from her voice
As nails on a chalkboard
Giving me no choice

Her songs of songbirds
Vultures to my fate

You see, sweet little flower lady
Seems tame, makes me to blame
A crazed woman, who only has me
to suffer the sins that she has carried.

How terrible it must be for the moon to never kiss the sun,
He must long for her warm touch,
To feel her fingers ignite him.
How many more times can he beg the sea to paint a picture of her brilliance,
Only to be met with " her beauty is blinding."
So he chases her in an infinite game,
Whispering to the star crossed constellations,
Of how much brighter he would shine,
Were he to have her by his side.

You wrote 12 lines,
Which we spent several minutes on;
Interpreting.

You wicked, wicked woman.

Playing with words,
Simple words;
Arranging them
In an ordinary manner.

For us,
*Creating a labyrinth.