#carnality
Many a man can roll up his sleeve
raise his elbows for a fight
But it takes a stronger man
to lower his hands
and leave when he knows its right
I’m not one for defeat
and have me beat
But If I’m ever half that man
You will have me found
standing my ground
letting down, just one hand
Many a man can
let loose their screws
and explode with words of sorts
But it takes a mindful man
to remain subdued
taking captive every thought
I’m not one to refrain
or lose my brain
But if I’m ever half that man
I’d like to think I’m kind
give a good piece of my mind
and hopefully they’d understand
Many a man can spin their own yarn
and tell a tale without a flinch
But it takes an honest man
to not spin spam
and not sway from truth an inch
I’m not one to lie
I’m an honest guy
But if I’m ever half that man
I’lI tell the whole story
and then and if only
leaving out the details where I can
Not many a man can
resist or tame the flame
of passion or fire
For there are but a few
who are able to
harness the lust of fleshly desire
Now sometimes I burn
and yes, I yearn
But if I’m ever half that man
I can look and not touch
and if it goes and gets too much
well, I suppose, I am who I am
Jan 19, 2022
Jan 19, 2022 at 4:48 PM UTC
golden waves
wind slow
the leaden sky
smells like summer
the fine rain
smells of land and of you
the great willow
is our alcove
our moans
invade the air
your heat fills me
and satisfies me
your eyes invade me
interweaving of legs
and sweaty bodies
smell of rain
smell of land
smell of you
panting hearts
heavy breaths
under the great willow
two souls touched each other
and defeated
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 3:50 AM UTC
You leave me cold—and so forlorn;
thou weary jaded face of ****
Does any of your turgid action
hold a trace of true attraction—
more than the membranes, moans and glands
that move your products’ many brands?
Your upper face looks haggard, used
your orifices gape, unmused
in lurid and contrived excitement
offering at best, incitement
to a spurt of blasé bliss:
a risk-free game of Hit on Miss.
Fleshtones moan: transparent fakes
where tremors masquerade as quakes.
For such hard work you’re unimpressed;
your weary looks leave one depressed—
to seek, instead, an amateur;
the accolades belong to her
whose modest shoot on humble bed
ensures her book of love gets read;
much better than that HD trash
where made-up squeals meet ***** cash.
Recalling now the titillation
of my youthful sex-fixation
wherein falsities were prized,
airbrushed half-truths, oversized:
thrills to nevermore regain
nor recreate, much less attain . . .
yet, seen beside today’s hot mess
it’s more alluring to undress
the past, by varying degrees
(her imperfections sure to please).
Perennial curiosity
spreads carnal luminosity
upon the mysteries of the flesh
to tease our hungers; and refresh
our longing for the great Unknown;
flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.
Those naughty childhood memories
transmute the lustful ecstasies;
each glance, each timeless thrilling tease,
was stronger then—compared to this
whose pull is harder to dismiss.
It fades more quickly once it’s past—
but Venus’ vintage treasures last
until the suns of lust grow cold
and all of desire’s daughters old.
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
if we had our own vein in the place that we share
I think I'd give you my all
Although I'm uncertain of so many things
you are the grace in my fall
Not in the way that the people connote
Time an illusion to them
Deeper than indigo purple can go
I am the shade in your realm
Stop the mechanical hands that I hold
Tell me the cold is a dream
Tell me the taste would be bitter and stale
Skin cannot claim you and me
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC