#coitus
Coitus interruptus, withdrawal,
pull-out all the stops.
False alarm, renew the charm,
that brings the body off.
Jul 18, 2021
Jul 18, 2021 at 4:59 AM UTC
During her blood moon was the best time to make her moan,
make her legs shake and weak,
Feel her scratch down my arms and peel up my skin
Only 3 days it would last
but during those periods...
she would release multiple times
With the red moons spawn
a bear in the woods would evolve,
hunting her flood through a blessed disaster
finding what I was after,
in a late night spatter
Her finger tips hiding
the stake in my pants,
she'll soon be riding
In these moments I feel a crave,
a longing to misbehave,
Within blankets and sheets we inhabit this cave
Our leveled off breathing
will not reveal harm
Take shelter in the warm of more than apparent
and reside until morning in the arms of the inherent
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
The only time I had had ***********
I now remember fully each detail,
She had told me to get off prematurely.
The girl was on the defensive mode,
I perfectly remember how she fumbled,
She was nervous if I emptied my load.
The way she requested me next day,
I can remember it with bittersweet hue,
She said, "Don't marry anyone else."
The fate had wished something else,
I met with a really serious road accident,
She used to visit me then in the ICU.
The injured me was in a comatose state,
I was told that she often used to visit me,
She surprises me as a guardian angel.
The injured me could remember it not,
I was looked after by the dark angel how,
She wiped forehead sweat from fever hot.
The surgeon in charge of my treatment,
I was told by him as well of how she cared,
She used to summon him oftentimes.
The girl told my mother about both of us,
I was just her best friend she told my mom,
She named my ex- as my then girlfriend.
The girl asked me on phone desperately,
If I could remember about the Agra trip,
She was just disappointed with my reply.
The girl is now married to someone,
I had killed the relationship between us,
She knows not I remembered it not.
Perhaps I should accept it now,
I would have to be alone forever,
Now that I remember all of it.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
A million poems seeking light, I haven't attempted to write,
Create waves and tides in my bloodstream day and night,
Demanding to make them heard blending words that inebriate,
Before I forget them and chase other butterflies in my garden.
I feel guilty about my choice of words to weave, later sometimes
Couldn't get the emotions I try to express,in my poems,right, regret,
True, there is no democracy even in my choice of poetic subjects,
Disorder could be the suited order in making my inner world speak.
It's as if I am some other guy when I write, my heart's real prompt,
I don't even insist to be perfect,an inner voice wants to speak it's truth,
I am stimulated by a creative lust and in the frenzy of inner coitus,
Forget even myself,it's a race towards ****** and strongly I *********
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
There was a boy named Tim
Who had some dodgy friends
Fantabulous by nature
With a few too many loose ends
One day Tim followed them out
He didn't even have to ask
As the two boys bent him over
And ****** him in the ***
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
i was never a fan of brown eyes
they never appealed to me
perhaps it's because the first boy i ever gave my heart to
had eyes as brown as pure cacao
and he shattered my heart like a windowpane
or because a man with eyes brown, flecked with gold
hit me like a punching bag one night after the sun went down
but it wasn't until you and i were laying inches apart from each other
on my bed that thursday morning
post coitus
that i noticed your eyes were the color of the sweetest chocolate
a dark ale i wanted to devour
i realized then that perhaps brown is my favorite color after all
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
Tepid summer nights and
holes in the soles of your feet.
Holes in your wrists, no?
Soft fluttering of dusted eyelashes and
the pale pink of morning sun as you turn your cheek.
Blushing like a schoolgirl, no?
***** fingertips on dirtied skin and
toothy smiles, moth-eaten pillowcases, stale whispers.
'Pour susurrer des mots doux', non?
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC