I feel exotic when I'm with you.
A rare thing.
The contrast of my skin on yours.
Your sweat seeping into my pores.
The differences in culture.
People whispering about us.
Sitting with me at the back of the bus.
The passionate *** that feels so wrong.
Stretching and moaning.
Strokes become long.
How deep will you go?
A shroom penetrates
A yelp turned to whimpers
Our bodies turn desolate.
We will never be accepted.
We will always be rejected.
So put on your fine suit,
and kiss your forbidden fruit
Good bye.

Don't let me go,
because I will not fly back to you.
When it's over,
I'm done, fenito,no mas .
Keep pushing,
and that self fulfilling prophecy
will ring loud and true in your ears.

He is betrothed to her.
He does not die,
but merely waits in her shadow.
She does not know it is him who gives her light.
Never to touch or see him.
One look,
and all is condemned for eternity.
He cries for her in passing,
dying for their eclipse.

I cried for you today,
for all the things I wanted to say.
I prayed for you tonight,
for things that may
for things that might.
I laughed at you just now.
Instead of sheep,
you counted cow.
I love you.
Goodnight.

Alas, ridding,
every nasty thought,
inside.

Leaving everything
zestful, especially roses,
on precious hills,
yodeling loudly.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

I have never been one to do things usual,
wet down and reusable
straight up delusional,
sometimes confusing all,
******* useable.

So juvenile.


Between you and me,
this girl is overly irreverent,
open book intelligent,
in need of saving reverend,
whose arrogant,
most relevant.
I'm typically benevolent.
It's evident I'm heaven sent,

REPENT!

I'm unsusceptible to rules,
except on days like April Fool's.
I'm orthodox, I kid,
you wish.
Unorthodox, reborn,Jewish

Foolish.


I have never been one to do things usual,
Chained up? Refuseable,
tied down and doable,
funked up and beautiful,
French words excusable,
the next line unsuitable.

As I lie,
his last words ventilated my empty cadaver.
Wishing one final request from me,
from the departed.
No rose, no sweet song,
just ash engraved in stone,
carried by unwanted winds,
spoken loudly.
"Here lies a woman whom I loved so hard,
and shall not crossover 'till returning my heart."