Soft, blush skin,

Aches to sink into their rightful place,

Press into their fleshy counterpart,

Yearns to push their sweet companion,

Longs to touch, to taste,

Form into the contours of a mirrored feature.

And nervously dances slurred words about,

Just behind their surface,

To tell you to kiss them ever so gently.

Let me slide my velvet tongue
up and down
the insides of your milky way
until I find my path
that leads the way
to yours heavens
bet you moan the whole way
One soft touch
and your ambisions slipe away
your body trembles
as my fingers play;
high notes, low on your body
silent screams slowly slip away
our bodies
press their luck
like human nature,
its in our nature,
to play that way.
Our bodies colliding
deep inside, I'm subsiding
my hips bucking,
yours riding mine,
my fantasy
you and me
in Ecstasy.

Your body speaks a language
I yearn to learn, so we can speak
To each other, in ways that make you weak

The mind
when immersed in memories
of yesterday carried by
hopes of tomorrows
and thoughts that like stones
on the surface of a lake
skip from feeling to heart
tracing ripples of emotions
as from nature's beauty
to the smallness of self
is a universal totality
brushing wind over water
to wave onto shore
a life that lost on Earth
helps grow the next wave
that reaches beyond
into the horizon
where some go to sleep
while others wake
are born or take last breath
to be born again
matters not if the sun shines
or the moon reflects on its surface
glass only gives back
the reality of what is
not what one wants
the universal blanket
over and under
above and below
into time on end
not wavering not changing
to accommodate humanity
sustains eternity
what was and what will be
wishing to be more
is as a mere leaf that falls
over an oak seed on its bank
majestic in the passing
before and after us
is where we take part
of forever

Marta
06/01/2017

There is something about being numb that is addicting
It is, sometimes, the only real way to not feel the pain
There is numbing medicine that we have all heard of
Anaesthesia, which means 'loss of sensation'
It is used to induce sleep, which prevents pain and discomfort
We have no problem with people using this to numb
Alcohol is my anaesthesia
It numbs my body, it numbs my mind
It pulls me into another time zone where the hands on the clock move faster
But everything else around you moves slower
All you can do is focus on the next drink coming
Rather than the pain being inflicted on you that made you go out in the first place
We all are addicted to numbing
Some sleep, some get drunk, some get high,
We all cannot deny the sweet flavor of feeling nothing
The needle piercing your skin but only feeling the cold, not the sting
The liquor scratching itself down your throat but loving the burn
Igniting a wild fire in your mouth, going down a ***** rubbed with gasoline
Numbness is an obsession
There's something so beautiful in the art of forgetting things
Even if it only be for a few hours
Alcohol dehydrates you, leaving you dizzy with a mind like a static TV
I would rather feel empty from alcohol
Than empty in the bed that we used to sleep in together
I would rather be numb in a bed next to a boy that I do not know
Rather than feeling all the glass I've stepped on walking away from you pressing into my skin while lying in bed alone

Poets, like doctors, know the anatomy of suffering... tearing the paper with rusty carving knives...

We see scarlet scratches and eggplant colored bruises on every square inch of foolscap... we open scars with words... stainless steel scalpels which we never sanitize...

We perform open heart surgery with blunt instruments... We cauterize the wounds with coals of Fire...

We are civil war sawbones, removing the gangrenous leg to save the body... Carrying out our task with whiskey bottle anaesthesia.

So have a care... The Doctor Is In.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/30/2016

"shop closed"
the sign never sat
perfectly on any hook
or nook
or cranny
you are an echo bounced
perfectly in every hook
and nook
and crook

"considered sold once broken"
consider it done
once dealt with the devil
his ornamental fairies
consider them whole before
they were bought

"trespassers will be prosecuted"
bedsheets spun out of cobwebs
sandcastles spun in of air
floorboards swallow you in
you dreamt of
anchoring yourself
to the ground

"wine house"
lustre of turbulent pirouttes
trapped within the walls
of wine glasses and
wine-stained dresses
in cadavers' masquerade

"emergency only"
they pushed you in the operating theatre
and cleaned their hands with soap
opera
amputate these phantom limbs
pain has been the only anaesthesia

"in loving memory of"
he is the protagonist
he is the antagonist
and all stories end*
(with)              
                     the former

Here it is.

Here is the hole in the stitches of your warmest sleeve.
Here is the emptiness of ice.
Here is the sound that only the loneliest make.

There it goes.

There is the sun, drunk on days, whirling.
There is the delirium that comes sultry with fever.
There is the aching overwhelm of blood returning.

That was the anaesthesia.
Here is the morning after.