Nov 2017 Black

He once said to me...

                 “I would blow warm
                         moist breath through
                                          your toes...
                           I would do all the
                  wonderful things
                to your big toes
                  that you do to me.
                      And most certainly
                         all the tension would  
                             drain onto me...
                               I would draw
                                every last drop
                               from your toes
                          with little messages
                         along the way of my
                      charted course
                         to come up
                      your inner channels.
        Resting in the sensitive eddies  
      behind your knees
  we both breathe fire
    wafting up and down
                         your thighs.”

.... like drips of seduction off his tongue.

And he lingered on, saying...

                   “Flaming lips wafting
             together with desire,
       reaching and pulling
          with firey licks.
       As I slide
   my wet tongue
    on up and hover,
                     you in
                           through my nostrils
                         filling my sex senses.
                       Drunk on your fumes,
                I'm consumed.
           Circling the tip
       of my nose
your hard,
   pearly knot
       feeling the heat
             from your butterfly wings
            my parted lips surounding
          and easing the warmth
     of my soul onto you
with wet hot breath.
   And I ease the length
          of my tongue to rest
      completely over
    your fire breathing wings ,
               warm capable and ready..
                   leaving you in suspense.
                      Sliding ever so slightly
                           and slowly up your      
                              slick silky lips,
                     tightening the tip
                   of my tongue -
                      flick flick
                             flick flick...
             And I look deeply
           into your eyes,
                  into depths
                    you've never known.
                       And then I'll take you
                        all in, with a suction
                           you'll never escape
                             or ever want to.
      Never breaking eye contact
my tongue slides from bottom
        and presses, emphasis
         at the top slowly
        over and over
            settling you in.
                We fall into
                   a oneness
                        and find  
                        our groove.”

And I said...

“I wish I wasn't
still irritated with you
so I could fully
enjoy your seduction.”

It’s my 100th poem and thought I’d do something different. Be kind! XD
  Oct 2017 Black
Lora Lee

I love you
to your jagged,
         dark edges
culling smoke
               and twisting tides
                  your steaming heart
              that pulses, in my hands
          as you give it-
and the pungent tears
when they fall
         from your eyes
I lick up your pain
to soothe it smooth
its rawness catching
       velvet ripples of skin
I pull a blanket
of mahogany wine
over your soul
that seep out
              from the layers within

and in that tender of
nightfall's darkest foliage
I long to calm
your monsters' clawing
as they gnaw at you from
                  the inside out

I crave to fill
the hollowed-out longing
my own hungers writhing
      in obscene

For I am all that is sacred and wild
the spark has been lit
from my innermost rooms
I dance to the drums of
the woman as child
her mystical ways chanting
rhythms in runes

Demons might dance
as you gaze in reflection
in the mirror of time,
of unfiltered space
      but I adore all your sides,
          your imperfections
discern the divine
in the planes of your face
You are my galaxy
              of dark matter
bringing out my
           own looking glass
                         of vantablack
in a feral crown of obsidian
                             and onyx
as you reach me deep,
there's no going back

For when you love me like that,
plant your tameless,
                            hot seed
it blossoms within me
a tightly-wrapped tourniquet
               for when I bleed
and if my guts
should spill upon
               the  floor
you will remind me,
in glowing of pores
           of who I am
and how I am whole
a lovelight lit in the
storm of my soul
I will push down deeper
until I feel those roots
that connect me to
my center
  to my
succulent fruit
So slice me open.
     Pull me apart.
Let the juice run down
to heal

This song, which I listened o repeatedly while writing, means something other to me than the meaning of the video.. much more personal.
This also can apply:
Black Sep 2017

His canvas is
     the clear blue sky
          His easel is
               the mountains.

His pallet is
     the ocean deep
          in hues of
               prismatic fountains.

His brush is
     made of clouds
          that form the span
               of angels' wings.

And all the sunsets
     you recall
          are works of art
               He flings

Upon the
               imagination knows.

And we should
     thank Him every day
          for the "art" that
               He bestows

Black Sep 2017

Upon the stone a name is carved to represent a life. Someone there interred with dreams of peace, of love...of strife.

What humor and what sorrow...what laughter and what tears... Combined to make the life extinguished now so many years?

And there...interred beside him...companion, mother, wife. How did they meet and what was said to make them share a life?

Two lie here together and forever here remain. I knew them not...but such devotion should be only heaven's gain.

And so, I watch the sunset glow and watch the moon arise. I listen to the pulse of life and scan the dimming skies.

I smell the honeysuckle vine and watch the buzzing bees. Then rise to slowly walk away...the dust upon my knees.

Went to visit my parents' today and wandered ...
  Sep 2017 Black

feudal consciousness
between a renaissance,
literature with crisp apple pie and bitter memorials
architectural exaction and
perpetual shadows to excommunicated
entities that you
intended to be a saint who grew weaker -
nadir then sleep deprived
insincere with over explaining
why I outlived uninhabitable checkboards
ancestral blood, step five to wilderness
through flowers but you make me
want to stay
because it's always been a misfeature
of my youthfulness in your unrest
realm - sexual violence
as the haunted implore coincidence by
covenant -
'for I am a moth fluttering into a rib cage
filled with green moss'

- G

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