"absinthe" poems
Magnolia Queen, Magnolia Queen
Launch one thousand ships
Oh, carry me back to the in-between
Magnolia Queen, Magnolia Queen
The shadows will dance, the shadows will dance
The fire burns hot
From the iron king cobra’s trance
The shadows will dance, the shadows will dance
Oh, carry me home, oh carry me home
Through the absinthe seas
Watching the watchman mumble and drone
Oh, carry me home, oh carry me home
Whittling the trees, whittling the trees
Planets do align
To the face of the Magnolia Queen
Oh, only to the Magnolia Queen
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
old hunger makes us sick
forget who we are and
where we're going
how to see thru fog
how to pierce the sky
where's the truth in all this
mustard gas and lies
translucent silken shadows of people
wishy washy wistful thinking like
'o look at big sophisticated words dribbling across page - verbal *****
great philosopher all expression and
thought purge speaking in a vacuum'
petulant little lines for liar's lurid heart
petty little fines growing large from the start
what is this point you speak of and how do we get there
if it is really about the journey and not the destination
then can i get off right now
or
can i be seal eye headlight hi beams
is there trust enough left between us two
to go on down this road together
or part ways at lightning fork in path
no
i go into petrified forest bog
to hide and melt and decompose
bucolic rot under stalwart stoic onlooking trees
you go to riches, glory, ******* and now sprouting planted seeds
misgivings all forgotten like
irreverent, irrelevant childish deeds
and
i grow bitter and ferment
starving gut absinthe
filled with frozen wormwood lies
like Poe and de Quincy and all the rest
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
kisses on your warm sweet mouth
tender lips caressed
exploring your ******* and raised ******* ..
belly and thighs enveloped
those eager dark delicious places that i covet so
your musk erogenous
the path to your hungry soul
eater of the poison apple
your eyes widen bright with delight
a strange synesthesia you say
your smile a hypnotic alter
you prone
back arched
belly willing
as i drag a curved blade slowly across your winsome flesh
worshiping you
breathing your warm breath into my mouth and nostrils
come now
you coo
i am sheildless
then little strangles that excite
to see how you do
will you love it
adorations twisted mind
she demon
a wizened dizzy Venus
please yes
her **** drenches the bed
a warm viscosity
legs widen
feet piqued
*****
exotic delicatessen
Heralded
i enter with long sweet butter strokes
the sabbath of desire
I swear
i wont let you suffer...
never !
why you say?
because i love you
lovely scythe you call
as if lulled to sleep
whispering dreadful incantations .
i ache to close the curtain
to lifes scalding chatter
wrap me
in a raggy shawl
impale the throat
like ive alway dreamed
a last exhalation
flood gates pour forth
as deaths dark fold
dissolves all
i rock you drugged
absinthe and wormwood
a last ***** of candles flame
white gauze cinched
lips on a lost mouth
eyes a static pyre
i linger
wishing you still plush
an animated glow
so that i could feel your arms,
now milky white relics
only to take you all over again and again and again
dreamer of the abyss
yet you stand
aberrations, smoke ghost
sacrificially swaying your hips
calling from Hades
dancer of ritual copulation
i melt like wax in the sun
wither
and die myself
marriage Italian style
dead bells in love
blotted out by the Sirens of Mara
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
Among orange-tile rooftops
and chimney pots
the fen fog slips,
gray as rats,
while on spotted branch
of the sycamore
two black rooks hunch
and darkly glare,
watching for night,
with absinthe eye
cocked on the lone, late,
passer-by.
5.7k
these thoughts...
they are my own,
walled within the deepest recesses
of my
cerebral labyrinth.
sprouting out of vine covered walls,
are multicoloured blooms
brandishing thorned stems
and
thirsty stigmas,
dripping with
absinthe.
mind full of poison in
permissible amounts...
i am caught in a
web of restless stupor,
anguish...
and regression...
these thoughts...
rationed out sparingly,
for they're not for unready ears
blooms of thought meticulously
triaged before
necessary expulsion.
hairline cracks between
insanity
and peace...
i tread precariously
the fine,
meandering line.
still clutching my flowers
in a tight obstinate grasp...
not letting go
for these tainted blossoms
are
undoubtedly
mine.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 6:42 AM UTC
There's so much depth to your eyes
The way they squint and tug at your frown
When you wake up wearing your bed head
And see me about to drown
Do you think it will be worth it
To close your eyes again and sleep in?
If tomorrow never comes
Then we'll never have to leave this bed
But I'm a fool of yours
For every word I've never said
And if it comes from me inside out
To tear away your clothes
And see the beauty in your dance
Then I'm here baring my teeth
For a taste of your romance
So write the saddest thought you have
Write your biggest fear
Now tell me darlin
What do you really have to lose?
Is it the thought that's too close
For you to hold dear?
Clutching heartache like its a fashion statement
The point of this
It's all exaggerated
You're the perfect specimen of who you are
You're the empty hole in my heart
It's another night and we're playing with knives
Getting sick on absinthe
You hold your words to my throat
And ask for the truth
Wanting me to lie every step of the way
There's danger in the way you love me so dearly
It's tender
I surrender
Don't cut any deeper
There's only so much of me I can hold on to
When I'm around you
Surrounding myself with the buttons off your dress
I know I've made a mess
And bathed in bleach
But I wanted that dead hue
Only to entertain you
But I'm a fool of yours
For every word I've never said
And if it comes from me inside out
To tear away your clothes
And see the beauty in your dance
Then I'm here baring my teeth
For a taste of your romance
So write the saddest thought you have
Write your biggest fear
Now tell me darlin
What do you really have to lose?
Is it the thought that's too close
For you to hold dear?
Clutching heartache like its a fashion statement
The point of this
It's all exaggerated
You're the perfect specimen of who you are
You're the empty hole in my heart
Why do you call it a fault
When I make you smile?
Why do you call it a lie
When I take your hand in mine?
Is it something I did
To make you wish me dead?
So write the saddest thought you have
Write your biggest fear
Now tell me darlin
What do you really have to lose?
Is it the thought that's too close
For you to hold dear?
Clutching heartache like its a fashion statement
The point of this
It's all exaggerated
You're the perfect specimen of who you are
You're the empty hole in my heart
And if it comes from me inside out
To tear away your clothes
And see the beauty in your dance
Then I'm here baring my teeth
For a last chance at your romance
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
He can’t explain the pain
Like boot prints on his brain
And it only seems to subside
When she is beside him.
Then, it begins to slowly dim.
When she is not around
He can be found on the ground
Screaming just like his head,
Full of frenzied villagers instead
Of what everyone else feels
And thinks, as he again sinks
Into that swamp of horror
And anguish. Moreover,
He knows he is alone in this.
This is not from her kiss
It is from its absence.
He’s not addicted to absinthe
Like some Victorian poet.
He’s insane now and knows it.
But she can calm mind
In the deluge he always finds
When she goes away a while.
First he loses the desire to smile
Then he can’t talk any more.
He forgets what words are for.
He only howls and raves.
He knows nobody can save him.
He has but to swim to shore
From the wreck that is his peace.
It is his only real release.
It’s all that heals his soul.
She has become the goal
His only purpose in the world
Is in the hands of this one girl;
This woman, elevated to deity.
His only true reality.
How can this happen, he cries.
He doesn’t understand the whys
And wherefores that turns love,
Completion and fulfillment
Into horrifying derailment
Of all his hopes and dreams
And fills his heart with screams
Like a little boy on a wrong bus.
And nobody there to discuss things
To help him see what is happening
And why the one thing he cares for
Doesn’t fulfill him anymore
Unless she is here to hold his hand.
He fails completely to understand.
Brent Kincaid
2/13/2015
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
The American said: let's drink the words.
She was so right.
A loquacious gin & tonic
An acerbic Darwinian daiquiri on ice
A French martini disrupted not stirred
A mojito muddled in abstinence
A Belfast bomber & brimstone
Love on the Rocks with perpetual dissent
*** on the Beach with a dash of chilli & lime
***** scorpion splashed in ironic ascension
Dark *** stifled by the sting of a disturbance
Love scented petals infused with tequila worms
Salubrious shots of Sambuca
Absinthe toasted in lunacy flakes
This is my bar.
Choose your poison wisely
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
Cups runneth over
and over
& over
from absinthe to zinfandel.
Men & women parade the streets
with whimsical abandoned
swaying bodies
smiling,
like they just got laid--
or are about to.
******* bathrooms roar
while marijuana balconies cackle--
even the folks staying in
have their music turned up
so nobody can hear them *******
Barefoot indulgence
and tropical dresses flowing
in the midnight air--
even the cops don't care,
this is business.
Every whoop and hollar
is a dollar in their pocket.
Each vehicle blaires
a different song
chaos to the ears
becomes rhythm
for the body-
shots don't need to be in glasses,
grinding is the traditional greeting.
The young come for the atmosphere,
the older for the work release...
everyone is reckless on the weekend,
all the bars runneth over
and over
& over.
A ritualistic hedonism
leads to a collective sleep
that slowly, slowly
overtakes us all
as we slowly fade,
for a few hours until
Cups runneth over again
and over
& over
from absinthe to zinfandel.
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 7:16 AM UTC
You at least went.
so that meant the party could finally be awkward.
that's homeroom
at your personal Harvard
your low self esteem was the head dean
[ claimed you had promise ]
then promptly vomits
but you promised to maim
your lollipops with hot topic's
most goth night-shade of hemlock
iron-on, henna tattoos
for your thin lips.
like two gates
to a birdcage
where you keep
ravens...
pecking the tip of your tongue
where your brave words die
for lack of oxygen... pecking
the flesh off the skeleton key
to the heart of your insightful
comment,... stymied -
a black raven
savors the succulent eyes
of your hurricanes, so
braille maps for blind rage
fly off the shelves... fly like
led zeppelins to
fresh hell.
you lose your window seat
on the wing of a prayer
to Charles Bukowski.
now you're scowling a gilded smile
at all the Ed Hardlys'...
good thing you brought Jello Biafra Shots
to the shindig... cubes of gelatinous absinthe
each with a sugar box
lodged in supermax insecurity prisms...
fey emeralds.
monochrome rubicons
you pop
when cross.
like wainscoting the panic room
that came with a deejay
who thinks you're
a boy who got
lost.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC
Socrates consumed Hemlock,
Cleopatra embraced the Asp,
Alan Turing ate an apple laced with cyanide,
I, like those before me,
Have picked my poison;
An absinthe-eyed, quicksilver-tongued boy.
He was unsettled when I answered with the truth of his query,
Yes, he is poison,
I knowingly and willingly consume every drop of him,
Not all toxicity is solely adverse,
Radiation treats cancer,
Venom in low doses is an antidote,
Ethanol relaxes muscle and numbs the emotions.
He is my poison and my antidote,
He is the corrosive acid that dissolves gear-stopping rust,
I, in kind, am the poison apple of his eye,
Or so he says,
And so, we two, bask in the destruction of ourselves,
Consuming each other's pain, insecurity, madness, and lust,
Why is it that he, a poison, is the one I trust?
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
It started in Dublin before I was born
Crossing the Irish Sea to weather a storm.
London called through the wind and rain
Big city lights and a country's flame.
To Manchester then, a city united
At least to outsiders.
But to those within it's somewhat
Divided.
Summers in France.
Dining in Provence
Time in Toulouse
And along the Loire.
But Paris! Paris has that
Je ne sais quoi
Fine wine, fine company
It's a fine philosophy.
A German exchange
*in einer stadt namens
Bad Bentheim.*
Exposed to a culture
And the work of Rammstein.
A few days in Berlin
A fantastic city with much
History within.
Gondolas in Vienna if only for a day
Sailing down the Danube
Water wants us on our way.
We stay for a while
Within the walls of Budapest,
My first shot of Absinthe
Puts my liver to the test.
No rest for the wicked
That wanderlust I long.
Settled for a while by the lights of
Hong Kong,
A place I felt for a while at peace
High in the Monastery of Lantau's peeks.
I went once and I went again.
When wizened crones speak of golden devils,
Stroking my blonde hair on the streets of
Shenzhen.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
Inner working of my insanity you know well.
green fairy cube of sugar over ice water
its tender journey few need to undersand.
So you travle a abstract road and bury your soul
underneath the ice.
Cold in hell beauthy in darkness veils of sanity but
velvet embers of a strange haunting scene.
It is the curse and i the moth to it's flame.
death of tommorows cast visions of a oceans sound.
I am but a leaf cast over dark waters never struggle just drift.
In history I travle speaking in tones surreal to my ear.
if so shall i slip will insanity be but a moment fractured in dream.
Screams in a far off space so distant from mine.
No pain exists here for im gone in form.
A painting in a stars t moon cast scenes erased by light.
Where i go none should follow for the price is
only for the distant in thought to pay.
Emptyness cascades in the past so for now here i yern only to
stay.
Green in light wormwoods fire sweet in bliss.
No path is ever set.
Tragedy in play i cast no regrets apon my stage.
A ear in respect a razor in hand.
I slice into a faint glimmer no pain shall I understand
nights cloak the dawn days cast stories unwritten.
In genius we find insanitys child.
Broken glass cuts clear my moments are chipped
as of stone.
Time knows me not for i am but speck in a waters fall.
Nightmares and my destined fate.
Kissed of vemon.
She in madness hold's open the path to
my visions gate.
Between death and dream insanity and a razors gleam.
From the darkest space does my page bleed to write.
Will you **** my thought only glorify the loss of mind.
In the drinks madness my genius I shall never yern to find.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 6:24 AM UTC
we danced in the streets as the days were long
only recess and reckoning while water crept in
this city of dead, our place, where the stench lives
and bodies float, lying above the crypt's graves
hurricane red absinthe & hand grenades
slugging the gulf like a shooter's brigade
a forecast shifts, flooding any escape
so we fire our motors with boats on em.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
Go quickly, turn the radio up, for the classics.
I want to hear the Aria, and the sweep of the violin and the thud of the cello.
Desire it, for me, so such that my heart beats and sways with the music.
Pull black lace around my shoulders,
and tie my hair up in knots and curl, should that be my desire.
Read sections of Elliot, Ghibran, and Cohello to me by candlelight, barely are our knees yet to be touched,
and I can hear the sound your lungs make in the pauses between the lines,
trying to understand, the very moment of clarity, the writer, concedes to the reader.
Allow my voice to be heard amongst the depth of the inclement music,
despite how quiet it may seem in, that, moment.
Do not call me by my name, I should not desire it, even if for a moment;
it tastes like absinthe, without the sugar, and is bitter and intoxicating and raw on the tongue
and that it would no longer be my desire, but yours.
If I should desire it, I want you to be sure of yourself;
I want your heart to pulse so loudly, it is the only sound you hear,
and your mind becomes unconscious to my form, only my forceful presence.
Tie me up, in ******* bind my feet, my arms, and my *******
use wax, and chains, and leather.
Be afraid, be very afraid, to love me like this.
Place your palm on my back and hold me, like, this.
Be a wall I can cling to, feel my desire for my nails claw at your fascia, at your concrete chest,
let me make my mark in you, and you will feel, good, very oh, so, good about that.
Be slightly nervous, by my desires, but oh so tense and excited.
I want you wanton and willing, but I desire you hesitant and forbidden.
I am the labyrinth, I am a woman, I was not built to be understood;
but bring me *** bring me braces, bring me your rough delicate touch,
and you will see i was built for Desire.
If I must, I must desire to be enjoyed and entertained, I want you to make me smile, yes, you.
To do this, is akin to going to battle and i want to see you are ready to go to war for this very simple desirable quest.
Feel the stockings on my legs and deem them available to be held between your fingers.
But not yet.
Desire, if it must be met, must be met by me through me, by you.
If I must desire, You must desire it, too
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
in my dream
i'm on a plane
beside a horse
without a mane
and out the window
only sky
the color of No...
as deep as kites
And there was a boy
his name was Yes
and he held a rope
he stole from the dead
the aisle was lightning
speaking in tongues
the flight had arrived
but the captain was gone...
and i heard the wind
condemn the lit fuse
and the wings were clipped
and the stars removed
the ghost of Jack Benny
had swallowed the key
that opened the box
he left in Belize [ and ]
i sat in flames
and enjoyed a cigar
and i lit the ****** thing
to see in the fog
there was a girl
kept from the pilot
she was a threat
and you knew that she liked it
long in the tooth
but wrong for the mouth
i never heard
what each hell was about
but everything changed
the plane had landed
in the palm of a glass hand
random - Oh...
we had absinthe, guilt -
and candles
sand in our wounds
but only one camel
i sat for days in the night
and dreamt it
drank from the fuselage
of my symptoms
strode across miles
and miles of inches
doubting horizons
the sun had believed in
then you crossed my path
in a chasm
told me to open my eyes
if i had 'em
then you laughed
and it came out backwards
stole my joke
then you left what you
asked for...
saving my life
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 12:36 PM UTC
i’m drowning in new york city.
i want to die, again.
always! why is it like this?
i hate everyone; i want my ****** dramatic burlington life and friends back.
her, him, those two, even them…
i want it back.
i wanna be no one.
i wanna be everyone.
i;m full of emotions that i don’t want because everything is so different except for them.
no matter what i do the doom and gloom is always there.
i wanna change my name
i wanna get a dog—auggie or esme, a red border collie—and flee to the south.
I WANNA DRINK MYSELF TO DEATH.
i see these visions of a stable, happy, healthy version of myself but i also see these visions of me literally not making it past age 21.
i’m eternally stuck on self destructing.
but why?
why!
everything is good but it’s never enough.
i’m never enough, it’s never enough, he’s never enough (whoever he is at any given moment)
sam says he’ll fly me back to santa cruz and my insanity says do it but the small semblance of “morals” i still possess tell me not to…
only because of my parents. because of joe.
i don’t want to hurt them.
i don’t want to hurt anyone. but i’m hurting. always. forever. unless i’m drunk. no, wait…even when i’m drunk. i learned that the hard time this last run.
but life is meaningless (words are meaningless and forgettable) and time is a flat circle
blah blah blah
i’ve been here before
i’ll be here again
everything i do i’ll do over and over til i die.
if i don’t get drunk anytime soon i will eventually.
eternal return; the emo version of destiny.
remember when caroline myss’ book told me my highest potential was “victim”?
i’ll be drowning forever.
i’d rather be drowning in absinthe than drowning in aa meeting coffee.
i ache at the beauty of the world; the beauty which i will never achieve or be a part of.
i cry and i cry and i cry.
i want to be beautiful and pure but it’s all so dark.
all the people i’ve loved and who love me…i weep and i weep and i weep.
i can’t breathe fully; why do i wish i could not breathe at all?
i look back at all my pasts as if they were yesterday, and yet they all feel as if i’d made them up entirely.
disconnected and yet fully involved with each and every era of my evolution…
and yet i swear, i haven’t truly changed a bit.
the details change—the scenery, the faces, the dreams…
but all the emotions…all the thoughts…they stay the same.
“i won’t change, i’ll stay the same—darling, fade away…”
fading & falling & then blooming for a single lovely night
time is a flat circle.
i ache, i weep, i cry.
i naively hold onto the hope that someday…someday i’ll be okay.
please, god.
i have to be okay.
i have to turn off the bon iver.
i’m just trying to breathe.
maybe someday.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC
**They call me a canker,
they say I'm deceptive,
with an absinthe in my hand,
They call me a cahoot,
Abandoned in an abattoir,
They made me a psychopath,
They hurt me and beat me,
With all they had,
I said I am what I am,
They say am possesed,
With black magic,perhaps,
or maybe just a dark spirit,
So collapsed,
They say I look daunting,
Someone who's flummoxed,
Someone who's forlorn,
And a little hoodlum,
but i simply can't make them understand,
I am a labyrinth,
Full of difficult,
passages and paths,
Through which finding out is complicated,
I've had macabres,
which i handled by machetes,
The madder i got,
The smarter they,fed it,
With heaves of sickness,
they got me misspelt,
They didn't know that,
I, a psychopath,
was "okay" in my own way,
they mistreated me,
Misplaced me,
Misunderstood me,
Underestimated me,**
Look! I've come up!
still they were they,
They didn't stop,
So I cut them,
And beat them,
And scared their crap out!
Hit me with a dagger,
Hit me with a knife,
I'LL STILL BE ME,
EVEN IN MY NEXT LIFE.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
I'm not beautiful—
no scandalous, empyrean beauty;
not the beauty
of long legs and sleepless nights,
not transcendental, not diaphanous;
no ambrosia, no absinthe;
no earthly Aphrodite
to crush your heart
with slender hands.
No,
not the kind of beauty
that makes disciple
out of man;
but
our secrets, they rhyme darkly
and your heart is beating sharply,
and tonight I'll make you love me
while I can.
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 6:34 AM UTC
Heathens -
in heaven's lobby
flock
to barter
for Magic 'Shrooms
with pop rocks... and pancakes
and leaf-green brownies.
new to the scene;
the Son of Man
holds a motley court,
then wanders off
to fetch Picasso - Lassoed
from his cups, his Love that must Love
his genius... doubtless,
cloud-scrawling
huge pendulous *******
in Elysium; for no one at all.
better Pablo
should tend bars that set mobs free
than one god's toddler, with long odds
against Bacchus - should ever
small-talk-speak
to the godless
or worse...
preach.
" Better Sins to love.. " The Spaniard once taught...
A Lover's Urge is born in forms of weakness.... adorned in all Might -
bathed in blessed contradiction,
a Lingam for a Yoni's dream of stiff drinks
and pliable men, with strong arms.
a blue fiction on Calvary -
nailed to the softest
cross.
Between thieves,
an honor, double
parked
with bucket seats brimming with moonlight,
and her knickers
tossed.
Picasso asks for absinthe
to be sent
post haste
and polished off -
by all
his better angels he had guillotined
with dull snails,
and fallen
harps
ones - he stole, to de-tune
a flat fifth of Cuttysark
for a deaf
**** [but no mute ]
a portrait, ****
and is soon
bought...
lust
sleeps then -
with both Eyes;
Locked on
One of
God's.
like a deer
in a Head-light's
Gospel...
now, a Minotaur on the
Autobahn -
stalking
it.
II
Heathens
in heaven's lobby
recite ' Howl '
as Ginsberg, walks over hot coals
and spicy psalms; glowing wanton
in white grass; with a very
cherry ****
And a wise throng, cobbles...
****** -
they rob
Peter of his toga,
leaving nothing wrong.
but no less ' On '
they laugh hard; and wake the dead
asking them for new songs
to set their false alarms
in lofty Tic' Tocks
of Eternity's
clock.
Bible on a snooze bar
for at least that long
or someone
knocks.
As if "Hello."
Spoke the Whole World into Being -
And " Goodbye."
misspoke, and
trailed
off...
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
Morphine,
Like her sister
Absinthe,
Has a slender, glass waist,
But she is not as green,
And lacks
Taste.
Both have
Fragile wings
And whisper things
You didn't want
To know,
One with
A hint of mint,
The other's breath
As cold as snow.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 4:21 AM UTC
Absinthe, San Miguel
Learning Italian
How to eat,pray, love
She's into me
I know the signs.
I compliment her bracelet
"It's from Africa," she says
I pull her hair
She laughs
"Stupid American boy," she snaps
"Stupid Italian girl," I retort
My name for the night is Giovani
Now Vice. How fitting?
Delisioso
I'm getting drunker
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
As I sip succulent absinthe
from the mouth of a cyan sea,
I succumb to a seductive grin
and sell my soul to thee.
There it is, a dappled smirk,
on your sinful lips as well,
and now that you are willing,
we have a tangled tale to tell.
Come now my sweet euphoria.
Caress me in your kiss.
Send me a twisted alibi
and wrap me in utter bliss.
I am the tainted murmur,
I am the nimbus quick,
and as one, we are miasma,
to the sickest of the sick.
Your skin a sweet oasis,
my hands a greedy verve,
the sense of touch engulfs us,
and we muster up the nerve.
No couple more visurient,
none filled with more desire,
no passion burning brighter
than that which we perspire.
We slow from our nirvana,
and slumber into mist,
dreaming of how it all began
with one etherial kiss.
By: Kevin Kurt Nepomuceno
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC