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Terry O'Leary Sep 2015
1
Though still within our infancy,
we strive to thrive, but woefully
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.

Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys survival's harmony,
lays waste to life on land and sea.
Mankind, thy name is vanity!

By doubting Nature's regnancy,
defying laws with levity,
we strain our spheroid's symmetry
(perhaps a fatal fallacy?)

for, swallowed in the 'world of we',
we feed on vain insanity
with thoughts beyond eternity -
so strange when looked at mortally.

No use to seek a remedy
ensconced in ancient prophecy
for if not handled skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.

                              2
The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.

The wind, it reeks of Royalty
(awash in waves of perfidy)
while blowing ’cross the peasantry
(eclipsed in clouds of treachery).

The Queen, well steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of sculpted ebony
while sipping Sect immodestly;

to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively.

The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
who wallows in their lenity.

Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
exalts the dollar dynasty
engaged in highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery.

Yes, Jesters and the Fools agree
to truckle to duplicity
and laugh about it witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!

                          3
To champion an oddity
(like two times twelve is fifty three)  
one reaches to theology
through paths of circularity.

In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.

Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;

and aged women, randomly
accused of wicked witchery
by justice framed in infamy,
were racked and shown no clemency

That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery

as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;

'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'.

                    4
The Masters make a mockery
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from shackled slavery,

now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.

And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.

To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
bestows a penny, niggardly;

though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy
while bellies bulge, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.

When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;

and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
in ******-dream obscurity -
a mired madhouse odyssey.

Ignoring mankind's unity,
the rich and poor dichotomy
breeds dismal doomed finality,
eventual nihility.

                        5
Renewing days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting valiantly
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy

to toast the slaughtered enemy,
and so convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.

At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
with arms from finest armory

(embraced in hands so tenderly
bestow benign atrocity) -
and soon atomic weaponry
will extirpate posterity.

                          6
Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.

Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,

and rivers, tainted chemically,
polluted biologically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.

Adjusting genes mechanically
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.

We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,

but if we bet unknowingly
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.

                 7
The modern day bureaucracy
abuses trust egregiously ,
embeds itself in obloquy
and offers no apology.

It paints the past in reverie
to camouflage the tendency
to strip away our privacy
which paves the path to tyranny.

With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering piercingly
we've lost cerebral sovereignty,

and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else crowd a black facility
(with water board anxiety).

                  8
Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…
Z Apr 2014
Sorry.

Not for the bruises inscribed in my knees at six years old,
or gravel-shaped cuts dotting my palms
after being kicked off my bike like a rodeo bull,
or even the sliver of a scar on my right index finger
from closing it in a van door when I was seven.

No, I have no remorse
for the innocent;
not a twinge of sympathy regarding the unfortunate results
of relatively harmless careless actions
and playful worth-it memories.

I’m sorry for the other things.

I don’t mean running
or swimming
or dancing
until the soreness embedded itself in my muscles, my
heart racing, pulse pounding
in my ears.
I don’t regret that.

I’m sorry
for the other things.

I’m sorry for hating you.
I’m sorry for all of the
preening and plucking and
shaving and waxing and
hair burning.

I’m sorry for the countless repulsed glances at the spot
where my stomach puffs out
and all of the daggers I stared into the place
where my thighs meet.

I am sorry for getting slashed at
by the perfectly intact glass
of the bathroom mirror, for feeling severed,
just by seeing its reflective surface.

I’m not sorry for taking up space,
but I’m sorry I ever was.

I am sorry for
switch off the light,
lock the door,
the scratch of fingers in my throat
and the starkness of the cold linoleum floor
routines
I practiced because I loathed
the way you curved
and the fatness of my pseudo-waist.

I’m sorry for falling into patterns of self-hate
that I aimed at you. Patterns
not unlike that of an alcoholic,
commencing with afternoon drinks or slightly restricted meals
and ending with wildly depressing stories to tell
and crying on stranger’s floors—
but there is no Lackers of Self-Esteem Anonymous,
no chips to collect
for every time I tell myself I’m beautiful
or, better yet, value more
than my appearance.

I am sorry for thin red lines that ran deep into my wrists
and I am sorry for the faint-inducing heat
that followed,
caused by the oversized and long-sleeved sweatshirts I hopelessly donned
to cover you up.

I’m sorry for discarding that one dress
(that you looked stellar in, by the way)
because I had degenerated into such an unhealthy
and addictively abhorrent relationship with you
that I feared
even the slightest tightness
in my attire.

I’m sorry for habitual body monitoring. I’m sorry
for using my fingers to count calories
and not positive attributes. I’m sorry
for all of the aforementioned repugnant routines
I’ve picked up over the past few years,
whether I’ve stopped them or not,
I’m sorry.

I am.

So, body, when I say
that this is an apology note,
I don’t mean I’m sorry for  the time
I skipped salad and went straight to pizza,
or even the countless dinners when
I put an extra brownie on my plate.

No, I have no remorse for that.
I don’t regret that.

I’m sorry for hating you.

But, like a sinner coming up after sinking
in a blessed lake of holy water,
I am ready to fill my lungs with new breath. I will repent
with the radical act of self-love

and I promise that I will treat you better.
Mary Nov 2012
I exhaled

Smoke riding towards

The stars

My eyes red swollen

Tracing thousands of scars

And everything felt stolen

And my blood and pain covered me

In places you couldn’t see

My knees scratched

Feeling brokenly free

And I let my eyes

Become the ocean

I asked God for something

Broken from emotion

And I saw lights

That made me smile

Some nights

Breaking what I thought

Was unreliquishing darkness

Which I addictively sought

And God I swear

I tasted heaven

Smelt it in the air

The lights dimmed

And the beach tractors

Drove past me

But heaven went right through me

And even through that hell

I tasted heaven

And that kept me

Alive

Because I saw the light and I tasted heaven

When I was drowning in hell
Earl Jane Jul 2015


Your love is as sweet as the sugar,
                   That  I've been addictively indulging,
             For so many years.



        Every piece of you,
                      Is just the most gratifying that I have tasted!





                                   But when together we've been drowned with tribulations,





                                    You just gave up rapidly...






And dissolved!




                                   Integrating and going with the flow,

                         Of those torments and allurements,





Now where are you?




You are now a part of those afflictions that drowned you,


                                            I can still taste your sweetness,


                      Every time I sip through the trials,
                                That we've face,
          Resulting to weaken your knees,
    And been defeated,





       I was totally in great pain,


        To know that your love,

Can be just greatly surmounted,

                            By miseries in life,



But what can I do?

                                            I fight, you relinquish,


And until then,

You just become a memory,

Of an achingly baleful chronicles of my life.


                      © Earl Jane
                         ♥ E.J.C.S.
Amy I Hughes Oct 2012
It can't hurt us
Or harm us
To harmlessly flirt
But they see us
And warn us
And harmfully assert
The grass isn't greener
It's grayer
Than dirt


You want me
Curiously
I'm bitter to the taste
You make me laugh
Addictively
Addiction here laced
If we were there
If we weren't
Spill of the chase



Acting coy
Just acting
For everyone's eyes
Ours lock
And look
Internally decide
What harm
We seek
To whom do we lie?



Just friends
Friends playing
With poison in cups
If you drink
The venom
From your veins I will ****
The scars
Won't move
There is no luck



Raw fantasy
Fresh meat
My mind wanders mud
Play cheat
Cheat the joker
Roses in bud
Come closer
Look at me
Feel the heat of my blood

*

It can't harm us
Or hurt us
To flirt harmlessly
They'll watch us
So we must
Chase silently
In our heads
It shall stay
That question 'If we...'
Aden Burns Mar 2015
the abrupt confusion of people
when confronted by unconditional kindness
is addictively amusing and,
quite the damper.

how tragic we are,
capable of selfless service
meeting it only with suspicion and,
disbelief.
thinking in prose
Inked Quill Mar 2019
Addictively sweet
Soaking wet
Moist tongue
Doused fervor
Brewing storm
At her engorged fruit
Devon Clarke Jan 2014
ADD
I've become afraid of the dark.

I lost my sunshine,
The reason I wake up
The way all my deep rooted efforts bud
The light on my path of love;
I lost you.

I find myself too many times
Wondering when you're gonna fill the space in my bed
Because you already filled the hole in my heart,
So I figured you'd be open to the idea.

My fingers never stop twitching
And I can't help but think
That they're looking for yours
To latch on to and never let go
like teenage summer nights
Filled with pinky promises
In which we both realized
That you cant break something
as sacred as us.

My mind is always running now.
I think its trying to catch up to you
Lapping past any other thought process in my head,
Speeding faster than my heartbeat
When we make eye contact
and I fall in love with you all over again.

There's plenty of girls out here in college
But now that I'm at the point
That my eyes dart from girl to girl,
Frantically hoping that one of them will save me
By taking the shape
of the most beautiful girl in the world
And being you by surprise,
I start to notice
That I bite my nails now more than ever,
Nervous that if you become anything less than my primary concern, my body wont know how to respond anymore.

My legs wont stop moving
Because they're a bit lost
Now that they're not trying to trip you
Until you fall a little bit more in love with me;
I think my ADD is growing.

I cant focus on anything
except trying my hardest
To remember
the feel of your curves,
the grace of your hair,
The tingle in my lips when we kiss,
The perfect harmony of your voice,
The slight slouch of your stance,
The heartwarming laugh you make
Before you smile,
The way your tears felt on my chest
The last time I was able to hold you.

I think
I'm in love.
I think
My body is trying to escape it, but
I think
I finally found out
What its like
To feel alive.
You gave me ADD -
Addictively Deep Devotion.
Maple Mathers Jan 2016
Welcome to the house of addictions: please, leave your assumptions at the door. . .

             I emptied my pockets
I sorted the change
                My conscience receding
Mentality, deranged

                A straw in my nose
And a blade in my hand
                The velvet of breathing,
Crushed on command

                A line of white rabbit
Appears on my desk
                Clean, and well sorted,
Yet I am a mess

                If a substance is stronger
Than myself, alone,
                Perhaps I should ***** it
Addictively prone

                For, the path of assumptions
Undoubtedly leads
                To the house of addictions
In which you’ll find me. . .
All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2015
hard poetry
is the best,
for the work of you,
it does request,
works your hardest best,
needing you to lilt each chosen letter
with a slow cooked, thoughtful tenderness

the writer wrote but a single draft,
but lifetime in the making,
it took,
as each word was,
both chewed and vine tasted,
over and over,
avoiding the arrogance of hasty egotism

hard poetry when read
reveals the authored heart
between each word space,
marks of the beats of a thundering mountain,
that upon it's peak,
lives and dies a temple's altar for sacrifice,
from where the odor of burnt,
parse rises and colors each verse
to heaven ascending,
not once,
but thrice
and long long after it is consumed,
its scented smoke returns,
wafted from nostrils as a hit
upon the brain

hard  to write,
hard to read,
more than concentration requisite,
an open mind that mines the text,
laboriously hard,
as was such intended

cheap are the easy-quick rhymes,
that fall like flakes,
an endless sky
that rains upon us like a
plague of "made in" knockoff fakes

looks good, goes down easy,
but gone tasteless like sugared icing on a stale cake,
but
hard poetry lingers for days
or forever,
and it asks you back,
without ever asking

write hard,
read the hard,
for these poems are the real shards
of human hands that sweated while love making,
serving you their best works from deepest within,
torn out and then smooth potter-sculpted

hard poetry
hard to find,
veins in the deep earth
that you, they do not find,
you must drill core shafts to
ascertain their existence

packaged not in gift wrapped clothing,
that is torn off fast,
over the cheap plastic gift it covers,
that the promise of forever disappoints
and does not garner any interest
as fast as the day after Christmas arrives

hard poetry,
rewarded to the seekers
who read it with self same love and care,
the poet employed,
to wrench it from his soul,
it's elimination,
the pains of a labored. childbirth

do not depreciate what you appreciate
by giving up your honor easy,
love only the one you are with,
the you will keep
ever

like what you love,
like but the ones
you must addictively return to,
wait for them with patience eager,
lament but do not tarry over the
discarded chaff,
while you wait for the
hard poetry's loving grasp

roses are violet,
violets are rose,
don't care if you live in states red or blue,
but you drown discouraged
from such nursery poems
proposed and tendered
with a " look at me" gloss
ad nauseum

effort to find the hard ones,
the ones you wish to emulate,
the ones that will justify you
as they grow you up into
being better than your dreams
-~~~
Oct 11, 2015
4:23 am
really sick and very tired of.cheap writes that are pedestal  hailed
by those who revel in simplicity,
hide behind  easy rhymes and
nonsensical metaphors
that sound so good
and taste so bad,
even if they last for but seconds on our tongues

cheap writing cheapens the writer and discourages the.reader.
~~~
poems are work; it takes work to like them or dislike them. Put the work in, demonstrate the care, and we will be more than friends, becoming caring~poets~in~arms.

a flawless poem
if such there were,
will always be,
the next one

my poor soul,
my rag tag heart
has no censor,
so careless, reckless,
as if words were but
frivolous treasures,
easy spent, easy get

if only, how I wish
could harvest my best,
with golden cutlery knife excise
the single flawless poem,
that I know in my possess

then only,
to lay down this hand so weary
from cupping tears,
satisfied at long last,
so much so,
that as my casket lowered,
my hands in repose companioned,
clutching his best, easing the rest,
a paper record placed in his primary
to join his ash,,
keep his faith companioned,
his flawless poem,
at long last
Xyns Nov 2017
Why does every poem published feel risky?
Why does it cause me such a hard time?
I think "What am I even doing?"
And "Am I wasting my time?"

Is it recognition that I'm seeking?
Or is there something else I'm trying to find?

And just what is wrong with me?
Is this a talent, obsession, or is it an affliction?

If you could only see the way i scribble addictively..
I wouldn't be shocked if you staged an intervention.
Am I a poet or am I losing my sanity?
And could all my hopes be founded in fiction?

Still, my goal isn't nearly defined.
My mental organization could be improved..
I write as much as a nut case of some kind.
Is it in my best interest for my pen to be removed?

Patterns and stanzas keep me shallowly refined.
I'll ignore the hazard; it's excused.

*No reason to admit defeat because of cold feet.
Mariel Pamintuan Jan 2016
You are my sweet escape.
You help me get out of my blues
and paint my world in different hues.
You are my source of vigor.
You get into my body,
flow through my blood,
seep into every part of me
and I will feel alive.
You are a wonderful chaos.
When the world turns me down,
you will make me feel so high.
When people make me cry,
you will suddenly make me laugh so hard.
When darkness surrounds me,
your rays of light will shine on me like
dawn after hours of being blind.
You make me see things that others cannot see,
make me hear soft caressing whispers that others can never hear.
That makes me feel special in someway
You give me freedom to do what I want without any hesitation.
You give me courage to go extreme without fright.
You give me happiness,
unexplainable feeling that needs a zillion words to be described.
They say I'm crazy
they say you are just an imagination, hallucination, a fancy..
an opposition to what is real..
'cause real is pain, real is fear, real is sadness.
You are surreal, but I believe in you.
I want to believe that someone so good as you could be true.
I want to believe that life is more than just rue,
that my life isn't about having insanity, but liberty..
Liberty that I found in you.
You are an abyss I am more than willing to fall in.
You are my drug.
I love you. Yes, I will forever be addictively in love with you..
Unnoticed Notes Apr 2016
The doubt...it fills me to the brim with anxiety until it is too painful to bare.

The jealousy...its like trying to avoid breathing in smoke when your house is in flames and the windows are locked..suffocating.

The love...its like the pain you feel while having an asthma attack.. you cant breath the air you so desperately need and the harder you try the more your chest aches.. the more your world sways near destruction at the thought of never tasting the addictively sweet scented air. Its like I can almost see the end from this spot where i brace myself in your arms from whats to come. Its crazy..looking for protection in the arms of the enemy.

The shame and the guilt.. its like learning to hate myself all over again after having spent 4 ******* years just to be okay with being alive without that person whos name I still cant seem to say.. its like I want to scream "THIS IS YOUR FAULT!! SHE WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME BECAUSE YOU LET HER. YOU EVEN HELD HER WHILE SHE POINTED THE GUN RIGHT AT MY HEART THAT WAS MEANT ONLY FOR YOU " But I cant because I choke on the love that I have for you that was never my idea in the first place.

The end... its like going through hell all over again.. its like standing on the tracks knowing a train is on its way but I cant move because you told me if I really loved you I would stay forever. Even as the end is on its way.
He is going to cheat on me and there's nothing I can do about it. <\3
natasha Jul 2017
Of all the experiences we share
A reality check is our least favorite.
Cloaked in excuses so consistently incredulous
My incredible feet would already be out the door on someone else
But it's you.
So instead I enter an alternate reality
Where like black magic I can turn my
Anger or sadness (depending on the day),
Into the selfless, understanding, and forgiving love
I've been craving from you since the first time
Our eyes became windows to our souls in seconds
In that all-consuming stare where my body sent
The most intense electric signals deep down to my core,
Since the first time you finally tasted
Every addictively sweet είσοδος of my body
Knowing every lick you gave me,
Every sacred act of worship
Would loosen the locks on the iron gate of your fragile heart.
Would you rather feel crazy or live in fear?
We each pick our poison.
I've never seen a structure like yours up close
Twisted pillars to form that tortured cage around your heart,
Regrettably sealed shut,
Its crevices filled with just enough rose-colored glass
To somehow make me ignore all your mangled metal.
Seeing isn't always believing (even though I've seen it-
but more importantly, felt it,)
The precious flower bud in the middle of your iron prison
The loveliest shade of potential I've ever laid love on;
How could seeing be believing
When my favorite flower has yet to bloom?
As those whom sit in pain sufferings , desperately.
As those whom hurting desperately for freedom.
As those whom lay up all night crying their eyes out.
As those whom are addictively held prisoner within themselves.
As each of these living an hell of each his own sufferings.
They each struggle with their own giants tormenting them.
Each one needs a Savior to rescue them and save their lives.
Some shall finally seek out his salvation and thank him for it.
Others shall continue to try to rescue themselves to no prevail.
Adrian S Feb 7
I could easily be addicted

EASILY be addicted.

I'm easily addicted.

or am I easily addictive?

or addictivly easy.

I'm easy?

am I addictively easy?

easily an addict?

absolutely...not me!

I mustn't be.

you are the one addicted to me.
It will sting; sedative, seductive, relaxing your body down soft.

Bittersweet poison,
burning away what no longer serves you.

I invade.

I melt inside of you, mending ourselves.

What’s you is me, what is me is now you.

A melted identity.

Bittersweet, togetherness.

To know I am always there.
To feel unison, undivided.
To see truth and trust.

You taste me addictively; trickling acid down your tongue.

You hear my whispered sweet nothings, covering the sizzling of my work.

I am passion;

Pouring my heart and soul into everything and everyone.

I am the Scorpion’s sting.

Will you love me?
12.27.19 | This is an older version of myself. I loved so hard that it consumed my identity. Love is always a tricky thing, whether to give more to them or yourself.
Xyns Oct 2017
She gripped for her sanity
Clinging to potions and herbal remedies

Searched for words, desperately
The void leading to alternative poetry

Never feeling things clearly
Composing rhythms more effectively

Lifetimes lacking serenity
Her words easing more than Hennessy

Masterpieces to occupy infinity
Or, at least, hold their own, indefinitely

Even to her, her muse is a mystery
Craving simplicity, not denying complexities

Finding the insignificant inspiring
A much greater fate to which she's aspiring

Accustomed to an unbound mentality
Skilled to manifest, persuade her own destiny

Success infects, not only genetically
Prophetic grandeur that she'll fulfill, definitely

Spitting out diction- somewhat addictively
By design, she's cursed as a poet, respectively
Faizel Farzee Oct 2019
They say love is the equivalent to the air that gives us sustenance.
 It keeps us alive

What if that love become addictively toxic
Calling from the seductive abyss, it whispers your names
When the deafening silence is screaming
In the dead of the night, Your truthful minds in control
Pictured in a montage of guidance
You can know longer hide, a piercing uncensored truth
your hearts true feelings, saddened breaks down and cry

You love each other wholeheartedly
This is without an ounce of doubt
The unspoken truth is
 You both know you sinfully bad for one another
This will never change, from this waking daydream you want to completely breakout

When you love, He hates
A constant cause and effect
likened to aphrodite in the heat of summer
the passion is so raw, you believe you were hexed

One moment you both vindictively breaking each other down
The next your clothes get strewn to the floor
Getting lost in a lustful haze
Yet both having one hand on the door.
Hungrily taking in every taste and feeling every feathered touch
This crazy love is what you both crave
Your soul lustfully thirst for
A hungered desire that's never enough.
When your relationship is undefined
you love and you hate
the passion is relentless
yet the tears is never fake
it's a yin and yang conflict
you better off apart
Just like magnets you drown to one another
at the same time repels
emotions completely twisted
this is pure love made in hell.
Ryan O'Leary Sep 2019
Back in the eighties during Ireland's
draconian Catholic licensing pub laws,
a few of us protested to Pop Fahy
at The Hibernian Hotel because he
told us " Time up take your drinks
out in the hall " one Saturday night
while he was intimating that we
should be going home and getting
ready to receive the Eucharist on
Sunday morning at last mass before
opening time when he expected to
see us all addictively obedient at
the front door waiting for the miracle
cure after poisoning us the night before.
Travis Green Aug 19
You were a mountain blazing man, so full
of inexpressible thoughts and discoveries
careening through the seamless sweet skin,
sheer nakedness, natural beauty blending
in with the blossoming blue seas, pearly bright
clouds, the succulent sun of enormous love
radiating enticing hunger, sugar splashing
waves possessing wild urges, insatiable
sensations, flavorlicious sauce, beat dropping
hotness, shimmering too bright for the eyes,
making it lit like vivid blue lightning.  
You were a body of exploding boulevards,
a muscular man full of hip-hopping drip,
sizzling kisses, a whirling river of memories,
rock-hard consonants, blissful vowels,
lips of wanting and needing, your glistening
back so beautifully broad and bursting
with soul, exquisite fractions adding passion
to the fire, generating a soundtrack
of scenic light, a whole of life of moonlit
attraction turning up the night with your
slow jamming nation, the music igniting,
traveling in higher heights like a wildfire,
immersed in your candlelight flight,
the scene so right, longing to feel
your sexiness seep in me, taste
the honey nectar as it oozed
from your body.  I longed to submit
to your pulsating plantation, your silken skin
of vast fascinations, anxiously awaiting
to be exposed to the rotation of your physique,
oh, how it transfixes me, the way you danced
so sensually, staring at me, strip teasing,
removing your Ethika boxers as my heart
became rapt, every secret treasure unwrapped,
coming closer to me, grinding your flesh
to mine, chests to chests, breath to breath,
lips to lips, trembling hips, my hands
clung to your scrumptiously tender ***,
feeling all of you, the calming thoughts
of you, your world filling me with strong
and swelling desires.  I loved how you
touched me, satisfied me, made my body
rise in surprise to your euphonic drum,
your gleaming glances, your emotions,
my devotion, your movements so rhythmic
and riveting, simply irresistible, lost in your
destiny, your innocence, and strengthening
security, to savor your bejeweled, anaconda
**** of sparking fantasies, addictively pleasing
and refilling the open doors to my core.  
Your **** was a poem of grandeur, an entire
universe of musical loving, sculpted spice,
muscle flamed rawness, the surface so hard
and harmonious, marvelous head, a lightning
bolt of skyrocketing starships, so slippery
and relaxing, ensnared by the encounter,
by your masculine fineness encasing me,
to be gone, drifting in your splendorous Milky Way.
Travis Green Sep 4
I think of you, and I’m overcome with boundless happiness,
giving into the astonishing aroma coming from your body,
so addictively powerful like amazing Apollo, shooting sparks
of immeasurable love in me like the glowing goddess Aphrodite,
keeping me so close to you, under your golden and angelic wings,
holding me so comfortably, my feelings all over the place,
so lost in your eternal flame, everything so strange as I drift
further into your great escape, crazy vibrations streaming
through my veins, visualizing the way you smile, how you
infect my mind with your powerful design, your unpredictable
rhymes so hypnotizing, intensifying, the lines and signs so divine.

Your solid swagger flexes in my system so smoothy and sensually,
so interestingly and poetically, telling me that you are the right one
for me, a man of many masterworks, a man that makes me feel
so close to your home, right in your arms, no need to call you
on my cellphone, because you are always with me, always
on time, always shining in my heart, a spark of passion tempting
me your youthful, rich, and lean physique, to embrace the glorious
trails of your waist, my mouth gliding up your chiseled abs,
manly chests, and sensational neck, taking in all the intriguing
tattoos covering your fully fecund flesh, treasuring every area,
everywhere that I stare so carefully created, so perfectly pleasing,
serving me its mountains of magnetic magic, spectacular angles
and triangles, the sines so sublime, flying so high inside your
cosines of handsomeness, the geometrical gleam, the
trigonometrical thrill so real as I seep inside the endless
derivatives of your tremendous instrument, overtaken
by your huge and electrifying wave.
Travis Green Aug 9
I was falling in love with you,
your flawed, saw-toothed thoughts,
one-dimensional perimeters,
exhausted inches over catastrophic
millimeters, insignificant memories,
cramped mazes, shrinking stages,
a black pond of saddened storms,
heartbreaking pain meshed with
tainted rain, my soul submerged,
flooded in your paradoxical world.
And I relished every moment of it,
allowing my inner existence to feel
the craziest sides of you, the hallucinating
depictions brimming with shot-sparked
beats with no rhythm or meaning.
You were addictively fascinating,
a whiskey wrecked lover slowing
and speeding up my heart with your
gray concrete canvas, your harmonious
asphalt, your ragged, stretched letters
leaving nasty-slashed marks
on my wild thick lips, strong similes
spinning in my lungs, sizzling
metaphors on my tongue, blistered,
interrupted, drugged, crushed, sifting
in the ****** *** episodes of you,
a thousand foul rivers, my nostrils
welcoming the sour smell.  You gave
me incomprehensible feelings, unconventional
depths, bazooka bombed, my oxygen
grasping to yours, enmeshed in your
monstrous galaxy, rattled melodies,
startled stars, crimson crazed Mars,
dissolving in all the imperfect parts
of your raw and disgusting heart.

— The End —