"blissed" poems
#
Each body part
sizzled in pure pleasure
in the blissed wake
of your oral efforts
brought forth the waves
of rapturous delight...
Spurs poetic inspiration
in equal liberation
of desires to please.
Bodies transpose
in fluid motion
as brazen eyes meet.
Savor the voluptuous image before you.
Indulge your eyes in my carnal halo
before they roll to the back of your head.
On all fours
knees between your thighs
tips of swollen breast
caress your chest
tasting fresh honey
upon lips in a kiss.
Ripples of ardor
hover
by wet trails
of sensual kisses
suckling towards
the apex.
Breathe in
the slow motion pace
that pulsates eagerness
to the fore tumescing bulge
leaking with anticipation
of viscous lava.
Tickles of silken hair
against flesh edges closer.
Emerging subtle grumbles
in deep resonance
betray your impatience .
Hands tightly twine
in tangled hair
to maneuver
the treasure hunt.
Licked lips pause
at the sight of fire
burning in
glazed gazes
before engulfing
the throbbing member.
Plump ruby lips
greet velvety texture
in a slow deep dive.
Tongue curls around
the flavor
in a dulcet embrace.
Moans release
as grip tightens
in my hair
settles the
rhythmic pace
to taste in an
oscillating dance.
The masculine aroma of heady musk
lingering there, arouses my appetite.
With my enthusiasm
attuned to
your preferred rhythm
suckling, slurping
surface and dive
in measured unison.
Break of breath
allows tongue
freedom to roam below,
licking, soft kissing
the tender hammock
of testicles.
Tongue and lips escalate higher
to mount another assaulting dive
deeper in the depths
of the cusp in cavity.
Wetted fingers
probe even lower
circling superficially
as gasp escapes
your heavy breath;
flaming eyes lock.
Finger dips in
with expert finesse
gorging hardened growth
within a wrapped hand.
Thighs tighten
with rocking grip.
Head thrusts onward,
drilling forward
in each dive.
Salvia slips
fingers grip
lips dip
Engorged swell, flesh tightens in an intensity
of volcanic eruption ...
HALTS
assault
Pace retracts.
Loosened lips kiss tip.
*“Soon sweetheart, your time will ***
inside me as we surrender to synergy."*
#
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
*chaste pecks from the super-sonic youth
numb lips flutter to the hollowed cheeks of normality
no longer the hand-prints on the guide book to hostility
a pamphlet of rudimentary teachings;
the principles of tolerance and rebellion and acceptance of human beings
a concoction of suppressed psychotic behavior, quick wit, and center of satirical tease
constantly moving with heavy footsteps and heavier hearts
their minds and bodies plagued with actions from a deserted youth
soul lusting over the naivety of people before self-actualization; how crude
do they call it an existential crisis or the daily life of a agoraphobic nobody
shouts from the depths of caged fears that scrape the oblivious flesh in their brain; a bit gaudy
mother, sister, brother, father how your words crush the knots of comfort that line my internal organs
bleeding from the pores of my screams; streams of moon-beams shooting out my eyes; oh, not again!
stomping our metaphorically spiked toenails against the idealism of pop culture
oh, my, how adolescence is the worst kind of torture
cherry slushies lined with cigarettes to create a whirl-pool of nostalgia
recreational drugs and ironic situations to ease our instinctual sense of proverbial nausea
loud-mouthed demons spawned out of clothes-hangers and emotional turmoil
show up in our nightmares that we nick-name ‘a good place to contemplate suicide’
repeated imagery stacked like flap-jacks in the mouths of blissed-out sociopaths
too self-indulgent to include us in to their personal stories so we can observe, record, and assess
i don’t perceive doctors to be particularly and predominantly just and true
but i one time met a doctor who told me ‘being a teenager is perhaps the hardest thing you could ever do’*
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
तत् त्वम् असि
*for sitar, mridangam, vina, musical spoons,
washboard, Jew’s harp and banjo*
(*the names Swami and Guru-ji can be replaced by
any other mystic names the reader wishes to substitute*)
Swami and Guru-ji went to the river
to wash their souls in the ***** water
filled brass pots while they were at it, singing:
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji flexed contortions
twisted minds and limbs in knots
sold each other secret mantras
to erase akashic records when the body rots
Swami and Guru-ji taught disciples
how to fast and hum and chant;
bound their ***** with priestly garments, saying
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji swallowed prana
purged their guts, then farted light
launched their chakras into oneness
in the ida and pingala of their third-eye sight
Swami and Guru-ji built a temple
around a monstrous calf of gold
bowed before the six-armed idols chanting
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji studied parchments
by the dim light of a feeble ray
railed and wailed at the sinful heathen
in the filthy Kali-yuga of the dying day
Swami and Guru-ji made ablutions
offered incense and holy foods
ate their share and smoked the profit, humming
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami’s blissed devotions
entwined their members with the temple belles;
stuck their yonis up their lingams
in the twenty-seventh circle of the seven hells.
Swami and Guru-ji offered puja
wrote it all off as a karmic debt –
forced a shudra to bear the burden, screaming
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji meditated:
pure omniscience in eternal now –
drank fresh ***** from a heifer’s bladder
for they knew that it was soma from a holy cow.
Swami and the Guru merged with Brahman –
then went home to the wife and kids.
Told the servants to polish statues, saying
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
THE MORAL:
(slower solemn rhythm, no banjo or Jew’s harp)
Aaron’s calf is ground to powder,
cast upon the Ganges’ tide.
Every tribe shall taste its poison.
“This is God –worship Him, worship Him –
this is God – let us worship Him now…”
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
*The passionate propensity
of waxing moons' passages,
I crave your poetry
as the air I breathe,
vital spirit aches within intention
hungering the blissed taste
of essential Neruda -
midst the significance of
rose and topaz
arrows of wildflowers,
whence your own scripted
inclinations unfurl
searing 'neath my flesh,
rendering me speechless
'tween ***** sighs
I surrender in the exhale
of a thousand blazing suns*
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC
She is high,
alive on
nouveau romance,
a libido kept quiet.
She is
ill-content,
flashbacks
withOut relief,
but a spark-plug second
her blissed-out blessed beneath.
She is
driving home
upset,
his rolling-over motion
this morning
was expected.
Frigid hands
clasping coffee cups
at Venice Beach.
She sighs.
Relief
is a sky of
lemons orange
and persimmon trees
and caffeine.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
*the sky on my back
is heavy now, and the thin light
a shadow.
i am perched in my godforsaken.
but my wings dare the holy
and my mind
tumbles up
like a last supper of glass worms
and extra ******
strychnine.
in the blink of an I
there's a wink
with a slovenly iris...
and a dull pearl
chink-blissed
in the shattered tooth
of my gnawing
gob.
a low frequency
in the high place
of my moon ***** cul de sac...
and an exact replica
of my dispossessed
reflection... a memory
that forgets best
as it mulls over
and dwells more ******
than the asking price
of my naive
assurety.
it is perfect. and glum.
but the gem is the thing
on the tip my tongue -
seeking and slithering
betwixt.
it's a fixed
star.
or
some
awful charm
looming in the dismal
and lurid
in the
Carnival.
you
are the ghost
that feeds my starvation
and the means
to an end.
a complete drink of sour kindness.
lopping off heads
like a queen of knaves and barking mad
mittens.
it's very cold
where we come from...
but we go
back.
and to
return
is to
speak
a
lost word
where we
found
it...
leaping reason like a squirrel
to a bitter branch
where the apples
are stones
and the leaves
are not amazing
today*.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
We sat aloft a dune
peering over the ocean,
waves mesmerizing
our inner turmoil,
grainy surf dimensions
cut into psyche,
voices turned hazy
midst broiling sun
washed back with
salt water tears,
there was no lighthouse
to guide the way
nor save disparate crests
no words reverberated the sound,
just the floundering of
gritty restless emotions
that once were blissed horizons
before moon lost its balance
to relentless torrential currents
of neglectful destruction,
drowning in ambiguous undertows
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
Alignment before leaving the house
blessing words with intention
honor the sun
Thank the axis
as we spiral
and find our constant amidst change
death takes place
and we go through stages and states
denial, acceptance,
and everything in between
connection with all that is
and crystal relationship with today
honor the sun
palms pressed to pray
at heart center
whoever does this looks so holy
serene, blissed out, so **** lovely
sashay with anger
then tango with tears
adjust to the idea
of releasing fear
honor the sun
for true life rises
and echoes rays of eons
from this glorious star
the source of fire and desire
warming our bodies
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
-
#1
holy **** i am really drunk
accidentally slammed three beers
pretending that the neck of the bottle
was your lips
#2
part of me wanted to text you
staring up into the sky
praying that the stars would swallow me
and my fingers itched to type out
so many things that i would regret
in the morning
#3
and i imagined telling you
confessions of how i felt
and i imagined that little cursor
blinking back at me like so much
apathy and words swallowed
over and again
#4
and i have kissed
my fair share of people
with lips male and female
with faces smooth and some scruff
or a full beard that i envied
but girls have the softest lips
always have
#5
i wondered what it would be like
to kiss you then
holding your body to mine
hoping you would forgive the splits
in my lip that anxiety helped me put there
#6
a good describing word for how
i felt then with three beers and good food
making its home in my belly
would be “blissed”
i was blissed out on ***** and food
and my pining for you
#7
i am sober now
woke up earlier than i would have liked
but then again i fell asleep at 10:30pm
#8
and this thing i feel
it’s like a combination of regret
and disappointment in myself
for not just telling you how i feel
and for needing liquid courage
to get myself to that plateau
of spilling my guts or backing away
#9
and i have forgotten
what my favorite drink tastes like again
in favor of the words to describe
how kissing you for the first time
would surely feel
#10
and i have never felt fireworks
when kissing someone before
even the girl i thought i was gonna marry
and i’m not so young now
and a little bit more cynical
but i wanna feel those fireworks with you
and i still haven’t texted you
and i don’t know if i will
and i don’t know if i should
and i am sorry for being like this
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
I breeze into the bar alone
Order a drink then
Waltz on my own
Four fated eyes
Fog machine
Collide
Seven blocks
Until home
Debauchery
On the dome
The ********* twist of
Pinkened papilla
Candled glow
Sandalwood
Vanilla
Your tongue the till
To my loam
I shrill
You blissed me
So sweet
Sugar stains
On my sheet
Your departure
While slippery
Is no less
A victory
Sep 13, 2022
Sep 13, 2022 at 8:51 AM UTC
Colors blurred to a banausic bore,
Sights I crossed, sought my eyes no more.
Paths overused, they bore the brunt,
Of thousand hopeful feet that met the end.
All so familiar yet so strange,
What’s that my heart so craves?
Is it the fruit of seed, sown so early?
Or the bloom of desires, of my heart.
Choose I should, one path,
Can I not have it all?
Weigh, I must, of what that matters,
Or shall watch as many dreams shatter?
Some who came, made a choice,
Others just stayed, without a voice..
Many lost their battle of dreams,
That crossed their imaginary realms.
Hate I would, to do what all do,
Regret I shall, if I don’t follow.
Someone cry out for a piece of me,
Shall surrender all of me, in blissed peace.
Thoughts that bled in colors so wild,
Drained away as greys remain,
Nobody asked for a piece of me,
So I walked the path that was set for me.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
Saturday morn bedded in quiet,
the days of noisy children invading,
decades back
so we lay together blessed and blissed
Me, drafting words into ship shapes,
She, perusing boots pocketbooks and
A line dresses for some occasion
I start to cry for I alone
know she is the far, far better poet,
but refrains from composing
in words...for my sake
she says soft,
while drinking my tears and comforting,
*"helping you to compose,
giving you peace of soul,
and verdant happiness,
my darling,
is more than enough"*
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 9:11 AM UTC
*Violaceous twilights,
clandestinely sated
lavished 'til morn's early blush
midst honey suckled euphoria,
poems hidden 'neath
satin pillowcases,
written 'tween the dew
of rendezvous'
blissed arousal
forevermore eagerly breathless,
reawakening intentions
aloft the vast obscurity of
a wistful sunset's surrender*
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
My heart is slipping up my throat and my eyes are half open
my stomach is ecstatically quivering
I'm high off a smile and my toes are tipped
Blissed-out
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
Upon a sweet zephyr
whirled a scent,
something so familiar
midst that breeze,
'twas like warm apple pie
sitting amid a windowsill
wafting delectable
reminiscence of long ago,
children's laughter
full of caramel & pepper,
petunias, summer rain
and hot cayenne spice
all delightfully blissed
in a blast of fragrant air's
momentously fresh nostalgia
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
Words are tumbling and rushing together
A moment in time that seems like forever
A picture's worth a thousand words
But nothing more than what belongs to her
Meanings literal and metaphor
The source of her life and my love's core
I can't get enough while I lie here blissed out
Me on her and her on the couch
The more I melt into it the more it grows to a
Rumble to a thunder and then a supernova
For so long I lived in a suffered fantasy
I sometimes wonder if she's real even when she's right in front of me
But it sings me back to reality
With it's soft lullabies it caresses me
I'm safe in its sound as it guides me to sleep
This thing that I love is your heartbeat.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
I fell in love with a profile and a personal text, does that make me weak? I fell in love with a personality rather than a person, does that make me a statistic?
I’ve never been able to form a real physical bond, yet I’m intimate with intimacy, I’m contained by caresses and blessed and blissed within a warm kiss.
I’ve wanted love from you for a while, kiss the forehead, munch the lips, tasting the love spawned physically between us. What would you think of me if you knew?
What would you say if I kissed you right now, locking lips with my love and making a show of stroking your long black hair? What would you say if I told you I loved you and wanted what was best for you? Would you listen to me, love, would you?
I long to be heard by you. Apple cinnamon, sugar sweet, so sweet to bring a pain to the heart of a double-crosser, so sweet as to bring any man to his knees in submission to you: a ghostly figure, luminous dark eyes, yellowish pearls as teeth, body fit for who it was meant, and a love as strong as the chemistry that keeps our hearts pumping and our minds alive and well.
I want you, I desire you, I am in a state of infatuation so deep under myself it gets hard to breathe, but the only one who can help me out of this hole is you.
Let me be your poet, I’ll lust you in words oh sweet as to instantly cause cavities.
Let me be your infatuation, I light a spark in your heart and tend it until it roars into a flame, then into a fire, a fire as hot as to melt the shackles around you, around your soul.
Let me be your love. This I beg of you. I want to be your everything, your anything. I want my name to be synonymous with “heart”, I want to cause jamborees and jubilees in your mind by simply saying the phrase I’ve meant for so long to say.
I love you.
I do love you, so let me. Let me be the light in the dark tunnel. I don’t mean to open this to interpretation, I only mean to pray to be around and help you through.
Let me love you, let me love you, let me love you. Sitting as I am, with my mind in disarray, this phrase is all I can repeat.
I am bare, love, and you clothe me.
I am pained, love, and you heal me.
But I am lonely, and as of this moment, I anticipate your cure once more.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 6:05 PM UTC
e3Author: Kristen Stevens
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
happy thoughts
Current mood: blissed out
Going to try something new for this one. I'm going to be happy or an approximate facsimile of it. Now you may ask, how does one go about getting into a happy frame of mind?
-Well, I find browsing the bumper sticker app is a good way if you are using your computer as a sole ***** of happiness.
-Watching the HMV hell video on my main page makes me giggle like the school girl (let's face it I was never a giggly school girl but the metaphor works)
-Thinking about how few people will actually survive the coming zombie apocalypse due to their utter stupidity finally catching up with them. (oh, I believe I’m getting giddy now)
-2012 because whatever is/is not going to happen people are going to lose their minds and well, I call it culling of the genetic herd.
-Milk, it does a body good. (I know, I know for any grammatical stickler out there it should be “does…well” but that’s not the line)
-Dr. Who, although I’m still waiting for my TARDIS boarding pass one day my doctor will come
Ok I’m going to quit now. If I get any happier, I might do some permanent damage to my cynical synapses. contented sigh
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 8:35 AM UTC
The still English heat,
The ***** promise of July the 1st
Leaves the grass a mottled yellow
And the dappled shade of the purple birch
Almost holy.
Specks of precise and glittering pollen
Rest upon beds of browning foxgloves.
Cats are left collapsed,
Blissed out, lulled into dreams
of this motionless sun shining forever.
I feel your hands in my stomach
And I'm hungry for your grip
As the hot sky only ripens
My daydreams of your laugh.
The thick scent of withering hyacinth
Is the curve of your back,
the taste of your sweat.
A stain of certainty is baked in
By July the 1st.
Novocain for my infected English heart.
Whispering the start of a love that will be
kicking leaves through October
And sharing warmth through December.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
I do not love you,
Like the way I did before.
Things have changed a lot,
as it opened passages and doors.
As I struggle to fix things,
please conform, please understand.
That Pressure's never a friend,
not a good mixture nor a blend
With time, oh so precious,
can we give it a ride?
as If it's a wave,
that we can smoothly slide,
as if we can just abide,
like a mind that's open wide,
do you still want to sip,
into a drink that's half-flipped.
and hanging is a fact,
that I am constantly changing,
I am not the same man,
do you find it discouraging?
I do not love you like before,
Certainly I am true.
Not like yesterday,
routine's not accrued.
*For I love you more,
as each day pass,
thank you for showing me,
that you're a class
Holding a lot of functions,
truthful and postive,
I felt the urge
I felt the caring
I see the truth in you,
as I let loose on my holdings.
you've believed in me,
when no one's doing,
You've given way all,
for free and with atttitude,
Now I am blissed,
Now I am loosed,
Like a new born baby,
you've made me fresh and celebrated,
I saw the effort,
A love to be celebrated.
I love you girl,
Sorry if I just started fully,
Now I'm looking long term,
to get with you happily.
I don't love you
Like the way I did before,
because my feelings have grown,
I'll love you, deep down the core.*
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 5:05 AM UTC
lately i've been having these good days
i don't have sad wet cigarette saxophone nights anymore
i watched the sun wake up six times last week
i found a blue bucket of tulips &
gave them to a bald-headed krishna girl when
she sang to me on the sidewalk
i hired a boy to hide in the foyer
& peel a fiddle if i rouse from sleep during the night
or whistle through a harmonica
if i'm wet-eyed during breakfast
i finally got rid of all the pictures you stuck
to your side of the dusty bathroom mirror
except the blissed-out polaroid of us
perched on an old oak tree limb
like a couple of soft doves versus the turreted sunset
i deleted your number because you don't call me back anyway
i stopped mailing letters to your father's house
i haven't listened to the Plantasia record
you bought me since you left
i never feel the gray heat from your
staticky hand warming my shoulder
i forgave you for the blood in my kidneys
& old smog in my mildewed vinyl lungs
i sleep under the running green vapor light
of the moon & stars instead of the frothiest pillows
rippling on an ocean of sheets & project quilts
i finally scoured the lipstick stain from my collarbone
after what seemed like two years
i forgot how your armpits smelled
i sewed all your sundresses into a shower curtain
& i never see your delicate ribcage
peaking through the streams of hot water
i hardly ever notice the noose
you left hanging in our apartment
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
setting the stage: driving through this tiny southern town i call home, i saw a man.
out the window i saw him, mid 60's, walking up to a small white box-shaped house.
a word, with no obvious association to this man in particular, came to thought.
the word: complacent.
i proceeded to conjure up an entirely (insert appropriate emotion here) story about this man.
(the story of this man being a symbol for [what i believe to be the majority] of humankind.)
the entirely (insert appropriate emotion here) story goes:
his entire adult life, the man has spent each day working hard at a job not his passion .
this job has enabled him to provide food and shelter to his family for 40 years.
as a young person, his face lit up when he spoke of his dreams and aspirations.
the light has since gone out.
he is not unhappy, no. (complacent)
he has accepted this is the way of life.
he works 8-5pm, gets home and watches a bit of television, eats supper with his family, perhaps smokes a pipe, goes to sleep.
and repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat,repeat...for forty years.
he never gets angry, never raises his voice or fist.
now here is me.
my life is an emotional rollercoaster. propelled by my heart. one second of blissed-out lightness is followed by deep-gut sadness is followed by adrenaline-fired passion is followed by bone-hollowness is followed by complete calm is followed by intense panic... and on and on for 25 years.
complacency is something creative minds envy during the hardest times.
the days of existential crisis
the sleepless panicked nights of 'what am i doing with my life
the tender kisses transformed to screaming matches with our respective beloved.
i need something to wake up for each morning.
i need art like my lungs oxygen.
i need feeling too much like my body blood.
and in the hard times, if i were to try complacency for awhile,
surely i would cease to function.
and surely a deep-hearted sadness consumed me as i thought of the 'man' and of all of the people living perfectly complacently on this earth.
and then again, is there no admiration to be found in this 'man' who has worked so hard, poured some much sweat and blood into a job not his passion so that he can provide for his family? the tears swell in my eyes as i type these last lines.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
I was never shocked
at how quickly I became
used to the way
you make me insatiable
for lips never known before,
infatuation is a danger
and I’m self-indulging,
but let me pull you down
with me. I promise
there are beautiful views
in Hell.
That stark wasteland,
putrid and silent and dark,
makes it easier to appreciate
whatever we have now. But
I’m sure you already knew
that, leading the army of
the only man more evil
than you. The flames
in your eyes I mistook for
passion never hesitated
to burn me.
How wicked. Wicked, wicked,
wicked eager me jumping
to trust you while you licked
the purity from my soul.
One day someone else will
feed my voracious appetite
and I will simply know that
numbing, blissed feeling as
“the way you used to make me feel”.
Without the smoldering core
of being used.
V. K.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
Xanax and textiles soothe your savage beast.
Roam through the aisles and lose yourself.
Blissed out ignorance while money is spent.
Oh look, a sale! Screams the internal bi-polar.
Retail is your therapy and I am your psychiatrist.
Folding your ***** laundry into color coded displays.
Prozac on clearance, aisle 13.
Cover your sorrows in piles and dreams.
1/4/2016
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
By my side.
was always you.
even when i would hide.
you knew exactly what to do.
actions speak louder then words.
you once told me.
now you fly high like a bird.
your finally able to be free.
I know mommy.
here with us is were you want to stay.
when we say no you become balmy.
i'll always talk to you when i pray.
I wish this was a dream.
Mommy im your really gonna be missed.
i can hear myself begin to scream.
your new life will always be blissed.
Mommy i love you.
I know you'll always love me.
even when i dont know what to do.
ill think of you while i sit under a tree.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC