"bruno" poems
Here I stood with ***** crystals beneath my feet and waited for the sky to turn golden.
Here I laughed into the echoing tunnel under my home as wet earth dripped on my skin.
Here I learned about parenthood among feathers and little eggs and ungodly morning crows.
Here I gloated about the manhood which sprouted from under my arms and in my mischievous thoughts.
Here I waited till dark to meet him in secret all the while dreading the sound of tires on gravel.
Here I buzzed with excitement as the boys had their lazy Sunday afternoon.
Here his freckles came close to mine as he softly said "you're so beautiful" with Bruno Mars playing in the background.
Here I said I would never grow up.
Here I comforted her with my pain because I had to be brave.
Here I forgot that being called "muddy children who act like savages " was considered an insult.
Here I cried into the stars for reasons I didn't understand.
Here I walked on hands and feet with happy little scratches and silent giggles.
Here only the sound of our beating hearts and delicate pride could be heard as I held him close.
Here I sang at the top of my favorite tree and waited for the words to hurt him as much as he hurt me.
Here the glow of a flashlight illuminated our tent as I asked her if she liked me like that.
Here a little piece of me was left sitting on a branch waiting to capture the next magical heart.
Here I wrote "I love you" on a mango leaf only to realize that he spelled love differently.
Here I sat beneath bright green trees and pondered my not-so-complicated life.
Here my words came out blurry and my stomach swayed like a sail boat out on a windy morning.
Here my hands went numb as I raced to the end of his life.
Here I visit through pictures and messy journals to remember the little things that are now so so big.
Here I left muddy footprints now covered with grass, but here they will stay.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
The immense striking letters
of the gazette’s front page
make me almost cross-eyed
My mind is going to explode
in the images I have seen in the television
Boom!
When will the politicians
be weary in stealing
the wealth of the country?
Millions of pesos were caught
in the centre of the golden sea
Can we only find it from other countries?
Is that the main reason
why Filipinos are migrating:
to find source of much bigger income?
I am thinking about them
together with their bosses
with heavy iron hands
I believe crime rate is escalating...
...the crime that can grab you
24 hours a day
Can we still smell the tainted odor
of pictures of the street children...
children who beg for a piece of bread?
Mr. President, where is the promised straight road
you are pointing at?
Why can’t we see it?
Is it crooked?
Why is it that these are
the ONLY stuffing of rumors?
Why can’t we focus onto a bigger
and wider problem of our country
and even around the world?
Perhaps above all issues,
this is the only concern
that is not yet trending in Twitter
So, I just boasted it to my open-mouthed puppy...
“If I will be the President of the Philippines,
I will focus first on ENVIRONMENTAL ISSUES.”
Suddenly, Bruno’s saliva dripped.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
My back is tight, knotted
I'm not entirely sure why
But I would trap a dozen
Eskimos for a massage, honestly
Enter the sad realization that, despite
Bruno's good intentions, he is unable to
Fulfill this request with paws
Oh, but that's alright
It's one of those half-hearted dreams
That drifts along in wispy bits
Every now and again
To whisper and invoke a peace
Within the cataclysm, but don't dare
Turn around, or it will be
Gone
Like the ghostly fingers untying me
One loop at a time because
They've lost the scissors
May 12, 2011
May 12, 2011 at 5:42 PM UTC
I used to be Bruno Mars, you can COUNT ON ME
I used to be Ed Sheeran who'll be there 'til we're 70
I was Avril Lavigne who said I LOVE YOU
But not All Time Low, I ain't MISSING YOU
I'm Against the Current, burning a little BRIGHTER
Like Bleachers, I WANNA GET BETTER
Like Big Time Rush, I'm HALFWAY THERE
Like Taylor Swift, WE ARE NEVER EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
from
On the Infinite Universe and Worlds
(DE L'INFINITO UNIVERSO ET MONDI)
by GIORDANO BRUNO
1548 – 17 February 1600
burned at the stake in Rome's Campo de' Fiori
THREE SONNETS
Passing alone to those realms
The object erst of thine exalted thought,
I would rise to infinity: then I would compass the skill
Of industries and arts equal to the objects.
There would I be reborn: there on high I would foster for thee
Thy fair offspring, now that at length cruel
Destiny hath run her whole course
Against the enterprise whereby I was wont to withdraw to thee.
Fly not from me, for I yearn for a nobler refuge
That I may rejoice in thee. And I shall have as guide
A god called blind by the unseeing.
May Heaven deliver thee, and every emanation
Of the great Architect be ever gracious unto thee:
But turn thou not to me unless thou art mine.
Escaped from the narrow murky prison
Where for so many years error held me straitly,
Here I leave the chain that bound me
And the shadow of my fiercely malicious foe
Who can force me no longer to the gloomy dusk of night.
For he who hath overcome the great Python
With whose blood he hath dyed the waters of the sea
Hath put to flight the Fury that pursued me.
To thee I turn, I soar, O my sustaining Voice;
I render thanks to thee, my Sun, my divine Light,
For thou hast summoned me from that horrible torture,
Thou hast led me to a goodlier tabernacle;
Thou hast brought healing to my bruised heart.
Thou art my delight and the warmth of my heart;
Thou makest me without fear of Fate or of Death;
Thou breakest the chains and bars
Whence few come forth free.
Seasons, years, months, days and hours --
The children and weapons of Time -- and that Court
Where neither steel nor treasure avail
Have secured me from the fury [of the foe].
Henceforth I spread confident wings to space;
I fear no barrier of crystal or of glass;
I cleave the heavens and soar to the infinite.
And while I rise from my own globe to others
And penetrate ever further through the eternal field,
That which others saw from afar, I leave far behind me
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
My cousin told me that I am a good storyteller, but I should write something about me, about real people and a time that I was scared "shitless". Well, I can only think of one time of a real life shocker that shook up my young world. It's nothing suspenseful. It probably wouldn't win any contests, but it isn't contrived. It's a snippet of the first time that I encountered the raw reality of death.
What did I know about death at eight years old? Our parakeet, Perky, died. My grandparents dog, Bruno, had to be put to sleep. As a girl, I vaguely recall seeing a dead man in a coffin, and that was at the funeral of my mom's aunt's husband. This was only an introduction of the temporary world we live in.
Well, then there was an older couple two doors down from us. They had two grandchildren that used to come and visit them, a sister and brother. When in the neighborhood, they would play with my older brothers. I cannot even recall their names. I cannot remember what they looked like or what they said.
What I do remember is the news being on in the living room, and I was eating dinner in the kitchen with my mom and brothers. Suddenly, the faces of that brother and sister were on TV. It was reported that their mentally troubled mother had killed them. I think it was because she was denied custody of them in an ugly divorce. Doing a little bit of digging in the Michigan death index online, I rediscovered who they were. They were Susan and Richard. They were ten and nine-years-old at the time.
I surely don't remember plenty of details, as this was in June of 1973. Over forty years ago, it's a much faded memory now. I only know I did not go to the funeral home. If I did, I am sure I'd be horrified to look upon those children who were robbed of their lives. Death was no longer just for pets or old people. It wasn't fair and it didn't discriminate in age. And if it could happen to someone as young as them, it could come knocking on my door.
Perhaps, that was the beginning of my fear of death.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
We’re in a young-love recession.
Gen Zers are slow to trust and averse to risk,
we have, it seems, a particular social nervousness
about interpersonal exchanges and the symbiosis of love.
So we resort to situationships (undefined relationships),
a stratagem for closeness, with zero commitment.
You can flirt; you can kiss; you can dance.
You can have a crush so big it blots out the stars
You can have transformative romantic encounters
you can care deeply and get hurt badly
you can, in fact, be absolutely wrecked by love
All without ever being in a relationship.
Thank God we’re only young once.
.
.
Songs for this:
Die With A Smile by Lady Gaga & Bruno Mars
Busy Woman by Sabrina Carpenter
Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 9:55 PM UTC
If you ever find yourself stuck in the middle of the sea
I'll sail the world to find you
If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can't see
I'll be the light to guide you
Find out what we're made of
When we are called to help out friends in need
You can count on me like one, two, three
I'll be there
And I know when I need it
I can count on you like four, three, two
You'll be there
Cause that's what friends are supposed to do
Oh yeah
Ooohhhh Ooohhhh
Ooh yeah yeah
If you're tossin' and you're turnin' and you just can't fall asleep
I'll sing a song beside you
And if you ever forget how much you really mean to me
Everyday I will remind you
Ohh
Find out what we're made of
When we are called to help our friends in need
You can count on me like one, two, three
I'll be there
And I know when I need it
I can count on you like four, three, two
You'll be there
Cause that's what friends are supposed to do
Oh yeah
Ooohhhh Ooohhhh
Ooh yeah yeah
You'll always have my shoulder when you cry
I'll never let go, never say goodbye
You know you can count on me like one, two, three
I'll be there
And I know when I need it
I can count on you like four, three, two
And you'll be there
Cause that's what friends are supposed to do
Oh yeah
Ooohhhh Ooohhhh
Ooh
You can count on me cause I can count on you (:
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
In Rome on the Campo di Fiori
Baskets of olives and lemons,
Cobbles spattered with wine
And the wreckage of flowers.
Vendors cover the trestles
With rose-pink fish;
Armfuls of dark grapes
Heaped on peach-down.
On this same square
They burned Giordano Bruno.
Henchmen kindled the pyre
Close-pressed by the mob.
Before the flames had died
The taverns were full again,
Baskets of olives and lemons
Again on the vendors' shoulders.
I thought of the Campo dei Fiori
In Warsaw by the sky-carousel
One clear spring evening
To the strains of a carnival tune.
The bright melody drowned
The salvos from the ghetto wall,
And couples were flying
High in the cloudless sky.
At times wind from the burning
Would driff dark kites along
And riders on the carousel
Caught petals in midair.
That same hot wind
Blew open the skirts of the girls
And the crowds were laughing
On that beautiful Warsaw Sunday.
Someone will read as moral
That the people of Rome or Warsaw
Haggle, laugh, make love
As they pass by martyrs' pyres.
Someone else will read
Of the passing of things human,
Of the oblivion
Born before the flames have died.
But that day I thought only
Of the loneliness of the dying,
Of how, when Giordano
Climbed to his burning
There were no words
In any human tongue
To be left for mankind,
Mankind who live on.
Already they were back at their wine
Or peddled their white starfish,
Baskets of olives and lemons
They had shouldered to the fair,
And he already distanced
As if centuries had passed
While they paused just a moment
For his flying in the fire.
Those dying here, the lonely
Forgotten by the world,
Our tongue becomes for them
The language of an ancient planet.
Until, when all is legend
And many years have passed,
On a great Campo dci Fiori
Rage will kindle at a poet's word.
3.6k
you see,
i'm not so good with words,
and cannot weave lines that rhyme,
or compose brilliant poems.
my words,
if only i could find them,
will tell you how much you're beautiful,
about your sweet smile, and your beautiful hair.
i can't wait,
for when we get to hold hands,
when i get to catwalk in your size 42 high heels,
go to a spanish club together, and reminisce why we don't talk about bruno.
i feel so lucky,
thinking about the randomness of how we met,
how you caught me in a way i'll always remember,
or maybe we really are meant to be together?
i always blush,
when i think about your sweet smiles and beautiful hair,
the standing girl emoji and the doll from squid game,
the too many times to count i stare at your beautiful pictures.
Feb 27, 2022
Feb 27, 2022 at 2:35 AM UTC
I'm running
Why am I running?
Why does it hurt?
Why are my feet cold?
I look at my feet
I'm barefoot
Why am I barefoot?
Okay
Give me a sec
I'll remember
Oh!
I'm running
Running to you
I'm barefoot
Barefoot because I'm scared
Scared you'll get away
Leave and get lost
Why did you leave?
Wait no
You didn't leave
I slow down
You didn't run away
I stop
You're still here
I wake up
Oh thank god
It was just a dream
You're still asleep
Next to me where I left you
I'm not running
I am barefoot
But not running
I thank god one last time
Take a glance at your sleeping face
Kiss your nose
Nighty night, Bruno
My cute watch dog
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC
In another life, my father
must have been a blacksmith.
Essential in his village
Essential to be needed
(otherwise what’s the point?)
Swinging his hammer in heat, in smoke,
content within his St Bruno haze, suspicious
of anything lighter than black leather
anything lighter than brass fittings
- comfortable with sweat stains and scattered ash,
scars and deep bruises marking him
a man’s man and breadwinner,
- relaxed with the air blue, the tribe white
and his iron laughter echoing with every strike,
every blow shaping his son
into his family’s likeness.
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 3:22 PM UTC
Thanks Bruno mars, she does make me feel like iv been locked out of heaven now.
I hate that I love you, and I love that I hate you, you make me feel like I know what love is, this pain I constantly feel, it never numbs or goes away, iv just learned to deal with it.
I stay close to you, because if I ever let go fully, id loose a best friend along with a lover. Its karma, I thought I knew everything there was to know about you in auch a short time, even now im finding things I love more about you.
I love that I hate you.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
I remember when you sat next to me
you and your curly Blonde hair
and those blue eyes cut me so deep
I remember so vividly
Man. your rough looking hands were so appealing
I just wanted to grasp them as they went towards my own
But instead of your hand fitting like a puzzle piece, you took my Walkman
"What are you listeing to?" you asked
"Marry you by Bruno Mars" I said. you took an ear piece and began to listen
you began to sing and I was melting
you turned to me and sang that song for me but you weren't serious
But still i melted
This memory and so many are fading
Like when we held hands as a joke
and you pulled back saying " I Never held another guys hand."
How cute you were.
or how bout when the times you sat next to me on the ride home and you would just stare at me when i wasnt looking yes I noticed
Man, I wanted to lean on you
those memories are fading, maybe
For I might fall for antoher
we are just talking but who knows
I can't have you because you are not gay, or bi thats what you say
I love you enough to just believe it
Anthony, man just saying your name is like a drug, I love you
But you and these memories might be fading, maybe
I might have found another Guy
one who might like me and I might like in return
If you do like me but dont want to admit it then
Please hurry
But if you are really are straight then its good
that you might be Fading, maybe
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 8:25 PM UTC
lend me your ears
and i will tell you a story
there are truly monstrous
little creatures
running about
**WITH TOO MANY ********* LEGS**
one night
one of these monsters
revealed itself
to the terror
of its human onlooker
let me explain terror
in this instance
it is a feeling that may or may not
cause one
to literally tear one's clothes off
put on uninfested clothes
and flee the premises
and i mean flee
now i'm not saying
i know someone who would do this
but i heard this story
of a woman
that, in a state of such terror
in a state of such
severe heebie jeebies
tore around town
and screamed "too many legs!"
out her rolled down windows
when this medicine did not
cure said
heebie jeebies
there was truly a sight and sound
to behold
now i'm not gonna lie
it was me, ok?
don't judge
because of this next part
i am very proud
i just sang
my ever loving
heart out
to a 10 mile radius
and i mean i
*sang that ****
anyone who hadn't heard
"gorilla" by bruno mars
has now heard it.
and the energy i released
was profound
because i hit that note
*************
*I bet you never ever felt so good, so good
I got your body trembling like it should, it should
You'll never be the same baby once I'm done with you*
You [3x]
the "you" is the crucial part
and i'm telling you
i just sang the **** out of that song
until i got dizzy
and my fists hurt from pounding the
steering wheel
it gave me enough courage
to re-enter the premises
pop a bottle
grab my laptop
(while doing a little dance of terror)
and jump on the couch
the only problem
is that if you
sing the **** out of "gorilla"
literally 25x
too many legs
becomes the least of your
problems
you realize
quite absurdly
how at the present moment
you are not
making love like gorillas
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
born of blood
from a thorn
of a beautiful flower
from the love
of the horned
adorned
in power
cowering
in the vicious
maliciousness
of the constituents
in the deliverance
to my ridiculousness
saw
twisted shapes
and contorting faces
heard
blurred words
displaced
in hateful slurs
of aggression
and i cannot count the cases
in my tasteless confessions
in my reluctant concessions
in my brutal perfection
of my obsessions
imposed against my will
you're supposed to feel
what they do
right?
opposed to killing
for the thrill
but it sometimes
just feels right
shanky gone unscrupulous
shivering
his shimmied
blood on the walls
stuttering stanleys
still silly stringing
calling for candy
but missed last call
and fell to the floor
as Bruno butchered the boar
in a deplorable fashion
a crime of passion
we were hungry
rubbing our tummies
for the honey
of bee hives
jive turkeys
turning to bunnys
for good times
but we were alive
while others were not
fraught with darkling majesty
sparkling at the seraded points
disjointed
in Freudian
ointments
self anointed
as god
standing over
some butchered
brod from abroad
wiping the fog
of dislodged
eye sockets
from my grog
how you get
from there to here
isn't really a fair mirror
on my intention
i meant to
suspend her
just enough
to face f--k
and with luck
strangle her
but she prayed to be ripped down
in her own way
my f--king way
stripped her
of dignity
wimpering
in little cute sounds
who am i?
but the guy
who spaced
hit her
too many times in the face
and replaced her
facelessness
with ***** toiletries
disappointingly
underwhelmed
still in search of a fairy
to take the helm
and ferry me
from this film
disparagingly
just spare me
the tragedy and grief
blaring from the TV
as i mock
their expressions
in my lessons
of humanity
before the flock
to shelter
my anxiety or not
gonna be
a real boy one day
and conform
to the
wayward ways
the way
of sheep
sleeping
soundly
in decay
blue fairy
gonna
marry me
one
day
be
real
one
day
one
day
1
d
a
y
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
On a hill far away from the city
In a beautiful distant galaxy,
Live a boy and a girl so happily...
Daddy he loves Mummy
Mummy she loves Daddy
Daddy he loves Mummy
Mummy she loves Daddy.
Where the stars like glitter forever shine,
Where the rivers bubble with rose red wine,
While on sweet apples and oysters they dine,
Daddy he loves Mummy
Mummy she loves Daddy
Daddy he loves Mummy
Mummy she loves Daddy.
Where the weather will always be just fine,
High among the stars, floating on cloud nine,
Whispering to each other "You are mine"...
Daddy he loves Mummy
Mummy she loves Daddy
Daddy he loves Mummy
Mummy she loves Daddy.
Aug 25, 2022
Aug 25, 2022 at 7:48 AM UTC
This poem, well more like a free write, was inspired by the song Amazing by Bruno Mars Oh & this is a true story.Enjoy. :)
I hear the words as I drive in my car.
My thoughts take over my body as I
feel the sting begin in my eyes and
my face gets red hot. I start thinking
about my life and those lyrics.
When was I going find someone
to tell me that I'm amazing? When was
I going to find someone to tell me that
I'm beautiful JUST the way I am?
That they would never change anything
about me because I am the epitome of perfect
in their eyes.
As I pull into my driveway, I turn off the car
and cry softly. The silence made my sniffles
sound deafening. I couldn't hear myself
breathe, I thought I stopped. I took
my time, thinking about my past, present,
and future. I've been so stuck on finding the
"one" that I haven't found myself.
I immediately stopped crying because
I realized I have found someone to tell
me all of those things, and she was
staring at me in the rear view mirror.
ME.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 8:37 AM UTC
Distorted words, and
The common misconception
Of glamorous fiends,
Help to destroy the sanity
Of hopelessly subtle, old kings.
-
Dastardly provoked
To implore, or deceive, the
Faint of heart—cowards—
To commit themselves to war;
To attempt courage for once.
-
Yet, not one of them
Is capable of such strength.
In today’s battle,
One man here, is simply just
Another broken, dead boy.
-
Scream “Hallelujah!”
They do, but it comes as a
Whisper. They whisper,
Because they are afraid of
Their own voices; the noise scares them.
-
Circumstance may have
That those faint of heart—cowards—
Cannot see their chance;
This inexhaustible resource.
They know not their own power.
-
Brother: Please humor
The condemned souls in this town,
For they are no more
A concern for the Killers,
And Invaders moving through here.
-
The rippling muscles
Of defeat swarm this dead town,
And those who stood by
Were consumed by the vultures,
And the wolves who haunt the woods.
-
Those who could not stand
And confront the oppressors,
Because their voice was
Inaudible and weak, were
Burned at the stake, like Bruno.
-
Yet, these plebes, could not look Him in the eyes because their guilt weighed their chins down.
-
Wickedly the cruel,
Conquering enemy will
Capture the souls of
The less fortunate who hide
In their own puny shadows.
-
Yet, even when the
Strong make their stand, and fight
Those wicked demons,
Their victory is in vain,
Because the cities still burn.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
I sat on my hard, green footstool, still, in my grandma's front room, musing over the warm madeira crumbs on my blue-veined white plate.
I climbed up onto my granddad's chair, as familiar as the aroma of his St. Bruno flakes, infused into the dark promise of his worn, warm desk, impatient for his return.
I'm waiting still.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC
Can you imagine?
A school without teachers?
A court without bleachers?
A flag with no stars?
Bruno without Mars?
Can you imagine?
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
You pause the sewing machine, listen for any sounds other than the machine; there is none. It is oddly silent except for birdsong from the garden. You gaze out of the window in front of you, see the trees, the flowers, the children playing in the garden next door, and smile weakly. Your daughter would have been playing out there now if death hadn’t taken her, if things had been different. You can almost picture her there, her fine black hair, her deep dark eyes, that small smile about her mouth that seemed ready to break out into a laugh at the slightest thing, but the image you try to bring to the scene fades, is gone. You start up the sewing machine again, push the dress through with your fingers, try to drown out the thoughts and sound of children playing, of their happiness and joy, their youthfulness, their innocence. You look up again at the vase of flowers on the windowsill, at the potted plant that Bruno bought for you. He wants more from you than you are willing to give, wants more than you can give any more. Since Kitty’s death, you are unable to respond that way, unable to let his touch feel your flesh, touch you anywhere. You have not made love to him since that dreadful day; have not even thought about that side of things with him anymore. You think of being away from him, going away to the coast, staying with Sally in her house near the sea. You stop the machine and stare at the dress on the table. It is a child’s dress, one you are making for a friend’s daughter. To know Kitty would have been that size now, she would have loved it, would have fitted well inside the cotton dress quite well. Tears swell in your eyes, you bite your lip, you want to cry out loudly so that the entire neighbourhood would hear, know your grief. You wish Bruno would go away, divorce you, say something harsh, something real, but all he does is attempt to make things as they were and it cannot be that way anymore. You will go to Sally, will stay with her, will share her bed as you did that summer of Kitty’s death. Warm, safe, and a completely new lifestyle, a different approach to love and ********** that you had not dreamed existed. The thought cheers you slightly, makes your groin tighten, brings images to mind you thought you had left behind. And Sally will say, Jane, you are all too pale, too thin, and warp you in her arms, kiss you and you will dissolve into her and her love and bed, and Bruno will be gone from you as Kitty is, but she will remain in your heart and memory, will be there beside you smiling, playing with her dolls, singing those songs she sang, as you and Sally drive away the dark days. You start up the machine again, gaze at the trees, push the dress through eagerly to its near completion, watch as seagulls linger over head, calling the welcome of sea and a safe haven, and Kitty’s touch on your arm, ghostly, but near, so near.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
Broken flowers & ragged breaths
she spins the earth on a piece of string
legs sailing high on the swings
her toy dog, Bruno watches
closely by a worn copy
of a linen-bound Ulysses
her latest boyfriend told her
she was ' Loopy'
& now she doubts the
sweet voices in her head
talking in sacrilege
stirring up dread
'we all have our demons'
she had replied
' But not all of us give in'
he had said
& left her standing
by the gate
to sleep
& nevermore
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC
This man
philosopher, mathematician and astronomer
said "the sun was a star"
but the Roman Inquisition
thought he'd gone to far
Found him guilty of heresy,
but you will never guess
what happened next?
Tongue imprisoned for
what it could say,
his life they would take,
and so poor Bruno was
burned at the stake.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 8:58 AM UTC
Bruno
he trims a Cuban cigar and places it in his anti-authoritarian orifice:
Foreshadowing the mysteries of life brings the succulent cauldrons of mystical salaciousness to a boiling ardor. I’ll entice the myriad realms of your enchantress and wring the moisture out of your femininity. I’ve got a cat of nine tails in my hands- I dare you to stroke me, you sassy ***** just so you may know my obeisant oblations orchestrations. No other woman moves me like the feral ***** you employ.
Caspian
Choreographed katas supplement his beast.
He’s adamant and masculine, and plucks the strings of his guitar in anticipation of your ****** harmonies. Pounce firmly on his erotica erectile like the black panther of his lust’s rebellion. Caress the protuberance of his virility- mount his exsertion- hair on hair- wanton on wayward- peal him slowly with your agile ictus- he’s ambrosia and honey- extort the fecundity out of him and give it back like a fertile libation.
Roland
He’s like a Mayan calendar. Excruciatingly exacerbating, imperturbably tenacious. He’ll draw the sport out of you and make you bounce like a cowgirl on a bronco. Only to buck you off and leave you in the dust like a flaccid martyr on the ground he tramples. You’ll reminisce his wily gate where ever you tread, and ****** yourself at the thought of his machismo machinations as you rode his determinism.
Sol
His exotic lightning vaunts in the celestial canopy. The blood of new world wizardry, he seduces from the apex axis of his citadel pinnacle. His warrior heights ooze with the psychic clarity of zoomorphic demagoguery’s rebellion and make the knight groan with exigency. The weight of his words, the upward convection of their accessional draws sweat and *** from your extant. He can sense your arousal from miles away and seduces your mind like a torrential deluge.
Richthofen
He is manumission, no more the faded vision of body incarnates ghosts. He writes of the enrapturing mesmeric-ness of its inebriation to tantalize his wanton decadent blatancy’s flagrant. Impetus intrigue and intuitional verve become sensual currency. He’s the lounging lion, the puissant God, the edifice ******** of pornographic wit. The incongruous incognito with no moniker. Seduced by your poet he would romance the *** out of you and leave you enraptured with your own anonymity at the edge of the new world freeway.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 11:40 AM UTC