I've chaptered longingly...storied...
where the characters of him can
not stand apprised...no ***** to be
girded.
As yet...and as yet...a momentous
patience has captured the essence
that can not motion...but be beyond
doubt.

flipping through pages of his mind,
caressing unspoken quotes; I whisper
slang of lust in his ear, ******* his big
ego to the bottom of his page, while his
drool trickles between breast; uttering
syllable after syllable as I re-write his script.

his hardness speaks fluently, inking
parchment with liquid tipped quill, oh! the
thrill as I bend his will, to fluidly flow; dipping
in inkwell of thoughts, penning desires and
want in liquid diatribe of lustful pleasures; like
a moth to flame flickering, as I lick verbs in
hunger to peruse his re-written script;
gripping sheeted pages to uncover his
beguilement; drinking in acknowledgment
of his golden chalice.

I want to decipher his member in autographed
curlicues of calligraphic swirls, teasing and
taunting as he watches, awe-struck; as tongue
etches each throbbing vein in ebonized charcoal,
sketched upon pages of wanton verses making
him scream with passion in prose; on bended
knee tasting my rose, penning his moans in
quotes against throat.

in heat of our passion, pages and scripts are
flipped allowing him to drip ink upon lips as I
whisper softly to his mind; want of him to grind
his neb of ache within my archive, articulating
history of hunger; as limbs mime each cursive
letter, insinuating one vowel at a time; licked
against silken parchment in tender stroked
consonant utterances; shuddering inside  
walls as nouns clench and moans escape
in adjectives shattering mind as wet tendrils
slide down firmness, fore, only she can do this
to me; making me flip volumes of pages while
inside wetness she drips ink all over in
chaptered stages.

each chapter I lick her spine; cornering her
in my mind as a sensual adversary; claiming
her as I untie her collection of copious sighs,
my mind tries to deny copyrights to her library;
as I place her upon my shelf, while against the
wall; ravishing her like the wild section of animal
kingdom, lusting while I watch her body fall
prey to breathless hunger, devouring
and savoring her bookmark; paying full
attention to her glossary of delectability,
that melts upon tongued bilingual text;
her nectar leaves its imprint upon
our handbook of worded aphrodisiacs.

cherishing our artistic volumes in ardency as
we're ready to publish our first draft, but not
before I slide her lubricious cover upon my
shaft; we begin to lay strokes of signatures
against our first editioned copies belonging
soley to us, as we scream in accented jargon
every second I tease; easing in and out,
shouting out in voweled ecstasy; gliding
thickness, gently against taut bookmark.

turning each page with deep thrusts, into her
inkwell; as I swell with friction, speaking in
fluent diction, of addiction to her sweetness;
dripping, as I'm slipping in tomes; thinking
about how she begged me to re-write our script,
spilling ink in delirious closure, in *******
exposure while losing our artistic composure;
writing manuscripts as ink spills upon volumes
of pages in disclosure.

Life is like a puzzle
Scattered all over the floor
Tossed aside and dumped on
No puzzle piece falls the same way
Like snowflakes are never the same
Every puzzle just a little easier
When you understand the picture
Trying to be portrayed
But what if it was just a blank puzzle
Each piece painted after it was put together
My life puzzle isn't complex
Just not sure where the pieces go
Mother abandonment issues
Father hardly even one
Family quick to disown
Friends committing suicide
Everybody leaving me in different ways
**** what piece is next to be placed
Guess the puzzling chaptered pieces
Just fall the way they want to

A boiling sun won’t melt my ache today.
I’ve been this puddle for awhile now.
Tomorrow is tomorrow is tomorrow is gone.
I can’t ******* breathe without choking these days.
These days,
These moments that used to blend together seamlessly
Are now chaptered by how I feel on a scale from 1-10.
Today it’s 6.
Yesterday it was 2.
Tomorrow it is -10 degrees in June.
I put on my jean shorts and apply sticky bug spray,
But still feel the summer snowflakes on my cheeks,
Telling me that all summer is just a another war,
this time painted with dandelions and water.

I’m nice, I’m fragile. I’m deeply unclean.
Two-faced, I’m writing about my mistakes
In a truest, maybe, snapshot escape

Even opaque, small, mocking pokes
Deepen that parasocial machina
From the black mirror, marching, it groped

I ignore my mind when it’s trying the most
I ignore my dad when he’s dying. I hope
The end is as transitory as it’s in memory

Then am I smearing a brainstalk Gemini
Their name around, on a leash, I spoke
Like ants emerging from the scaffolds of Babel

Like grotesque stats- like millions- Billionsthought
Those that huff endorphins as if in some battle
Half-twins and crows feet back-bearing taut

Rope, learning for the first time to tie them. Again,
in Wonderful Heat, or the West, and a Siege
Spanning, hilariously, the contiguous Bethlehem

I’m lost. I’m dirt-caked. I’m dragging a scene.
Chaptered; I’m acting it out in the mud
In a ghostly transparence before only your sun

Even fainting, trying to see my reflection
Deep- God, “Somewhere!” within the cogwork
Into ‘stead pulled the mud stains suction

I stir, my mouth sputters out with invicta
I breathe. For the sun, can I see still, is living
A last invocation, and its light dims the distance