"colt" poems
My aged mum excitedly points outside
White flowers burst open bright overnight
She says they look like popcorn
I love her metaphor and play along
Flowers white like popcorn bright
Tickled by the heat of the micro light
Mum speaks of small things in her big age
Sun, rain, wind, hot, cold, quite days
The unrelenting pain in her legs
and memories of things she could once do with ease
She speaks of the coming and going of mischievous monkeys
real monkeys - not metaphors
She tells of how they brazenly steal her fruit
when she is alone at home - teasing her
as they walk backwards out the glass door
slinging their stolen bananas like a colt 44
My mum sits across from me
the sun gently brushes her short silver grey strands of hair
Today she wears a pretty pink dress - patterned bright
with pretty pink and blue flowers - reflection
of the pretty flowers outside
She sits in serenity - she is at peace - inside
My niece pops corn in the microwave
My sisters biryani fills the hungry air
My brother in law awaits his birthday party
I am at home
The pretty white flowers
silently blossom in the yard
I sit across from my metaphor mum
My poet, my muse, my loving bard
Stanley Arumugam
Richards Bay
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
last night i woke up from a nightmare.
my boyfriend of 2 years knocked on my door,
held a colt 45 to my chest,
smiled,
told me "i love you baby"
and pulled the trigger.
i didn't die,
no, that would be too easy.
i stood there, bleeding and hopeless
and watched him pull the trigger
with the gun to his temple.
the twisted thing is,
watching hurt more.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
His nights are restless, endless dreams
of young men climbing ladders.
The ones who stop to fix their vests
are left below, row after row
there seems no end, distorted faces,
silent screams through bottle bottom glass.
Twenty winters wishing that
the dream might finally end,
he tilts his head and looks at God
above his bed, a crucifix upon the wall,
his Jesus hangs and bleeds for sins
of lesser men but for him there is no comfort,
he can't escape the scene of drifting death
and flotsam, sailors drinking blood
from swollen corpses, greedy
in the eyes like the sharks
that encircle them.
When daylight comes
still no relief, he sits among
his salty sheets and chokes
on waves of guilt. Deceit
will always be his master,
every day no different
than the rest
except,
today he’s had enough,
the dead,
they will not cease their torment.
Twenty winters waiting
but the dead won’t go away.
The boys who stopped to fix their vests
The man with gaping wound in chest
The burning wreckage going down
The screams of those who soon would drown
The oily water thick as mud
The utter chaos, flesh and blood
The rabid thirst he could not quench
afloat in pools of human stench
He goes outside and lies upon
the grass, a Navy Colt revolver
in one hand, a toy soldier in the other,
he puts the gun against his head
and pulls the trigger.
Twenty winters
Twenty winters
Rest
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 20, 2011 at 8:00 AM UTC
As I finish the book,
The guy in the corner says,
Are you a feminist for real or are you the extreme feminist just like they say?
Trouble,
Tugging,
Tension,
Haven't you ever heard these words my way ?
They spill out my pockets as I find a safe route to home today.
I,
I'm a person, I live to see my kids everyday,
I drive my car with the colt in the back to make sure I reach home today.
I,
I'm a fire, I'm a story to be told,
Yet I lock upon your entrance because for you I'm a singular sight to behold.
You,
You Animal,
You Unchastised Beast.
Struggle,
Strive,
Strenuous,
Strength,
Is the only way I fight your ***** hands off my naked body piece.
I,
I human,
I wrong,
I be the woman that calls hell upon.
You,
You be man,
You be government,
You be aid,
You filthy human being,
But I'm the one to blame.
You,
You liar,
You sniveling little rat,
I,
I innocent,
I sorry,
I right,
Yet I hide like a wet cat.
Naked,
Nauseous,
Nightmare,
The words I have befriended in the absence of the lord.
I,
I hungry,
I scared,
I lost,
I join my hands in agony and frustration for the only consented hand upon me is that of the god.
His,
His mother,
His sister,
His friend,
Be nothing to you,
You tear her body with your claws, your vein's pulsing with *****
You,
You drunk,
You wrong,
You animalistic,
Yet as you slide down my skinny jeans, in tonight's bet I'm the innocent one to lose.
I walk upon the sidewalk and all I hear you say,
You ****
You *****
You ***** from across the shore,
Why don't you slide that hoody up above your shoulders and show me some breast?
You look at me like I'm a chicken piece,
You drool and spank as I pass by
And look at me like I'm the one who suggest.
You,
You father,
You teacher,
You preacher,
You barman,
You taxi man,
You footballer,
You man.
I,
I wreck,
I cavity,
I ****
I **********
I slam piece,
I brothel but no church,
I woman and I naked.
So as I walk up home wearing those tiny shorts,
You pick me up in those black tinted window cars,
I scream,
I yell,
I beg,
I plead.
You shove it down my throat.
You tear my humanity,
You make me bleed.
You,
You stupid,
You arrogant,
You ignorant,
You fool.
You don't know my power for I'm the Gaya to your tomb.
You miscreant,
You rogue,
You bleeding stinking wretch.
You see that halo around me,
I'm your mother,
Your daughter,
Your sister,
Your wife,
Your god.
And every time you look at me with those ugly eyes,
I want you to see my halo glow.
As I picked up my book from the table,
A feminist, A masculinist,
A equality finder,
A woman,
A girl,
I find a name to pick and say,
And I look at your rustic self and I say
'You Don't Even Deserve To Know'
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:59 AM UTC
The fascination of what's difficult
Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent
Spontaneous joy and natural content
Out of my heart. There's something ails our colt
That must, as if it had not holy blood
Nor on Olympus leaped from cloud to cloud,
Shiver under the lash, strain, sweat and jolt
As though it dragged road metal. My curse on plays
That have to be set up in fifty ways,
On the day's war with every knave and dolt,
I swear before the dawn comes round again
I'll find the stable and pull out the bolt.
3.1k
Usain Bolt, like a thunder bolt,
Darted towards his final halt
With all his might combined
Pushing his opponents behind
Making the world wonder if Bolt - a colt
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC
I said I love you in the field of honor
and she was like a colt, her name
like the moon caught in my throat,
she was water I held in my hands
like the canoe I worked through the river,
and she was a flash at two-thirty
in the morning of the suicidal knife,
and she was a fire of pine cones,
a butterfly that lit on the float of my pole,
and she was like the night herself.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
He may love himself
But every man has
A weakness,
He loves his face too much
And a broken body
Is not a good one
For modelling
Cashmere scarves
And playing
Waterpolo.
This will be
Your downfall Adam
One day,
A guy’s gonna
Land you one
Right on the chin.
It’ll be like
A Magnum Colt going off
It’ll send you reeling
And even death will wince
Before taking you.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 9:42 AM UTC
Passion fruit. Banana ***** papaya dreams so nice and juicy.
Papa's up. The game is down, these other kings just ain't around.
Bang, Bang, Who's Up?! Bang, Bang, Who's Down?!
These other authors they hit the ground.
I don't mean to fright, I don't mean to leave
I just got this thing that drives me.
I don't need to fight, but it feels, so, soo, good.
But all the po' lease think that it's my neighborhood.
Ooh girl I like ya'
C'mon over I like ya'
Ooh girl I like ya'
C'mon over I'll bite ya'
I know you's a freak, so bring a friend
I got rubber sheets, so I can break you in
Some other girls, think go around
But the truth is I just go downtown
The Rick Owens Store is like my homepage
If you ain't Facebook than you ain't gettin' laid
Obscur is fresh, Henrik's a boss, but I have to say
Trentemoeller really Lost. I liked Last Resort, even
Harbour Trips, but lately he's been on some ****** up ****
My parents want me to go get a Jay Oh Bee
But I'm too busy, sleeping.
My baby's face is porcelain, but I can't afford it
So I said it looked aluminum.
Dem people not, be steppin' on my toes
Cause' I'll show up reppin' Sheridan Rd. with my Colt '44.
Ooh girl I like ya
C'mon over ya ripe now
Ooh girl I like ya
C'mon over I'll bite ya
Your black garters' hot, so is yo' lace bikini
When it comes to lingerie, I play it like Houdini
Whether it's Agent Provocateur or Victoria's Secret
I hold my *** until I can put it in your ****
Relationship is such a ***** word
But when it comes to ***** I like 4-letter verbs
You can bring..um..whatever you want
But if you gotta **** **** ***** I'm out.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
We've got bagpipes and buskers,
cannons, and clip.
Lots of marijuana, and tons of tall ships.
Plenty of seafood, and point pleasent park.
It looks pretty lame, until the streets become dark.
Weve got the Citadel hill, and pavilion kids.
lockups, and lockdown. All things that we did.
Plenty of days, where we fell on our *** ,
smokin dope in the glade, and layin on grass.
With colt 45, and 151.
Alexander keiths, and malibou ***
Weve all jumped a fence, and swam chocolate lake.
No other province could handle the risks that we take.
Cause were crazy,obviously, were maritimers.
Dartmouth, and spryfeild.. Hell, our schools are the worst.
But its halifax, Nova scotia.
We do it our way.
Live like the east coast,
Cause i do everyday.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
A late night phone call awakes the teen.
The voice calling elicits sweeter dreams.
She's asking for a late night rendezvous.
She says she misses his eyes of blue.
The boy stealthily sneaks down the hall.
There was no way he would ignore the call.
He opens the door and feels the autumn chill.
And he smiles thinking of the upcoming thrill.
He jumps on his bike to begin the journey.
Even the long ride can't ease his yearning.
As he pulls into the alley at the back of her place.
He sees a beautiful and innocent face.
They make some small talk to break the ice.
But her sweet perfume smells way too nice.
So he leans in closer to steal a passionate kiss.
And she accepts him and grants his wish.
Their breathing was heavy and hands explored.
There was a certain need that couldn't be ignored.
But before the heat could engulf the night.
There was the sound of a door and suddenly a light.
He made for his bike like a lightning bolt.
And he peddled away like a run away colt.
The last thing he heard was angry father's yell.
If I ever see you again I'll send you straight to hell.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC
I want you to see the hole in my shirt
where your heart went through like a Colt 45,
and opened a dream at the back of the neck.
Here,
let me unbutton it for you.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 11:31 PM UTC
It is where it is, not where you are...
Switched this week from ice coffee,
Back to hot, on September Thirteenth.
The chain busted,
No Adirondack throne, no audiences of
Southbound geese, my new ******** fans,
No **** arrogant deer
Pitying the stupid humans,
Occupying their lands.
No racing rabbits, crickets underfoot,
And in the house,
No raccoons bigger than a colt.
No just living, breathing eyes, seeing paradiso,
No place for god to come visit to chill,
And ask for atonement for chemical weapons
No bay waves soulfully soothing,
No sun, no cherries by command,
The breeze, voila, a nasty cold wind,
The bath-waves ain't no **** substitute,
Not-Near good enough,
No matter how hard I splash.
**** right I was worried.
I lifted up my eyes to the mountains—
From where will my poetry come from?
From men.
From women.
From you-reminding me,
It is where it is, not where you are...
It is here in the unread tragedies,
The wails so plain, repetitive,
The screams that never cease, the
Poems, yours, that deserve ten thousand likes,
But die ignored, despite, my best efforts.
It is in the newspapers,
Chroniclers of our daily,
Inhumanity,
And papal words, that lift a jew's heart,
That poems get birthed.
It is in the woman's dictums
About doing this and that
And where that is most preferred.
Point made. Quitting time.
It is where it is, not where you are...
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
His old mare cantered into to town
The covered wagon followed
A boy's first trip to town alone
He took it in, and swallowed
Penny candy dreams last night
And sarsparilla floats
The ladies' parasol fineries
The men in pinstriped coats
Perhaps a whiskey, what the hell
Today he was a man!
But first the livery stable for Brownie
For oats and a water can.
The .30-30 saddle gun would come with him, of course.
He also grabbed the belted Colt from the pommel of his horse.
The warped board sidewalks led past stores
His worn boots clopped along
He strapped on the .36 Navy Colt revolver
And fastened down the thong
He clopped down to the first saloon
Laid his rifle on the bar
A sporting girl sat next to him
With the unlikely name of "Star"
"A milk for the lady.
Myself as well,
Barkeep, if you please!"
A cowhand howled out raucous laughter,
Flipping up Ms. Star's dress, to well above her knees
"That little pup, he wants some milk
So Star, give him yer ****
I'll bend him over, spank his ***
And then give YOU a treat!"
The young man's vision doubled, trebled,
The shame clear on his face
As tears welled up in big blue eyes
A witness in every soul in the place
"Aw, the little ***** is bawling! WAH!"
The cowhand bellowed out
And all false mirth left his expression
And he gave the boy a clout
The boy just sat and sobbed and watched
As Ms. Star joined in the joke
But cowhand was already 3 bottles in,
In a flash, her nose was broke
Cowhand reached across the boy
To grab that sweet, sleeved rifle
The boy grabbed cowhand's wrist just then
And twisted it just a trifle
A yelp and howl from cowhand's mouth,
"YOU BROKE MY ****** WRIST!
NOW you're ****** you little sprat"
He took a swing, and missed.
Red faced, clumsy, humiliated
He drew leather on the boy
Dead to rights, he had the kid,
He realized, with grim joy
An explosion, a thump, on warped pine floor
Blue smoke curling in the air
Utter, vapid, vacuum silence
Patrons cemented to their chair
The tears were gone from those blue eyes
Blue steel as his gaze fixed
A hole had grown in cowhand's head
The size was .36
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
I rode the crested waves
that graced the coptic sea
And crashed into the shores
of North Africa
The water was as warm
The blood hotter still
No one went on living
unless they had the will
You never made a friend
nor aquaintence by the hill
Life was sweet and short
Too easy to be killed
Your best friend was a bottle
A cigarette would do
And in emergencies
a colt 45 was too
We smuggled guns and roses
across the white hot sands and dunes
We bartered in broken languages
while whistling a softer tune
With a third eye looking back
where bullets would fall as rain
On our way to Gibraltar
One dip salute , rev the engine of the plane
There is no water to quench you
To wash away the sins
The waves of guilt run over you
They bring the sharks with fins
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 5:16 AM UTC
she came in out of the dark rain
her guns hanging loose at the ready
her worn leather death hand just driftin above
the handle of her colt
eyes searching for the hard glint of steel
in the faces of the saloons crowded floor
but none had noticed her come in from the storm
she walked to the bar and called out
for a whiskey
leaned and let all but gun hand rest
as one of the prettiest bargirls came up
and smiled for a drink
without conversation the girl lead her
to a backroom
and this gypsy's night was filled with hot passions
and the gun hand was forgotten
in the sweet arms of virgina citys sweetest rose
but morning came with the rolling
of the steamtrains whistle
and the sheriff calling out the gun hand
she had laid some dog of a man low
for putting his hands on his woman
now she got to hang
cant be shootin our law abiding folk
we don't take kindly
this gunhand
this leather clad hard riding woman
with the softest sweetest heart
the kindest of souls
wasn't gonna let em hang her
for shooting down a ***** dog of a man
so she kissed sweet rose long an deep
and bid that sweet girl fare thee well
took up her colt
out into the dusty raw heat of
noonday sun she stepped with
her gun hand driftin over the **** of her colt
eyes blazin for the fool of a sheriff
who had come to lay her low in the name of justice
in the name of their lie of a town
they faced eachother and drew pistols
both got off a shot
one fell to the dusty earth
never to rise again
the other laid down pistol
and walked away
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
Texas Rangers' pointed stars he wore
as rowels on the shank of his spurs with pride.
The holes in the center punched with squint not
scowls and his .45 Colt Peacemaker true and tried.
Nothing personal against the Rangers,
they just didn't understand.
They chased him for the killing of strangers
whose whiskey tempers forced his hand.
He wore their stars upon his spurs not as a prize
for his skill in killing two of Texas' best,
but for their courage and their pride.
Now he spends his last years in Mexico
with his back to the wall and Peacemaker
on his side.
Playing poker, stealing tequila drunken
outlaws gold.
Eights and Aces they always stand.
An outlaw by default
never again to cross the Rio Grande.
r
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 6:52 AM UTC
Mysterious child
Earth as the mother figure
Majestically robed
In the land of kindly gods
Teach me how to run wild
You call out to me
I am connected to you
We tour as heroes
Across the plains of kindness
Teaching you to ride through life
Magical talents
Seem to travel beneath you
For whenever we
Journey onward together
We gallop powerfully
Your gifts are unique
I will help you discover
Together are we
Traveling clairvoyantly
A true motion of thunder
My spirit is free
I learn to view destiny
With you I receive
More than I thought I could be
Nothing is holding me back
You were born to be
More than you know my dear child
I gift unto thee
The realization to see
Nothing is holding you back
In recognition
Of your incredible stride
I want to learn how
To move beyond and decide
How to become what I ride
You will soon conceive
As you begin to trot through
How I will guide you
As you fly further than most
Accepting all that you are
I need to hold on
My balance seems a bit off
I try to steady
This is the path I must take
Faith's asking me to trust you
Take hold of my mane
The saddle fits you just right
You will find comfort
The path you're taking is fate
You must trust me in good faith
I want to look back
But I know there is no need
I open my heart
To tell myself honestly
There is nothing left to fear
Look forward with me
As I guide you, you guide me
Our hearts beat as one
You're listening consciously
Your spirit's safe here with me
My hands need no reigns
It's like you've always been here
You never left me
My lodestar, my exemplar
We cross the range unrestrained
Steady and complete
And I will always be here
I never left you
My colt and child of the light
Our freedom is our delight
Giddyap!
Giddyap!
©tHE tERRY tREE
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Smells like Gun Powder in the empty room
tainted by the aura of damaged memories
feeling my armor worn out and weary
going down the stairs, the lights are fading
warm blood in my hands like a distant afternoon
I'll ride shotgun with a shotgun like in the old days
and we'll make a right turn on memory lane
just make sure to stop at every corner
so I can blast your remembrance away.
Smells like Gun Powder on my side of the bed
where for the hundred time you ask if I'll be ok
I wish I had some Whisky,
it sure is wishful thinking
in my dreams I am always sober,
somehow never drinking
quite the opposite of the real life I lead
I can always count on my nightmares
to always find you here
in our worn out bed fully clothed
facing the window
and your face clenched in sorrow
is a moving talking picture.
It's pouring down again
in the forgotten ghost city
we take a turn towards oblivion,
where you surprised to see me?
under the leaves of an old tree
contrasting the projects brick buildings
incessant rain flows from our eyes
like a fluent turbulent river
wondering if I should build an ark
or if it would be worth the pain
and take a wild shot in the dark
and save us both from this fast sinking boat
how did we even navigated the sea of love
without lifesavers to keep us afloat?
How did we lost what was so hard find?
Smells like gun powder every second of my life
my emotional ammo gets packed on an old Colt 45
a revolver that turns back the hands of time
I'll measure every word, retracing every step,
without derailing my train of thought
inhaling the gun powder
like the ashes of this love
trying to give my Spotless Mind
Eternal Sunshine at long last
in the basement tied to a chair
I came to find myself...
barely clutching my fate in one hand
and what's left of my conscience on the shelf.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 3:06 PM UTC
there’s a madness to the method
just like madness to the **** head
just like sadness when a pets dead
So shaman practice to ***** death
dream up palace for the friends beds
give up hours made to break bread
we’ve a table so we share meds
******* tired, mai oui bed spread
going line by line
with a fine tooth comb
this my time to shine
that’s a spine made moan
ecstatic just like ﻮ๏๔ up on the phone
syncretized to science
split the spine to find it
sip divine in silence
܁܁܁પﻭɦ܁܁܁
sift my mind is chalice
peep my mental palace
be love be never callous
self poison only malice
who’s next up ?
Phil my boy defining finding
fluid flows that’s kinda violent
quiet convos
with sigma shamans
hidden wicked prevented
predicted problems
consciously coming
to all three of the shy
๓ﻉ & ฝﻉ & ฝɦﻉก; ๓ค & ๓ﻉ & Շɦﻉ๓ร
I might get off my ult
while I sip off my colt
best slip off that coat
when you roll with me
Where were going...
its too hot for that ****
Sometimes we the hero
Sometimes we the zero
Sometimes we the feeder
Sometimes we the carry
Sometimes we don carry
way too much up on our shoulders
heavy stacking rolling over boulders
etch away the borders
swaying over voters
reeving up the rotors
drinking with the smokers
hugging all the soldiers
all the loners
better freeze time
so we can compose
the pose for all the posers
oppose the poachers
humans are people
Not supposed to be vultures
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC
science has entrenched itself in stating that original humanism is an idiocy, science believes that only scientific humanism can suffice, and original humanism i.e. humanism not schooled in science is a waste of time, man's development watching paint dry, i.e.: i feel dumber writing a poem and not an equation to align to einstein's relativity.
the english don't recognise long-term humour,
a bit like the polish not able
to recognise old school migrants of
their mutual organic constituents
speaking their tongue, they play it dumb,
with statements like huh? what? om?
the english are smart, let's not disagree,
but their intelligence is short-lived,
like their appreciation of humour,
quick wit buckle stiletto (meaning an easy
girl), they're intelligent in terms of
how quickly you colt-drawn a six-shooter into
conversation for a pick-me-up,
the english have short-term intelligence
exercised for humoristic attention,
their long-term humour is used in defending
democracy... the english have no long-term
humour parameters, i'm guessing because
of the celts... it's all short-term, i.e.:
how quickly can i retort to a joke and choke
on a whimsical mushroom that's an umbrella?
hence the many innovations...
steam engine... the umbilical cord attached
to arabia... joke is quick... joking is quicker...
tense social parameters of having a drink...
laugh it up... drink alone.
*they make slapstick damnable and satire exceptional,
but their satire requires canned laughter,
it's called satire but i call it lazy humour...
look what slapstick gave us... charlie chaplin
gave birth to adolf ******* ******
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
I drank deeply
from her dimpled cup,
focussed my mind,
that was jumping like a colt,
and made my
prophecies thus:
"you are the daughter
of a reclusive prince
(who could also be a pianist )
a dark power wanted
to liquidate him,
but his mind was luminant,
his will was so strong,
he fell head over heals
in love with a gypsy,
a wandering mendicant
who was a magician of love.
**he loved the magic in life,
no wonder he was saved.**
You will
lose your virginity
to a powerful man
whose power will not
harm this world a bit!
**(powerful not harming us
is indeed rare!)**
you will give birth to a son,
who could be a king
(though monarchy now is no option
kings by other names aren't rare!)
even if they make him king,
he would abdicate and in turn,
would lead a life loving trees, rivers,
all in the nature,
light, and darkness he considers alike.
**he is brave, with a heart
brimming with love**.
you are a blessed woman
spirit of gypsy is alive still.
give a hoot about money,
but be contended with
**abundance of beauty you create,
in ways none can imagine!**
you don't want to change
the world a bit as you like,
but let everything go
in the order it should,
and just walk past
the busy streets,
towards
a breath taking sunset"
i heard an eloquent silence.
she jumped up from her seat,
took a swig of Champaigne,
and kissed me twice.
O
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
Mr Kalashnikov I'll ask you nicely
Please don't point that thing at me
Laszlo Biro how nice to see you
Without you where would we be?
Mr Molotov may I remind you
You are in polite company
May I present the Earl of Sandwich
Do partake of his wares
And special desserts are served soon after
Presented in person by Anna Pavlova
The Duke of Wellington brought in some mud
Mr Macintosh is expecting a flood
Candido Jacuzzi and Joseph Pilates
Appear to be making friends
Henry Shrapnel and Joseph Guillotin
Who invited them?
Ferdinand von Zeppelin,
Perhaps you would like a schnapps?
Mr Winchester, Mr Colt, Mr Gatling, Mr Lewis
So many gunmen I'm alarmed I confess
May I trouble you Mr Hoover
To help tidy up the mess?
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
Blood rushed to my face.
Reminds me of hot steam rushing to the ceiling while I shower.
The child in me wanted to skitter away--like a wild, galloping colt tripping over its legs.
But the woman in me stayed, grounded by the hulking rock of my deep emotion.
...Just a small glance--
A sheepish grin
As I perceived it.
I liked the tenderness there.
Piercings below his lower lip accentuated the smile I witnessed.
The one that lit up my eyes,
It was the reflection of fire in a mirror.
The piercings were black-pegged snake bites
Blending in well on the face they adorned
Seeming
To invite me towards
The shy curves of
His dark lips
To explore them,
and the protruding presence of the metal that was so becoming of him.
Neither of us approached the other,
And this subtle exchange turned into our little secret:
A delicious,
Lovely,
Vulnerable,
****
Secret.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC