"corresponding" poems
Souls search for corresponding measures with gossamer vines through ether
Trapped in corporeal form often drifting between the learner and the teacher
Passing the souls mate yet missing the eyes of fate’s tomorrow
Spending years or a lifetime without a match in loss and sorrow
Souls never lost or seen in a colored perfectionist spectacle
Yet still touch the heart and mind even though vestigial
We cannot find the split soul’s half with judgmental eyes
And if all we see is material, we may never hear a soul’s cries
For the one that makes us whole often wears a disguise
We are lucky enough to peer into the same blue skies
So when you find your souls match, you will know in an instant
You will feel like the sun, or at the very least like you just kissed it!
Walking you into a warmth that is rarely ever seen
You feel as though you lay on clouds, or lost in a pleasant dream
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
there are many on record
the caves
the tunnels
the blinding light..
a hesitation
on the line
between life and death..
so many forms of death
each with corresponding life
these deaths
a passing of day into night
a passing storm
dark passages
each exhalation..
in each of these
a transition is reached
life and death not distinguished
the tunnel becomes
is the light..
so we read the reports
awakening
to life's primary
signal...
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
Universal love
Corresponding hearts
Beating tandem
In tune
In tune
Ohh if I was sure
Id let it be known
Cause we've been here
Taken me there
High upon high
Laying beneath soil
Touching skies
Flowers
In bloom
In bloom
Tell me of something
Has poison ever sex'd lips
Making it unreasonable
To mistake this
Tune in bloom
Mary
Mary
Sweet David and Joseph
Blasted hits
Beyond stars
You've dragged me closer
Still so far
In tune
In bloom
Vile bitter taste
****** from a tip
Drank slowly
Drunken sips
I've dreamed
Excuse nightmares
Visions of you
Mary
Mary
Sweet you and I
Revelry
One hell of a guy
The face that kills
Murderer of the night
In tune
In bloom
Given up fight
Ohh Mary
Mary
Martha too
It wasn't I
But demons
That chased you
Sweet David
Dance your jig
With a fiddle mans tune
In bloom
In bloom
Only by the day
Has the end come clear
Mary
Holds Martha
Out of fear
David clutch his hand
Beg for mercy
On our behalf
Once again
Universal love
Corresponding hearts
Adam loved Eve
As the time starts
Ohh what a lovely garden
Hidden between thighs
Cause we've been there
High upon high
Laying beneath you
Scratching skies
Sweet David and Joseph
Has poison ever sex'd your lips
****** from a tip
Mary
Mary visions of you
Revelry
Murderer of the night
The face that kills
Mary
Mary
Martha too
Dance your jig
Forget the demons
That chase you
The runner
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 2:06 AM UTC
I have not been well lately
But I have a secret to tell you
It’s a success story: my most secret success
You see, I’m very skilled in crafting holes
And I’ve punched a massive hole
Right through the middle of my life
Please, don’t mistake this accomplishment for the result of talent
This is a skill and it takes practice to master
I went to college and learned to turn theories and ideals from basin to sieve
I learned to critique everything hopeful
And punched a hole right through the heart of hope
I honed my ability to close out creativity
I built a track down which to guide concrete linear thoughts
And I learned to use said thoughts as a battering ram with which to
Knock a hole in the barricaded door to dissatisfaction
And, though this skill is often practical
As you know, one cannot walk around wearing an open hole
So, a corresponding skill has successfully emerged
In parallel with nurturing voids
I have learned to conceal each and every hole
Sometimes with a thick canvass and
Sometimes with a paper-thin veneer
I may have learned to wrap a package
And to tie a bow
With the express purpose of packaging
The broken gift of life
Full of ugly holes
And, now, all that is left to complete the perfect ending to this success story
Is to grow old in a neatly kept apartment
Filled with the unseen haunts of relationships neatly hole-punched and
Filed in a hidden mental cabinet
Next to a night stand where I keep my phone and glasses
And across from the bed
There will be a glass trophy case
Full of trophies denoting various acceptable successes
But, just between you and I
The largest trophy denoting the largest success
Will be a lifetime achievement award
Bestowed for hollowing out what could have been
A beautiful life.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
Matrilineality is the tracing of descent
through the female line corresponding
to a societal system in which each person
is identified with their matriline;
– their _mother's_ image –
and which can involve the inheritance
of property and/or titles. A matriline is
a line of descent from
a common female ancestor
to a descendant of either ***
in which the individuals in all intervening
generations are mothers –
in other words, a "mother line".
In matrilineal descent,
individuals belong to the same
group as their mother.
The matriline of historical nobility
was also called the _enatic_ or _Uterine_ ancestry;
From Middle English wombe, wambe,
from Old English womb, wamb
(“belly, stomach; bowels; heart; womb; hollow”),
from Proto-Germanic *wambō
(“belly, stomach, abdomen”),
from Proto-Indo-European *wamp- (“membrane (of bowels),
intestines, womb”). Cognate with Scots wam, wame (“womb”),
Dutch wam (“dewlap of beef; belly of a fish”),
German Wamme, Wampe (“paunch, belly”),
Danish vom (“belly, paunch, rumen”),
Swedish våmb (“belly, stomach, rumen”),
Norwegian vomb (“belly”), Icelandic vömb
(“belly, abdomen, stomach”), Old Welsh gumbelauc (“womb”),
Breton gwamm (“woman, wife”),
Sanskrit वपा (vapā́, “the skin or membrane
lining the intestines or parts of the viscera,
the caul or omentum”).
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
Infinite amounts of definitions could not depict
The extent to which a structured norm
Is measured
Blindness adjoins clarity, while sight provokes vanity
It is an aspect unhindered, lacking certainty
A single word yet so many portraits
Drawn on the canvas of our linked pathways
If you ask me about beauty, don’t
For my lips would quiver nonsense to you, to me
The mass of the universe that surrounds our whole being
The endless rows of glimmering stars that speak to our vulnerable eyes
Or perhaps, the raging force of life that springs from within us
If you ask me about beauty, don’t
Because you would have to look at yourselves to see
The beaming smiles corresponding with velvet risings of cheeks
The abundance of glistening tears that have embodied those very same
And even, the flashing spark of joy which invites a feeling of utter content
If you ask me about beauty, don’t
Otherwise there would be an influx of sentiments towards
The prettiness of colored nature, steadiness of height-breaking hills
The calmness of the bare sound of waves crashing into an advocacy for peace
The building blocks of surroundings that determine you and me
So if you ever want to ask me about beauty,
Bare the consequences in mind
Just the elaborate thought of such a question
Could raise a plethora of reasonings
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 7:21 AM UTC
An art movement is a tendency or style in art
with a specific common philosophy or goal,
followed by a group of artists during a restricted
period of time, usually a few months, years
or decades or, at least, with the heyday of the
movement defined within a number of years.
Art movements were especially important in
modern art, when each consecutive movement
was considered as a new avant-garde;
According to theories associated with modernism
and the concept of postmodernism, art movements
are especially important during the period of time
corresponding to modern art. The period of time
called "modern art" is posited to have changed
approximately halfway through the 20th century
and art made afterward is generally called contemporary art.
Postmodernism in visual art begins
and functions as a parallel to late modernism
and refers to that period after the "modern" period
called contemporary art. The postmodern period
began during late modernism, which is a contemporary
continuation of modernism; and according
to some theorists postmodernism
ended in the 21st century. During the period of time
corresponding to "modern art"
each consecutive movement
was often considered a new avant-garde.
Also during the period of time referred to as "modern art"
each movement was seen corresponding
to a somewhat grandiose rethinking of all that came before it,
concerning the visual arts. Generally
there was a commonality of visual style
linking the works and artists
included in an art movement. Verbal expression
and explanation of movements has come
from the artists themselves,
sometimes in the form of an art manifesto,
and sometimes from art critics
and others who may explain
their understanding of the meaning of the new art
then being produced;
In the visual arts, many artists, theorists, art critics,
art collectors, art dealers and others mindful
of the unbroken continuation of modernism
and the continuation of modern art even into the contemporary era,
ascribe to and welcome new philosophies
of art as they appear. Postmodernist theorists
posit that the idea of art movements
are no longer as applicable, or no longer as discernible,
as the notion of art movements
had been before the postmodern era.
There are many theorists however
who doubt as to whether or not such an era
was actually a fact;
or just a passing fad.
The term refers to tendencies in visual art,
novel ideas and architecture,
and sometimes literature. In music it is more common
to speak about genres and styles instead.
See also cultural movement, a term
with a broader connotation.
As the names of many art movements
use the -ism suffix, for example cubism and futurism,
they are sometimes referred to as isms
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
Too much synchronicity...
I feel you.
Your touch, your taste, your kiss, your skin.
Knocking me is the way to go, just put our lips together, and blow.
Baby, just breathe on me.
Blow on my soft flesh and kiss.
Lubriciously, lusciously, lustfully.
Breathe on my taste, my touch, my sin.
We don't even need to be physical, tonight, my senses don't make sense at all.
Our imaginations...
Take it in, let it out...
Baby, just breath on me.
Seductively, sensually, sexually.
We don't even need to touch, just breathe.
Baby.... **** yeah.
(Moans)
Feel my sin as it's desire that I unleash.
Magnitude, corresponding with your aching thought of impure lustful intention.
Intention, feel me grasp onto your every nerve with my non-physical touch.
Caress me, hold me, baby, don't even **** me, just breathe onto my neck, my shoulder, my breast, my stomach, my ***** my thigh, my legs, my ***
Can you feel it?
As I mind **** you, it's that tingling sensation I release.
Aaaaaaah, baby, stop, and just breathe.
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 7:26 AM UTC
In those days all thinking took place in his heart.
It had no favorite suburb, no shelter that was home,
immersed, as he was, in the Mojave of humanity,
memories of only former places through which he'd drifted.
Yes, there were women, storms of passion, brevity in bed.
Today, they only took him back in time,
reconstructing scenarios more of actions never taken.
Bedposts served as bivouacs for the nomad.
Here in this desert water assumes a circumstance,
the nomad becoming as fond of it as ambition.
Here silence need not be kept at bay, rather welcomed in,
though it looks down upon him in uncertainty.
Out there on the horizon he hears a sigh,
a mother tongue corresponding to his own.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
My hands move and the trees move
If you take a moment to reflect the trees existence in your own,
you receive a reflection of your existence from the tree.
So it goes, this is Nascor
Latin for to be born
And isn't this all we have done?
All the narratives fall under Nature,
the future participle of Nascor.
The key is to play in time.
You are being asked to sing, dance, breathe, eat, and drink.
These are ways to stay in homeostasis with the environment
in rhythm to the music
But guess what?
We can know what it's like to be others.
We do it to people we know
We can do it to collectives
and worlds of thoughts
but also
to animals and plants
and whatever we look at
we can try to put ourselves in its shoes.
You simply gesture in the manner corresponding to its behavior
to receive another gift.
The dualistic forms dance under the grace
of everything and nothing in their shadows.
It's a spiritual practice
to speak to anything.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC
A choice along one direction leads
to consequential choices based on quasi-essential needs.
And countless more directions;
some more pointless than they seem.
Each with unique-essential implications;
all random in their themes.
And when faced with new directions,
we all enjoy equating means.
There are sub-directions and sudden choices;
some with supplicatory pleas.
Yes, implication's long duration is an invisible machine.
A meta-physical motivation to a person and their genes.
Personally, my own choices corresponded
to these unlimited extremes.
To these tiny little time-transporters
that fit us into teams.
And I thought I'd reached a choice;
was on its corresponding way.
I followed down its passageways and subdomains
for consequential days.
And from the way that we all network,
I have come to the belief
that our decisions implicate
the parts that aggregate beneath.
Yes, every person has these combinations
aggregate throughout their lives.
And by the afore-mentioned complications,
They (eventually) divide to warring sides.
On one side is destruction;
On the other, love resides.
If you make the wrong decision
then these forces, they collide.
To catastrophic implications
and such damage done inside.
But if you're able to pause for just a moment
and hold them side-by-side.
You will find the sort of peace
that only finds those who have died.
And suddenly life becomes so simple;
no more chances need be applied.
Just one choice and two directions
Lie in front of your own eyes.
You feel quite amazing in
proportion to this fantastic new sensation.
As one choice takes you to destruction;
the other leads you to salvation.
It's the truest self-realization
and it's there for you to take it.
There's a chance of your damnation...
but, see, only you can make it.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
Set of black pearl knives
Parallel vagabond skies
Corresponding idea hives
Pair of strawberry lies
Radiant shivering fire
Exquisite heartstring mire
Resplendent silent choir
Magnificent desire pyre
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
Is there a heaven for me?
The remnants of my life
Only filled with ill-disposed darkness
Living with an unstable family of alkali metals
It's hard for me to live up to what you expect from me
Unable to grasp the simple point of living
Living in a world filled with corresponding atoms
Atoms that don't combine only collide
To form an atomic bomb
Waiting to explode
I'm just looking for a solution
To the problem that's within us all.
The point of living in a world
ill-disposed with darkness
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Maybe I just like any word
That comes from
Ben Gibbard's mouth
Or maybe it was the simple effects
You had on me
By doing the very simplest things
Such as sharing some songs
May 24th
"Can't Stand It" - Never Shout Never
..."Baby I love you, I never want to let you go..."
June 9th
"Thank You" - Dido
..."And I want to thank you
For giving me the best day of my life
And, oh, just to be with you
Is having the best day of my life"
September 23rd
"Bloom" - The Paper Kites
..."In the morning when I wake
And the sun is coming through,
Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness,
And you fill my head with you."
I have to admit, the song came over the radio on my way to class one night and I had to pull over the car to cry...
September 30th
"The Heart Of Life" - John Mayer
You told me: "No matter what happens, you will always mean the world to me. I will always think good of you. I will always love you."
...song goes
"Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No, it won't all go the way it should
But I know the heart of life is good"
I cry just thinking about this song. I sent it to you when you were upset. I tried to help you. I weep every time now, I'm such a wreck, because I doubt I mean a fraction of what I ever meant to you, anymore...
After you sent that to me, I replied to you:
"I didn't see my inbox until tonight. My poor heart is so broken. It just dropped to the floor. I'm so afraid of losing you. Otherwise I'm okay..." ...
Sent you this song
October 3rd
"Suddenly" - The Sheepdogs
..."My world at night
Is as quiet as can be
A self imposed solitude
Isn’t half as bad as it seems
But lord I sit tonight, and I dream of somebody
Who in the world could it be?"
You sent me back
October 7th
"Such Great Heights" - The Postal Service (Cover by Iron and Wine)
..."I am thinking it's a sign
That the freckles in our eyes
Are mirror images
And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned
And I have to speculate
That God Himself did make
Us into corresponding shapes
Like puzzle pieces from the clay
And true it may seem like a stretch
But it's thoughts like this that catch
My troubled head when you're away"
I cried so hysterically.
I cried so hysterically.
I cried and cried and cried.
I now cry and cry and cry and cry
Because you had taken me
To such great heights
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
Summon us the rain yet
With the drums that we recall I
Am the corresponding return
Beautiful lunar and thunder to
A rhythm where all seasons of the
Different viewpoints even ugly in the winter
Are holding up the Universal land
An outer space pond having
Baptized resurrection of acceptance in a chosen
Life-cycle that changes all of the
Symbols through your travels which are heavy.
Changes also equal to soul art
Echo countless metaphors of the
Mindless croaking bond.
Teach in us the thanksgiving of
Heaven's harvest and every single thing
That brings a drunkenness and promise of
Choristers with hymns on stone
For a prolonged life is in and of
What solid reawakening has fortuned deep within upon this earth.
Renewed as well returned I
Carry lucky charms and find that I am
Known in other words bound
With the Spirit to
An ancient stand
That is encountering such places found under
Forces much much before the
Egg existed in a frozen
Past lone part of all creation much much before the thorn
Grew from the rose bush you were jumping by
Far down the brook of evolution where the
Message that you ribbit warm or cold
Is soon discovered befriending those of heart and hearth
As we all listen to your lessons and
The magic song revival that you sing
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
The storm passes, winds once upliften have spent their embrace
and Nature calls anew to the ripening surges, budding grass once slumbered burst to life
while birds in willful glee dance the verge, whistling delight
to drink the freshened Air, our thundering night torn through the wastes
or swept swiftly along, kissed the Earth in glance of praise-
Our glad meeting, greeting and raucus entreating.
Here calls like clarion tones, like silver bells, attuned for an ascending climb
and scale of seeming or believing, less tightly held to vagrant wishing
but embraced in sight of sure horizons, traveling on like Osprey on the hunt
or Otter dove for the rivulet streams our minds intend, or hands direct-
a tinkling on the wire, vision, strength against the currents of our times
two matched in each, Above/Below...corresponding on.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
sun and moon stand side-by-side in the great starless sky of this Monday Sunday Tuesday workweek
with ambulance stoplight caution I leap from crevice to crack of the ***** cement walkways that tear across snowy fields
staring at the world around me - faces as solemn unreserved apathetic mirrors of nothing in their corresponding souls
pair them off in dialogues of the triumphs of the fabled GPA - its ********** growling dripping fangs embedded in their minds since sloppy second-hand birth
and I cry out and I cry alone for these are the summers winters springs falls etc and so on of my discontent
for I am a man among gods
gods of capitalism and communism and social disorder and bureaucracy
gods of music and poetry and written spoken words and fashionability
and the only false evidence of such godly aspirations remain on my body as fading bitemarks on my wrists from when once I tried so valiantly to tear my technicolor blood from these incontinent arms
but even in such times as those there was no salvation but for yellow-staining death sticks clutched between shaking fingers and melting shots fired down raw fleshy throat in rapid secession
the gods I hold so dear have left me for whatever come what may in these places of my mind filled with words and thoughts and images of your everything thrashing against nothing
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 11:44 AM UTC
you me and
blue
transitions
and far off horizons painted with wishes
one day....
we always say
tracing palms with fingers
soothsaying or prophesizing
cards played
wide-eyed amazed
grazing at life's tender
shoots
when as always it all
is so much simpler
than the mortal life
absolves on
a daily day all
tormented coiled inside
are ten million squirms
for every cry
never one answer
but one eternal theme
that rose blossoms true
and the vernal winds cool
once came a blue
on a storm's distal
view
and for every glint
of the sun comes a
distant hologram on the eye
a corresponding elegant
glow that lasts
into your visage a sign
that not all life and reality is
destined at once
to be recognized
just take things at face value a wary grace
faith if you will
and see
the sky
blue
that's all my wisdom
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 5:16 AM UTC
You could call me shattered. I'm a wife, mother, misplaced daughter, confused religious person, and an abuse survivor. My life has been painful and hell, my life is still painful; probably more so now than ever before. I'm learning to feel and it is one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life, next to surviving.
I'm a funny person but it's a dark, wicked kind of funny. I find humor in odd things, in my misfortunes, in my struggles, and in how others relate to me. Despite the humor I find, I deal with, at times, crippling depression. "Fine" is my response to any question of how I'm feeling. It's a lie and I have to change that. I envy the person who can answer my question of "how are you?" with honesty. They are honest because they know how they feel and they know the corresponding words. I'm weird, I assign numbers to my feelings and seek to keep a total perfect number which equals "fine". That means that I have to discount, or subtract, certain feelings to maintain the number "fine". I've learned that this is a bad habit; detrimental to my physical and emotional health. It is soul killing.
Fine is no longer an option. Somewhere along the way, I dismantled the ability to feel and secretly I know why.
So there you have it. Much like a toddler's emotional outbursts, I'm raw and extreme. I may not outwardly express this but on the inside I'm stewing and boiling at a blistering pace. Makes keeping track of my feeling numbers very difficult these days. On the outside, I'm a perfectionist and everything has it's place. It's all or nothing; black and white with me. I'm literal and it drives my husband nuts at times. I'm scared to let what I have on the inside spill out. It's toxic and I love those around me too much to let them get burned. But the very things I'm scared of the most, those feelings both good and bad, are what keeps me from embracing those same people that I love.
At this point, you're probably saying "good grief, this girl needs a therapist". I have one. A good one. I've have had one for nearly 8 years. Thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours later, here's where I'm at. Not impressed? You should be. I was a blob of flesh when I randomly picked a therapist off my insurance list and wandered into his office for the first time. I was a complete wreck. I really am better if you use that term loosely. I encourage you to do that because "better" is different for everyone.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
Subliminal messages they all give to thee
Telling me to reveal to their family
All the things they said to me.
Out there mouths the tales are told
After the casketing the letter X
With their arms I do fold.
Penning these words a gift I have been given
I write for the dead and I write for the still living.
Many a story, many a tale
Before it is to late there’s a special one
That I need to write that is in brail.
It’s time to lock your music box now
Locking you in forever your helping me on my quest
I hope to see you again someday soon
Till then have a good rest.
(SirCARSr. 9-04-13)
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
I need to pick a season
A season that I like,
Need to stick with it
And stay with it,
The choice that I arrive.
It's hard to have a favourite
When all seasons are sweet,
Snow-fall, sunny rays and rainy days,
All are trying to compete.
But monsoon never comes too soon,
Winter stays for four full moons
And summer is always unpredictable;
Shines bright to burn me down
Or never enough to blind me out.
With summer comes he
With blasting A/C and an LIT,
Bronze skin and bright smile,
Bottomless pitchers and endless miles.
Monsoon is an affair
With books and solitude;
Too much black coffee
And burnt-out candles,
And an independent attitude.
Alas, winter brings with it a longing
for someone who is never corresponding,
Craving him to keep me warm
But he was never mine to belong.
These seasons have a preference instead
They chose their people with actions unsaid.
It's fine I didn't get to pick my favourite season,
I guess I would never know,
Some things happen for a reason.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
Quivering flesh
Your lips on mine
Every stroke is a new sensation
Entwined limbs
Corresponding heartbeats
Can't get enough
Breath quickening
Sweat dripping
Pulses racing
Bodies shaking
Incoherent speech
Gasps and moans
Oh God, what a prayer tonight
Clenched fists
Eyes wide open
Long hard kisses
Perfect O's
Laying frozen
Tickled senseless
A silent moment of satisfaction
Slow breathing
Your fingers locked with mine
Two lovers drift asleep
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 10:34 AM UTC
If I was the lucky one
if a prize was to be won
I have gambled; I have lost
I've held on far too long.
The will to live fades and I've prayed.
I carried nothing but bare hide and bones
to your shelter of cracks in truth and holes in your faith
are home.
I lose myself and become blind
there is no heart or home of mine.
To forget is to force another
wanted memory from my mind.
To remain is torture, hypocrisy,
and secrets to hide.
To concern the self with fruitless pride,
in-valiant efforts
and a waste of valued time.
Time to divulge in the depths of nothing
To accept my fate
and time to wait.
Patience is time
and time to waste, on well placed venom
while love's demise is taken in haste.
The heart begins to consume the mind.
with thoughtless sadness and
denial of passed time.
All end in a bloodless destruction
by a vile end of a weakened spine.
Bodies of virility and sensation,
eager and satiable by little; given much
a cloak of blindness on tenderness and touch,
hale weakness, to be conquered by
corresponding lust.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
With rain covered kisses, transforming my placid wishes
I can't pretend
I'm ready to **** you like space and time is about to end
So as I transcend my byzantine brain beyond the bend
My heart starts beating like a gong,
Both, high above the throng
You in that turquoise thong
The crescendo in my gaze,
A potent phase coalescing our ****** rage
My tongue sinks into your supple skin
No longer can we play this subtle game,
A salacious urge pulsates through our veins
Bare our bodies blossom raw, hypnotized in lucid awe
We connect like naked puzzle pieces
Our navels entrenched in a holy bliss
Arranged as mirror images
Our corresponding parts catalyze the chemical kiss
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 8:41 PM UTC
A wrinkle in time; in that moment you laughed and then the moment passed me by
In that exact moment your laugh caught my eye;
Then I saw shooting stars making landfall on to the surface of Mars
The echoes of your laugh spiralled out of control in to my mind’s eye and lit up my soul
Entire parallel universes in their corresponding dimensions unwrapped in warp time & light speeds
You were setting me up for the inevitable fall
The fall that would come eventually and in the next moment I fell
Head over heels in love you could tell- so much it hurts
An epiphany - you are not the only woman for me in this world followed by this catharsis
But you are the only one for me in the entire multiverse;
But all these revelations took place in a parallel dimension on a mirror earth on a counter ecosphere
Because in this cosmos I never heard your laugh
Never saw shooting stars, create craters on Mars
Just as you left your impression on my heart;
But sadly in this time line you never caught my eye
Hence in this realm all these moments just passively passed me by
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC