"desirably" poems
For my craving, satisfy me
of this spicy, loathsome
inclination of my restless soul.
You, from the Caribbean Sea--
Santiago, let your
ambrosia signifies of how
your people colloquially
refers you, as "Rock".
Santiago, a refuge
you were once for the Jews.
As desirably firm as you are,
abolish me of these crisp desires
for they renders me with nothing,
but mere pertubation.
Oh Santiago, obscure me
inside your dry rain - shadow
areas, relatively.
For a while, conceal me
so I may somehow be
healed of this tempestuous outburst.
Sing me a lullaby, Santiago.
With such unique culture
of yours, infect me.
To be vibrant, and
to become Jamaican.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 2:39 AM UTC
Your words run wild
When you speak of your passions
Your eyes beam with delight
And to me this is pure beauty
But when I stare a little deeper
Not just into your eyes
But into your soul
Your words become hollow
As if you don't truly believe them
Because you are never really sure
Oh but how endlessly boring it is to be so sure
And there is something quite desirably about your uncertainty
Even if this uncertainty includes your feelings towards me
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
Adéifé, I can't wait to kiss your lips, suckle on your **** tease them till you ease, as I undress your hips down to your feet, slightly stroking your thighs as it heats, holding you from behind so your sweetbutt hardens me up more, squeezing your ******* as I swing you around and planting kisses on them as I lay you down afar a feet... Gush! You are sweet! Spreading your legs, my fingers alova your heated body that pleases, I'm not at ease... I can't wait to slowly **** you, till your body vibrates and you can't breath, yet I won't stop till you beg me please... Mo ti lala awa ri; deadly & sweet...
Giving you multiple pleasures, ******** tensions is one thing I promise... Last images of your ******* your waist, your hips and your twists turns me on right now, thoughts of me holding you in my hands boils me up... Fowo kan mii, Touch me
That moment when I slightly slowly hungrily and desirably enter you is a moment my body longs for... Kpe oruko mii, Call my name
I want to hold your waist from behind from dusk to dawn, turn you around and around as we passionately devour our cravings... In arms tight, breast to Chest, bodies kissing, intimate moaning, lips gaping, our shapes sardined, oiled with tensed sweats & breaths... Gush! Your ******* Jeka sere... Lets play.... Your eyes staring down at me as we echo, mime, duet and pitch our hearts' music and song in climaxes never felt... Till that awesome moment of nothing else existing but we and what we feel...
Aah Gush!
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
*you know, i can **** before i become homeless; yes? ok... cheerio.*
when i experience no intelligence
after being educated, it's
hardly an expectation to
experience any after... desirably hoped for, that
which offers up the antonymous by-product that's
despaired after so freely, and all those more profitable affairs
of a literate nature to engage with: to be
enslaved likewise missing; oh the gravity
as nothing falling, the tears on my cheeks
with vide cor meum, ah, but you see,
i can stomach a cage and being caged,
should i be forced into a freedom that's
only homelessness.
oh so many insignias of pause that were never
given a mathematical rubric of allowed deciphering!
that grand pause of arithmetic in the undecided
length of pause between (,) (.) (;) and that italicised
pause of (:) readying (a) list(s) of emphasis; let alone
the hyphenation of all the lost emphasises of Pompeii
(embark tongue tied into the grapheme æ);
or embark asking between the threes that are
direct and indirect articulation of plurality,
given then the anti of pluralism is god, and that's neither
direct or indirect, consolidating the direct as prayer
and the indirect as atheism.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
im am now undesirably happy
I was once desirably unhappy
but with sadness came comfort
self pity became my favorite sweater
and now overzealous joy is the cardigan I thought I would never wear
in the back of my closet, where I wish it would have stayed
change came in every season
winter was now spring
how I longed for the snow
underneath my sorrow was ability
ability to understand
now understanding slowly slipped
from my finger tips
so do not gaze at me with a confused and disapproving glare
while you sip from your every morning coffee
containing precisely three sugars
and two creams
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
I walk the land of the other kind
only women who seem to have lost their right mind
would tarry in fruit other than theirs
and indulge as if they are them
sweet pulp running down the chins of all my objects
small objects
nectar filling me whole
I speak for women like
like me
who do things desirably
willingly, cascade torment
befell the hands of such little age
and quietness is the first stage
before we turn and move our arms lightly
breathe swiftly
come and go
come and go
stay
leave
then we leave
nothing can bring me to care
oh nothing nothing little master
deadly words
sharp laughter
discreet plans or no plans is just the same
in the book of not lies
but something else
move were life takes me
life life just take me there
takes me there
brings me here
upon the shore of a thousand different hearts
beating simultaneously
in the oven of my baking brain
thoughts pounding loud so loudly
in
out
in
out
in
out
I believe
I believe that I have conquered you
I walk the land of the other kind
I seem to have lost my mind
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 8:33 AM UTC
Kiss me deep,
Like the ocean.
I want to feel the waves
Crashing down.
Hug me tight,
Like a sweater.
It's yours I wear
That fits like a gown.
Whisper so soft,
Like the crystal snowflakes
Gently falling
From colder realms.
Touch me tenderly,
Like a newborn baby.
Enhance my senses,
I want to experience the sights and the smells.
Tug at me desirably,
Like the guiding wind.
I feel my garments getting looser
And my desire even stronger.
Make me yours completely,
Like lovers often do.
I want every part of you.
I can't stand it any longer.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
the truth is
i fall
in love
with almost every
single girl
i meet,
the tall ones, the loud ones, the petite ones,
the heartless ones and the caring ones,
i'm vulnerable to
them all,
to the extent
that i even
surprise myself,
at times.
i can't help it,
and this is no
exaggeration.
my love for these women
is not immortal,
i can assure you of that.
it often transforms into
extreme hate and disgust,
i begin to loathe them
and soon
myself,
i'm a disease,
really.
whilst my love is genuine,
so is the pain
i will inevitably
suffer,
because of it.
at first, i become slowly obsessed,
my affection is exponential,
i say all the right things
and i'm often not
full of ****
i can close my eyes and picture
the next
6 years
with this girl,
my life is injected with
unsurpassed happiness,
and i plan never
to let them go,
its bliss.
but then,
something goes wrong.
always.
its normally minuscule-
a slight rejection,
a misinterpreted comment.
my expectations are set
too high,
i know it.
the cigarettes start,
the depression kicks in,
give me a beer
a joint,
my life seems so much
worse
than it is,
i know it.
i switch gears
and become
my worst
enemy,
i'll begin to ignore
her, give her the
cold shoulder,
my hate unjustly
grows,
i'm a monster.
her feelings are no longer
priority,
its all about me
and my sadness.
sometimes
its justified.
most of the time
its pathetic,
i know it.
but you see,
i'm an infectious parasite.
for some reason,
girls often respond
desirably
to my premature love,
but for another reason,
its the worst thing
that ever happened to them,
and me.
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 4:32 PM UTC
*don't worry, even i think this is all a bit too wacky... but then i eat the placebo of feeling the emotions of https://goo.gl/tzEPhO / dido's no angel album, and i really concentrate on the symbol... and it feels less wacky after a while; i'm always apprehensive about influencing people, even if they number the 1 or 2 or 3, less than a dozen... these are sensitive areas, where there's a seemingly en masse acceptance for either accepting or criticising such potent reminders of human history... always apprehensive, only because i do not really care much about illuminating footnotes... always apprehensive... it's an apprehension born from not wanting to influence new arguments in these debates.*
why is it always either 1:30 or
13:30 when men hold sway the hour hand
and women the minute hand...
or it's either 18:05 or 6:05 when women
hold the hour hand and men the minute
hand? well, never mind, a new
interpretation of the ☿ (mercury), lineage
of all sourced prophecies, the crescent horns of
mobilised islam, by the power that mobilised it,
that of the feminine nature...
and that femininity mobilised islam in
christianity with the emergence of the nag hammadi
library, and no official plan to instigate it
along the lines of canonical orthodoxy...
an undercurrent emerged in christianity with
the parallelism drawn by the historian josephus,
a false prophet, the unearthing of the library in
egypt... the flight of joseph, mary and infant jesus
to egypt... but as the symbol clearly suggests...
the crescent moon became mobilised by a
feminine ontology... St. Thomas' gospel working
its way, into the mainstream, although well hidden
in the undercurrent... replacing all known
canonical orthodoxy - and you know,
if your prophesy about the end of the world,
and to prove your prophecy to be true with the
culmination of the atom bomb, and the only
way you can imagine proving your words true...
then i guess you'd have to get yourself crucified
to make everyone follow your words to ring true
should they actually be rather unconvincing;
a crucifixion would desirably create a sperm-like
influx of people who'd believe you
and follow all the preparations through -
Pythagoras' estimates about the future had
about 30 followers... and he's still covered in dust
in school libraries and mathematics lessons;
judaism is still a minority religion:
the last words of convictions from it were written by
Isaiah, who was cut in half for going among the
people, as a former courtesan.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
"I had fun tonight."
The keys are in the door,
His hand is on the small of her back.
When she turns for one more kiss,
He helps by pulling her into him.
His arms are wrapped tightly.
They can't get enough.
Suddenly the door is thrown open
And they are on the other side of the doorway.
He quickly reaches back to close it,
Keeping always one arm around her thin waist.
Her feet no longer touch the floor,
But their lips never unlock.
The bedroom is up the stairs and down the hall,
I don't think either of them can wait though,
The living room will have to do.
The coffee table is nudged,
The couch receives them readily.
Slowly, slowly he unzips her tightly-fitted red dress.
Working his hands gently down her back,
The red dress comes off willingly with one tug.
Breathing heavily, she sits up,
Perched on his hips, she starts furiously unbuttoning his white dress shirt.
This simple task cannot take any longer.
"Wow."
They both breath taking in each other's bare chests.
Entangling her fingers in his hair,
It begins again.
His lips are so gentle and sure,
He needs no guidance,
From lips, cheek, neck, to her soft, strong shoulders.
She knows to slide one hand caressingly around his shoulder,
Down his side,
And let it sit just below the belly button.
Teasingly.
He's anxious.
She's ready.
There's nothing now to stop them.
The sun is up.
Her head is resting on his chest.
He's playing with her messy, morning hair,
With the other arm wrapped desirably around her waist.
Their eyes meet.
A wink,
A giggle follows,
Soft "Good morning," kisses are shared.
It's not long before his wandering hand finds her bare **** cheek.
Squeeze.
It begins again.
Xoxo.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
I can hear the way someone is able
to hold the notes in a harmony
like the angels themselves sing
within them from the heavens.
I can see the way a light shines
in the corners of someone's eyes
as they hold the hand of a patient
knowing that is exactly where they're meant to be.
I can feel each graceful stroke
of an artist's paintbrush
where their body and whole being meets.
And all these moments,
I admit,
have made me envious
of their absolute surety.
I have become so engulfed by a life
that is not made to be my own.
Wanting desirably to have the assurance
of a solid purpose like theirs.
But in doing so, I have lost focus
of the recognizable aspects of myself.
Aspects that deserved to be admired
by my very own senses.
For, I can hear the way the softness of my voice
is able to ease the mind
of a troubled soul.
I see the way a light shines
in my child's eyes when she looks at me
before her.
I can feel each graceful stroke
of the pencil I hold where
my body and whole being meets.
And all of these moments,
I must admit,
are just the beginning
to what is my surety.
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 9:10 PM UTC
I hate myself entirely
for not really taking you seriously
when you offered an embrace.
I have wished since then, so desirably
that you would ask for the fourth time.
For the past 3 times
I thought you were joking until I saw your face.
And now I guess I've missed this opportunity of just a simple hug
because now you're with her and all I can do is shrug
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 7:31 PM UTC
I remember,
water dripping,
slowly,
trickling,
down two lovers hair,
face,
eyes,
lips entwined,
hands grabbing,
in desire for what they so desirably longed for the whole day,
yet had to suppress their need,
they had to hide it quietly inside their explosive beating hearts for each other.
I remember it all,
it was once a memory that always made me feel nervous inside,
creating butterflies in my tum,
tubes tied,
and now I'd like to think it has become a,
meaningless,
emotionless feeling inside...
why am I lying to myself,
that memory still compels me to watch it in my mind,
replay a time where I onced felt how it felt to be loved,
cry,
and cry,
and cry,
because of the broken glass thats left a crack in my heart,
a crack that can never be healed by anyone else,
all thats left is that one memory of the shower before he quickly,
vainly,
disappeared from his lover.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
or what should have been titled: product endorsement by vloggers with the following introduction, lost in terms of original content, that will have to be necessarily rewritten in a lessened heaving of the breast as proclaiming original ease of composition... but since this is not the first instance of such a blunder, it is actually a joy to see: to see the lack of clinginess to one particular instance, over all others - not here, not here the one-hit wonder of pop culture that's rampant... you might find this siding with the mediocre but it's due to the fact that it wasn't said many times and cannot be desirably uprooted from such a perception, and entombed in sacred marble of "forever cherished"; thus said, few writers realise that their works are like fresh fruit and vegetables... they too have their b.b.d. (best before date) and their u.b.d. (use by date) - i believe that no one alive can claim a b.b.d. for their work and still be alive... period. the u.b.d. simply states: before you, the reader, actually dies... but then again, that's a bit overly pressure laden with the writer's presumptions: nonetheless it's there... poems and books like fruits and vegetables, the writer ought to be a refrigerator, the reader the oven... i guess it just means: keep your cool, while others turn to populist hysterics if something looks counter to their norms... that's how it is, any poem's or book's b.b.d. (best before date)? when the author is dead.
that famous saying:
an apple a day keeps
the doctor away...
i suppose there's another
one of kindred invocation:
a poem a day
keeps the psychiatrist
at bay - alter?
writing poetry is a bit like
watching a psychiatrist
try to wriggle his way
out of a straitjacket -
they're not called
the thought-police for no reason...
and my my: i thought
that was only in the Soviet Union?
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 9:09 PM UTC
We are embraced in the bath
of our friendship, unharmed
by the curiosity
of my family, caressing
You wander off
to the eyes of my sister
in which we are desirably naked
with a vigorous member
I notice it and revert
You are back, close
Everywhere is your body
adjusting itself softly
to my soul, fulfilled
is my sleeping desire
for your warm body
full of all the years
since we were together
and were not together
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 3:08 AM UTC
I came across
such an indescribable feeling
which I thought
was beautifully breathtaking
and desirably mind blowing
but
when I feel deeper
it became
agonizing
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 3:44 AM UTC
His vibe was my high
His entireness was my paradise
He was the most mind-blowing treasure trove
Of masculine dopeness
Sweeter than sin
Smoother than anything
I had ever come across
That had me impossibly sauced
Blissed-out, wrapped in his cloud
Of desirably charming allure
His scent, his skin, his supremeness
Everything about him
Conquered my senses
I couldn’t resist him
His existence was a temple
Of top-notch awesomeness
I didn’t just want him
I needed him in every cell of my being
Inhaling his enamoring greatness
Feeling his sizzling, thrilling heat
Steam through me endlessly
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 12:30 PM UTC
can we at at least agree then certain
things are non-quantifiable -
in that however much or how little
of a quantity that "exists"
or "does not" exist does not disturb
its (the "existent" or
"non-existent") quality?
(i just wanted to say the above,
the lower tier addition is, by my standard
of introspection, mere jargon).
there's no real satisfaction in
obtaining a quantifiable parameter
for a being that said quantifying
being desires a necessitated answer
to begin with...
there is no god
other than man in god, as primarily
instrumental to deface a need for
languishing desire for sabbath...
not everything in this world
is perpetuated by a fathoming
quantity - measure -
some things simply require a quality
and what is almost immediately
unmeasured - a qualified ordinance;
dare i apologise for sounding
like a quack?
science nonetheless quantifies,
it does not delve into quality -
to science 1% alcohol is just as true
for 40% content of a litre of ***** -
there just simply isn't a
"proof" for a god...
because there's no
quantifiable "evidence" for said existence...
and the "proof" of
a qualifying "proof" is twice-more
non-existent than the object in question
"desirably" requiring a proof of: existence!
we can quantify the speed of light,
but we can't exactly intact the quality
of travelling at said speed.
i'm not trying to dumb
down the process of an "investigation" -
it's only that the humanities belong with
the question,
the sciences could never, and
ever will give a life-insurance worth of
a question-answer....
why would the science ever give
an answer, and drain the immediacy
of a thrill away so easily?
p.s.
something that has no quantity-parameters,
is only quantifiable
if quantifiable at all,
within the framework of
a quality-reliability
structure...
but having said that,
a quality-reliability is not exactly
quantifiable when compared
to a quantity-replica
(there is no quantity-replica with
newton, there only was, one newton) -
it's sad seeing science become wasted
upon the "question" of god,
since there is no worthwikle
investigation for a necessary measurement,
other than the body count of
the next jihadist.
as ever, a much anticipated
unwelcome affair of discussion / "despair".
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC