"emote" poems
#
There was a time
within me
I wanted to be
an actor
beaming
on stage
or a screen
big or small
no matter to me
after all
The exposure is nice
I guess
and all that kind of stuff
but that’s not what drew me to it
Just being an actor
was enough
I enjoy performing
and have a memory
for lines
One of those people
who can quote
a whole movie
It plays in my head
can fast forward
and rewind
But it’s easy to recite
the work of another
One who already
searched within
and discovered
what to emote
the affect
and such
To replay like a puppet
That’s not saying much
Could I nail
the scene
and get the feeling right?
When other actors work with me
maybe they might
get inspired
to the point
they become lost in the scene
We’re reliving
the story
A fantastic team
When the director yells
“Cut!”
all applaud and cheer
Tears in the eyes of some
touching memories
they hold near
The performance
The “art”
that’s what matters most
A singer belting out a song
or a comic
at a roast
The thought of it now
gets me giddy
and inspired
but yet
here I sit
In my chair
I am mired
Never took that step
Overcoming
all that fear
My doubts and insecurities
Worry how much others care
That fear
of failure
or that I wouldn’t
“measure up”
A deer frozen
in headlights
I am forever stuck
And as the time continues on
The days, and months and years roll by
Which is the greater loss?
If I failed
or never tried?
#
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
Extravagantly exorbitant mentality panacea
Pretentious eidetic’s ubiquity mnemonics
Extraversion embezzlement extortion mens rea
Endergonic laconic cacophony phonics
Preterite rendition enclitic equilibrist motion
Mystic symbiosis dharma spiritual sky
Brusque macabre abjections the gist of the potion
Straight up forever ontology on high
Obdurately abstruse vituperatively vociferous
Juxtaposition apparition myriad avarice
Orotund sonorous diction obliquitous
Multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis
Mirador bartizan phantasmagoria aesthetics
Guidon gyration excursion integration
Sorcerous alchemizing interstitial endemics
Chaos charisma objectified tribulation
Conjurous apothegms clitoral apomixis
Exude emote surrogate extrapolation
Astral projection littoral hypotaxis
Kinetic supremacy homogeneity gravitation
Coercible coalescent cohesion dexterities
Adjunct conjunction conjecture acuity
Platonic pragmatic prosaic austerities
Extemporaneous impromptu innuendo fortuity
Propinquity habitation harbinger spectra
Perplexing paradox tenacity rostra
Intensely cogitational abstract mantra
Penumbral exigency , umbrage per contra
Theoretical incursion grandiloquent ne plus ultra
Exogamy of homoplasy sic itur ad astra
Quiescent serendipity surreal anestra
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:16 AM UTC
Staunch masculinity
I have hair on my chest
I drink whiskey
I work out
I like Karate
I drink beer
I like heavy metal
Let’s fight
Lets ****
I smoke
I stay out late
I win
I read (ie: I’m smarter than you.)
Let’s ****
Sometimes I lose ….but I learn
I don’t care
That’s my job
I had steak for lunch
Do you want to ****
I provide
I take care of business
C’mon let’s ****
I build
I take
I teach
I preach
Let’s ****
I’m happy
Don’t cut me off in traffic
I lead
I challenge
How about we ****
I yell
I critique
I solve
Are we going to ****
I drive a sports car
I save money
I spend money
I make money
I brag
I show off
I really really need to ****
I said I drive sports car
I drink…. did I mention that.
Let’s ****
****
Yeah
****
I wait
I wait
I’m patient
I drink
I smoke
I emote
We aren’t going to **** are we?
I work out
I compete
I shoot guns
I ride a motorcycle
I’m cultured
Don’t make me beg for it *****
I judge
I ****
I love
I ponder
I create
I scheme
I think you are really special
Let's ****
I can lift heavy boxes
I can hang pictures
I can drive you around
I can buy you dinner
****
****
****
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
Blasting out of the fog and mud
Past the forests in the sunrise
Farms and high ways
Trotting through suburbia
Through the tunnel
Defacing and refusing to allow themselves to be part of an unjust ******
Believe in the intermingling of colors
Waiting for the planets to fall into place
To stop for a moment and inhale the abundant harmony that surrounds them and emote and create a inspiring response in the form of self expressive freedom that matches the beauty that had compelled them
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
Kick me while I'm down.
Beat me til I'm spitting blood.
Let me beg for mercy
Tell me I'm too ****** up to love.
Watch me fall apart.
Hand me the blade to cut myself.
Pour the ***** in my soul.
Tell me I'm too gone to help.
Tie my hair back,
As you push my fingers down my throat.
Watch me cry and hate myself.
Tell me I'm stupid to emote.
Batter me With misery
I'm just a piece of ****
I'm nothing more than a waste of space,
So treat me like it.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Ko Ko to Go Go
a prelude to a kiss
dance with Chubby Checker
lift a slo gin fizz
Head bobs to Be Bop
flip the B Side now
mellowtune in monotone
two ears for stereo wow!
Wonderment of Duke and Miles
swinging kool birthin boplicity
urban crush the hipsters rush
jazz joints cross the city
Firery sax emote a clash
strain ears of credulity
Lester leaps creative heat
nips harden on my *******
Max taps exotic wax
Django's quick pickin
finger snaps flip my lid
lips deliciously sippin
Eurozone a Zen zone
a blue infinitive smokin
big peeps dig don pink wigs
fat spliffs hot token
My new suede shoes
walks west end blues
Pop's cornet got me tippin
his open blast first to last
I like cornbread, barbecue
and fine home jazz cookin
jbm
Oakland
3/12/10
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 6:41 PM UTC
If all you want is an image
Just imagine this
A man to your liking
with features so striking
A man you can’t resist
If all you want is emotion
Just emote to me
And we’ll start pretending
That love’s never-ending
And happy we will be
Mold me into any shape you want
Hold me, roll me
Shuffle, cut and fold me
I’ll be yours for life
Slash me, bash me
Slice and dice and mash me
I’ll be the perfect man
For the perfect wife
Let me be your Frankenstein
Let me be the love you pine
I’ll be yours and you will be mine
Let me be your Frankenstein
Draw up a blueprint
Make out a plan
Tell me what you need
A groovy assortment
Of all the important
Things that you can’t see
A wizards brain
A heart of gold
A fiery touch
And I’ll be sold
So if you find him
Bring him here
I’ll pay to rent him
Every year
Don’t be jive
And don’t be bold
For every story
Ever told
Ends up somewhat
Not so clear
So if you find him
Bring him here!
Searching woman look no more
You have found your dream
I’m worth two plus three times four
Let me join your team
You can see that I’m the one
I’m just what you need
So I ask no fee save one
Let me, Let me be
Let me be your Frankenstein
Let me be the love you pine
I’ll be yours and you will be mine
Let me be your Frankenstein
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
Laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous hypotaxis apomixis strive
Rainbow mare aura roan exude emote derive
Syntactical propinquity habitation harbinger harangue stoic hive
Colloquialism vernaculars prurient adage jargon idiom clichés jive
Mirador bartizan panorama stalwart bastion bulwark tableau live
Canny cleaver crafty cunning furtive sneaky stealthy connive
Poignant cogent piquant ephemeral effulgence temporal refraction arrive
Paradoxical dichotomy greaves gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts survive
Hectic mayhem , proximity parameter perimeter peripherals , annihilate rive
Zingy zesty zany zenithal azimuth entity zeal alive
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
why should I have to suffer? the right little yellow likes to lighten me to flies floating around the grass reflecting the sunshine, why do I need to feel the pain? the news on my phone, on the counter, hurting in vain, the redwood tree indifferent, the poison, the expression, the name, but to suffer? why should a person go through such a thing?
to suffer is to contemplate, to consider, no, more like to control, to fathom control, because power sounds like a word used for pokemon cards, but its in the atmosphere, feeding from the roots, making its way up, trickling down from tops, to suffer is not necessary
to see a person who has a phd and to justify lack of suffering with a set time to see, to emote, yes, and yes and oh, and working, and progress, and the yellow lovely, the yellow lovely sitting in my bathroom drawer, let it in, I do not deserve to suffer in this way, let it in, let me be the redwood tree, and I'll pass, indifferent
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
I do not mean you as a metaphorical you, however "you" as in an undoubtable "you".
"You" may not see the panes it break. When "you" say my name my heart does wince with sweet, sweet soliloquy. When you hark my name, I turn away from the audience of strangers, and direct my speech unwavering toward "you". Now "you", with unwavering focus, hear my words back, ringing in "your" ear. "You" are the one. "You" my new-soul does love to hear speak. In silence "you" are a beautiful picture: with "your" hair long and brown, "your" eyes glowing green, "your" lips like pillows for my lips to dream. And when my dreams do meet their reality, "you" will fill my soul with sweet, sweet music.
Syllables leep and frolic off "your" tongue as children do play, in adolescent beauty and wonderment, in the fields of sping-time. They seem to adhere to "your" mind in both articulation and in reckless abandonment; they flow from "your" mouth like sweet, sweet sound in waves unbroken by thought (though I know "you" think before "you" speak).
Other me's may not hear the sounds that I do when "you" laugh, and giggle, and emote your beliefs. They may not believe me when I say I hear, no feel, "you", but if they would open their hearts, no minds, to true beauty I believe that they would, too, feel. Now I mean feel as in the most unbridled sense the senses can bare.
"Your" voice pangs on the strings of my heart's neck, the curvature of my being. It, "your" voice, still plays fluently in the drums of my ears; like a beautiful symphony "your" ways of speech. "Your" patterns they flow like notes on a staph. I will never know another human who can, through speech, evoke such emotion from I as "you".
I would give everything I owned to hear "your" voice play for hours, days, months, years; until "your" voice grew outdated and changed with the seasons. However, "your" voice will never grow outdated or change to me. It, "your" voice, will remain as beautiful as it was in its prime in my ears. Just to hear "your" chords play my name once more I would give it all. My heart longs to feel "you" again.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
Then there are these moments
When your constant addition and subtractions,
Not finalized,
But put aside,
For the smallest of tokens become the
Largesse of life.
I am writing a long poem that is yet unfinished,
Of Richard II, Bach, and the death of a king,
King Ego, the battle infernal of vanity, insecurity,
And the constancy, the sense that one is never good enough.
Then sacked, for a loss, behind the goal line,
By the few, the kind, the genteel.
From nowhere, sought not, comes quiet thanks,
Appreciation that makes my angst seem
Petty and childish, smaller than small.
One draws a deep breath,
In no rush to exhale.
Then as luck would have it,
Pachelbel's Canon In D Major arrives,
An uninvited, most lovely, most timely guest,
and I am on the floor
Weeping unashamedly that the kindness of the
Few, the kind, the genteel lift me up and tissue my tears.
Unclear and unknown what I have done to deserve
Such affection, for all I have proffered are a few words,
An insight or two garnered from reading between the lines.
I understand less, emote more, and head spun,
I, poet, defenseless, for I am inadequate to the task.
I feel your hands upon my elbows,
Your arms around my shoulders,
I, am poet risen,
Words not insufficient, for
Words deemed unnecessary.
For I am poet risen,
Up, up, up by the
Uncompromising embrace of the
Few, the kind, the genteel.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
maybe a black mouth
opening and closing
usually you can see the gums
the teeth
lips stretching over them
there’s nothing
a gaping entrance to the void
there are two stale muffins on the table
one soaking in milk
it’s been two hours now
the room at the top of the stairs
is growing louder and louder
a piercing bellow
drowning out all thoughts
but it doesn’t
i want to scream
throw myself into it until my entire being is lost
between the teeth
the white black lacuna
corn splitting from the cob
a rotting banana
an empty carton of milk
my god, could life be any more boring?
i caught a cold
sneezed at the floor
achoo achoo
get well soon cards at my funeral
loraclear on my casket
dirt over
grow me like a mushroom
expanding into the root systems
puffing into a bulbous fruit
pick me and slice me
but i trust only supermarket goods
picked by mechanised beings
******* on an industrial conveyor belt
modernity made physical
look into the slaughterpens while you eat your steak
barter your children for another shot of coffee
hah hah hah, doesn’t affect me
strutting your cash like an empty slot machine
rigged to emote only with your colleagues
while the television blares another thousand deaths
**** this ****** world
consume me until there’s nothing left
everyone’s a nihilist
someone brought back a dozen breadloaves from the women’s refuge
eat them before they go off
turning our bodies
pouring soap down the sink
all the fishes scales rot away
they slowly sink into the depths
and line the seabed with teeth and ribs
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 2:45 AM UTC
…Then a scent came to remind me what I have been all these years
To unlock all the faded memories
To open horizons into the past
Just a moment is enough
To look into the deepest parts of my mind
…and find love…
…find happiness…
Find beautiful shiny days
When the light was brighter and the sense was real
When the time was endless and I was to feel
Fumbling in the dark alone, seeking for my missing life
A frozen soul deep into the bottom of an ocean
An ocean of lost dreams, a sea of endless thoughts
A scent came to evoke dead memories of a long-forgotten past
Now my life has withered, the feeling is not deep
But I can still recall and emote
I can still be me
…and the scent was hers…
As our bodies are getting closer
Your scent traps me in your arms
You’ve got my heart in your hands
My lust is all for you
And as the enchanting aroma
Fills my lungs
I’m falling in your arms and wish
I could be buried under your skin
I can’t maintain her scent
and nothing lasts forever
As our bodies are getting closer
I lose the sense of the world
Your perfume is embracing me
I’m haunted forever
And while you’re holding me tighter
The heartbeat quick
I’m hiding in your arms and wish
I could be buried under your skin
I can’t maintain her scent
and nothing lasts forever
The beauty is for a moment
and then it’s gone…
...and so am I
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
Many poets come and gone
and left golden words about mother
but no stories ,no poetries
and no thank you note to father
even the god have no words that can emote
his hard work
.
This is an incomplete reality,
that mother's love is everything
There is some contribution from them too
without which we are nothing .
.
You will find many who will say that you are their moon
but you will always be the moon
of his sky
he always protect you
with his clouds of different hues
.
Jun 20, 2021
Jun 20, 2021 at 3:36 AM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphoria of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix is pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
The Orb is relying on remnant technology
they effortlessly jettison LCD's
to breach the black hole,
humankoids re-activate their birth circuitry
programmed to emote on Ringoo, Jhon,
yet they have dissipated the rest.
In a parallel universe optic nerves
will ruse carbon copies of George and Paul
and everybody will laugh nervously
at two systems so disproportionate
re-uniting the infinite.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
Way past 12
yet still I am awake
the world sin,
in a pen
conforming lights,
this is the world now?
digitized in bytes
digitized in bites and bytes.
we are ever distant, we don't
gaze at each other on these nights
we just digitize , digitize bytes
process instead of feel
and distract ourselves
forever encased in the mud of the machine.
Lets jump on the lifeboat
and find ourselves homes
to root in, not another boot that breaks the skin
Emote, and feel
don't process
with a zeal that begs
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
on the horizon of tribulation
variables hover as unwritten expressions
the plane of abstract thought
a stream of consciousness
holds memories from long ago
the uncertainty holds us
close as a ghost
our worlds float further away
and the fatigue remains
intimately alive
when I sit alone
she shows me that I'm small
too imbued with a tendency
to exude, to emote
I am barely vocal
the plan is predictable
you pluck sentiment from thin air
and with a flap of your wings
take off into trepidation
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC
Gild the marble as divine as ice,
Day's eye sinking below the horizon line,
Red dust drift among torrential specks,
Echoes boom from the valley pine.
Lay upon the crisp sunny hay,
Clean the grime from the sapphire quay,
Immerse 'tween the twilight breeze,
Asps should **** off, leave me in peace.
As synchrony reach cacophony,
Our destinies uncross, tis uncanny.
If true, a key unlocks powers of lore,
Against, the key forfeits my very soul.
Capture my seat of soft emotions,
Crush it against your decrepit merits weigh,
Scheme within your empty jeweled mansions,
Burn to ashes my undead void lest it decay.
All such entities loving their tragedies,
Ridiculous melodramatic melodies.
Slouch and wallow as monuments,
Imaginary quagmire of queer torments.
Swing the fury of Krato's strike,
Kneel in dust of ancient plights,
Hold thy loved ones above the light,
Spy the ragged truth outside insight.
Flood the starry gates: drown my pain,
From colossi reduced to ******** straits,
My mask cares less lest I am unpaid,
Friendship once did the beloved slay.
Tears trembles upon my eye.
Good-bye time, friend of mine.
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
poetry runs like blood through my veins
words strung together to emote beauty
or pain, a beautiful necklace wrapped
tightly around my throat, the things
I'm dying to say dripping from
the tip of my tongue. Honey or poison,
both sticking to my gritted teeth,
unable to escape and create
the beautiful poetry
bleeding on the page
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
When I die,
please do not put me in a box.
Do not wrap me in fine silks and do not play me a song when they lower my rosewood coffin into a hole in the ground.
Please do not cry and tell stories of when I was alive.
Do not cry for me.
Cry for yourself if you must shed tears.
Cry because you know that its not that much longer till you join me.
Emote life and happiness and joy when I die, I beg of you.
I want to be spinning in your arms as you sing gaily, spinning my leftovers.
I want to go into the ground naked.
I want no makeup on my face or embalming fluid pumped through my **** or flowers stapled to my lapel.
All I want are two flowers pressed to each temple.
I want every line, every sore, every hole I have earned to be seen and acknowledged.
Then let go.
I want the maggots to eat my heart and **** the shell into the dirt.
I want worms to crawl through the sockets of my eyes just like a starving child in some third world country that you have only paid any attention to when they make a brief 2 minute imprint on your subconsious as you are pondering the next brief pleasure to get you from now,
to then.
While I Live.
While I live, I want to live.
I want to be better than the bees and I want not to covet their ability to make honey, but understand it as something I COULD bee.
I want to create realms of gold and green where passion is the only thing put to the test.
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 7:40 PM UTC
I think this thing is broken
Come in here and and have a look
Observe closely the mechanical functions
And hydraulic flow
Fold your fingers above your eyes
And squint your peepers just so
You'll notice that the battery is smoldering
Flashing red lights and billowing smoke
The human that used to live here
Didn't even have the common decency
To leave a suicide note
Perhaps there was nothing to say
The information is readily available
Even to this day, I tell you
It plays just like a record
Spinning it's own glorious fables
Stored for eternity
As an unbalanced charge
That became stable
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
Astounding things, await you, but
happen only on the stage of mind,
beyond that is the realm boundless,
all cosmic magic, true abode of everything.
Donning my costume, I am a string tuned,
expectant to start the play I wrote for myself,
on stage, when the curtain will go up
only that magical moment decides ,
The daily grind is a mere repetition
from morning till dusk and beyond,
In between I peep through the window
and get a glimpse of mind's sky, star studded,
Loneliness my mistress, is a daily visitor,
an age old and true love who never fails to please,
kissing deeply on my lips a few times she leaves,
only to come back and take me to bed with her,
Strangers become sweethearts, on my stage,
in a play we act our roles, emote, overwhelmingly
subtle moments gifted, I shed my worn out self, a stranger here,
my dramatic monologue rings out loud, "What are you, life?"
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 11:11 PM UTC
You have bestowed me with the indelible ink
And the pen dipped in it, flows effortlessly
Writing passionate words, in the pristine white
Pages, which are the canvas, of your faith in me
The supreme surrender to my muse
And I have been gifted with the freedom to emote
My inner feelings, completely exposed
As you are me, and I am you, our soul coalesced
As the passion has reached a crescendo
And the final ****** has reached a frenzied culmination
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC