"expectancy" poems
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration,
Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.
Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery
was voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet?
In China is it each couple or each adult that gets one offspring?
As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,
grasslands, space.
Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
We talked about fun
A night of one and one
Two adults out dating
Not a lady-in-waiting.
Two people holding hands,
We didn’t have any plans
Not saying words like never
And always and forever.
It’s an unwritten verbal contract
With just the one signature.
The expectancy of longevity
Is more than a bit premature.
It is important to recognize it
When it’s all about fun and games.
It keeps temperature from rising
And avoids the calling of names.
Then it all got turned around
And quite suddenly I found
There were rules for me to obey
Like staying out too late in the day
And things I had to do with you
If I wanted to demonstrate I was true.
It was no longer important to you
It was not enough just loving you.
It’s an unwritten verbal contract
With just the one signature.
The expectancy of longevity
Is more than a bit premature.
I am a prisoner in your heart
When did my sentence start?
How long will I have to serve?
How did you get the nerve
To change a delightful love affair
Into something that would scare?
Sorry, I have to call a halt
You know it’s all your fault.
It is important to recognize it
When it’s all about fun and games.
It keeps temperature from rising
And avoids the calling of names.
We only had a few short dates
We barely made it to third base
And yet the thing is totally shattered.
You’re out looking at china patterns.
There were no promises ever made.
I do not mean to be throwing shade
But this is not the thing I agreed upon
Whatever we once had is now gone.
It’s an unwritten verbal contract
With just the one signature.
The expectancy of longevity
Is more than a bit premature.
It is important to recognize it
When it’s all about fun and games.
It keeps temperature from rising
And avoids the calling of names.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
Today. I give up.
I got up to you,
I climbed
all the stairs of the seven storeys, until
I got there, where
I forsook
the costume and the mask,
the desire and the expectancy.
I left them all neatly folded at the door.
You will find them in the morning when
you will wake up and
you will leave sleepy for the office.
You probably won't put them into consideration.
You'll step over "i miss you",
over "i'd love to",
and you''ll hit the little"why" in its belly while
he slowly pulls your sleeve.
Don't worry,
I am better now.
I forgot about the dimples and the mole.
How does your voice sound?
Your eyes... are they green or brown?
That yellow t-shirt,
that plaid shirt...
I do not even care if
you will see the pile
waiting for you outside the door.
It's not like
you have not seen
my backpack every time
we met...
Today I give up.
Because
I am not made of concrete,
and that's how the breeze that
you carry with you
always
unbalances
me.
Because
I really know how to ride a bike and
I do not need training wheels.
Because
I am not afraid.
Because
I have courage.
And especially,
because
I have nothing to do here.
It's empty and deserted.
It's nothing.
Today I quit.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:05 AM UTC
man who wears a hat sits still near the back unmoved by the world or the exposed breast of a statue (brain waves do not discharge through a fedora)
tag attached: bald is sanitary
oranges have more delicacy raw smelly and afterward singing allons enfants de patrie ding dang **** like that, all frog-ese so we don’t understand chanteused stiff basso profundo to excite to let us see with the clarity of a dream curled with hate set firm, firmer in the arms of a sleeveless girl then slung to sea level white as a leopard’s eye
remember its peroxide bathed, bleached inclined on the pillow just at the angle of expectancy without a hat sideward glance and the crippled heels of angels sparking down the hall
bulletin: young man willing to wear false beard to ease the pain for all
or trumpet blues broken played horizontal touched by seaweed hands in the light of boats (unfurled)
slowly
and the memory dies slowly half-forgotten, half-remembered
halved again
slowly
only
to begin
again
grim molecules of love
4.9k
Staring at you from the corner of my eye
There are hundreds seated here
Still my vision strays across the line
These feelings can't be right
It's like the moon falling in love with the sun
though they are a team, they can never be one
Love can't be my might
These feelings can't be right
Why are you so scared to look me in the eye?
I hate it when she looks at you with expectancy in her eyes
I feel like destroying the worlds for you
These feelings can't be right
I know that I'm alone in this street
Every part of myself I have left behind
Because I know that mystery will always love darkness
Though sunshine will be right by her side
My wishes just seem so "Unright"
I face the truth again -
These feelings can't be right
Now-a-days I stay away from you
When you don't look at me, that is when I look at you
When you don't hear me, I have said a thousand times
' I love you '
These feelings can't be right
Every morning when I open my eyes
And Sunshine strikes this porcelain skin from the skies
A carnage of hope is all I visualize
I roll down my sleeves to cover the scars
My reflection whispers to me
'The mirror never lies'
These feelings aren't right
I wish I'd be able to stand in front of you
And express what I exactly feel about you
But I cannot set forth in that venture
" The way is suspicious, the result uncertain, perhaps destructive."
And if you ever know about this side of me
The only thing that will come out of you will be
" These feelings can't be right "
Beyond the precincts of his eyes
Everything seems to be delusional
his eyes have the power my foes could **** for
- to rip my soul apart every minute
Every second of my life
And I'm reminded again-
These feelings can't be right
But now that I've realized
These feelings can't be right
I am sure
That today is the first day of the rest of my life ...
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
Could the sun be
just
a hole up there—
that if I could leap
would enter that breach of light
Someone!
Throw me a line!
Give me a reason
There’s never enough
in this life of breathing!
Someone!
Explain why dreams roll a soul
toward the cliffs of day
Wakes to ache
then stuffs its mouth
with necessary same
Inhale—
button shirt—brush hair
Exhale—
necessary glance in the mirror
(yes, still there)
A lifetime!
in a shallow instant’s stiff clear water
(Yeah— still there)
in endless caverns of tired eyes
above mouth still trying
to say SOMETHING!
from ever smaller eternities
in the glass-flat empty....
Please! Someone explain!
this draw of breath
one forcing itself upon another's
life
of beating —
Violence in my chest!
Why hearts don’t sleep—
and I wind up watching
again and again—till
I am the ******
...Morning lies
in the mists of a humid *****
who moans and sweats
and boils her hips—
and I wind up watching!?
“Will someone please…!"
...and I wind up watching
bedspread, bed sore, death bed
till you’re breathing easy
when she sits and picks
her collapsed bouffant
damning the makeup
that got crushed in the sheets
…Morning
Lies--
with no expectancy
both tired of knowing...
*...The Devil lost his balance
in my presence one night*
...tired of knowing—
THE WILL!
THAT WILL!
...walk away
or continue to play
I could open this screen!
watch the world STEP BACK!
SLAP FLAT!
as trees and dwellings flush like quail
to prop their tottering panic
against the blue—
You—assume composure...
compose assumptions
Await my next—
Move like a spy
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
Yuletide essays read poorly of spiritual love
Save of winter concerns of cold hands and feet
But to me my warmth is from within and without
From sensitive elements and looks of expectancy
All through the year I am loved and brought home by generous arms
Holding my tender heart with simple fingers of gentleness
At Yule my fears are ones of inability to conform
Yet I know that my love will be kept holding small edifices
Of temperate thoughts and radiant hopes
Lest our love is exposed to the winter blast
It has no maintenance worries as we stay locked
Deeply embracing through the chill of the night
In the mornings there may be white blankets of snow
Which drive others to feel isolation and loneliness
But here at Yule as ever our hearts are as one
Despite the dragging pressures of the seasonal presence
New Year is a triumph of milestone epic
Fantasising our minds with future conquerings
Especially as most are timid in their push for reality
Ours has been honed to supernatural levels
Although we look deeply into bringing these to bear
We know from our hearts these are just around the corner
Upon the very road we travel
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 7:50 AM UTC
Can I tell you how seriously I take this poem!
_____
Could the sun be
just
a hole up there—
that if I could leap
would enter that breach of light
Someone!
Throw me a line!
Give me a reason
There’s never enough
in this life of breathing!
Someone!
Explain why dreams roll a soul
toward the cliffs of day
Wakes to ache
then stuffs its mouth
with necessary same
Inhale—
button shirt—brush hair
Exhale—
necessary glance in the mirror
(yes, still there)
A lifetime!
in a shallow instant’s stiff clear water
(Yeah— still there)
in endless caverns of tired eyes
above mouth still trying
to say SOMETHING!
from ever smaller eternities
in the glass-flat empty....
Please! Someone explain!
this draw of breath
one forcing itself upon another's
life
of beating —
Violence in my chest!
Why hearts don’t sleep—
and I wind up watching
again and again—till
I am the ******
...Morning lies
in the mists of a humid *****
who moans and sweats
and boils her hips—
and I wind up watching!?
“Will someone please…!"
...and I wind up watching
bedspread, bed sore, death bed
till you’re breathing easy
when she sits and picks
her collapsed bouffant
damning the makeup
that got crushed in the sheets
…Morning
Lies--
with no expectancy
both tired of knowing...
*...The Devil lost his balance
in my presence one night*
...tired of knowing—
THE WILL!
THAT WILL!
...walk away
or continue to play
I could open this screen!
watch the world STEP BACK!
SLAP FLAT!
as trees and dwellings flush like quail
to prop their tottering panic
against the blue—
You—assume composure...
compose assumptions
Await my next—
Move like a spy
1990
Take careful note:
**Why I don’t play chess or any other game
for that matter.**
“...and when you're really out there
the windows all have opened onto nothing...
Death having long since-- left the scene.
When you get really out there
it's all--
and nothing…”
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC
Dear Alyssa,
I am trying to say your name, but it is so foreign to me I cannot believe I once called it my own. It is stiff and uncomfortable, and sticky and sad. I cringe every time I hear it, it was never my home.
But I will never not envy the fact that our mother handcrafted it for you while Avery was never touched by her beauty. When you think beauty, I know the only thing you think of is Montana Walker. The girl in your English class with the freckle by her smile who plays chess with you at lunch. But when your father thinks beauty, Alyssa is still his first thought.
Dear Alyssa,
When you were in sixth grade, you dreamt about me. I wore a pullover hoodie and a backwards hat with one arm slung around Montana's shoulders. You were afraid to touch her, but me, I wasn't intimidated by her. She was quiet and tall, I was taller and loud, my chest was open and breathed proud. You never believed you would get there, and you aren't. I am miles away from loud. I am unable to speak up for you. Even when I was called a ****** my first day of public high school. Even when I was called a ******* ****** *** **** by a member of our own community, someone who shares so much of our journey. I didn't speak up for you or me. I'm sorry.
Dear Alyssa,
I'm sorry I tried to tear you open to see if I was hiding underneath. I'm sorry. I was not underneath. This is no woman's body because it belongs to me. I was not underneath.
Dear Alyssa,
Mom and dad are right. You are beauty. You are pretty and feminine and sweet. Alyssa, you are the prettiest boy you'll ever meet, because frankly, there is no girl I used to be. We are inherently male because we are supposed to be.
**** biology.
**** transphobic members of the LGBT community.
**** that at 15, you've reached half a trans* person's life expectancy.
**** that you will never be allowed to join the military.
**** the life that they want you to lead.
You are me.
You are the boy I used to be.
Dear Alyssa,
I'm sorry.
Sincerely yours
P.S. I should've loved you more.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
There is no night like a bayou night,
the air pregnant with expectancy and
mystery, mingling scents of wisteria,
trumpet honeysuckle and gumbo mud -
a Dark Ages alchemist seeking an elusive
golden fragrance. It's a night dark despite
the nearly full moon, a night in which
fireflies pulsate as so many flickering
neon bulbs and the cacophony of insects
reaches toward an unattainable crescendo.
Mammoth cypress trees line the bayous,
letting fall Spanish moss as strands of ghostly
gray-green hair, and the oppression of dark
is waiting just beyond the searching lantern.
At times the wind moans like a sated lover,
at other times it howls wildly, but it's always
present and always vocal to those who
would listen. There could be fear in such nights,
or there can be a love of the mysteries inherent
with the bayous - I choose the love of the bayous.
*I lived in Louisiana about nine years,
and there are many things about that
state I still love - bayous being one of them.*
--
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 4:45 PM UTC
It's our time
*The sublime
Rhyme and reason
We season this reality with words instead of thyme:
Both are medicinal
Antiseptic chemicals to keep away the grime*
Don't tell me any different
Bare witness to the gift of bliss that is expression
Words can increase life expectancy in the midst of depression
They can get back at those who hurt you without using a weapon
Or refresh your mental image when you're feeling less than
They form legacies and dedications
Eulogies and congratulations
They give everything in existence an identity
Even the most ****** obscenities
Words are life and words are love
Words even form this silly cheesy stuff
**To everyone feeling poetic, I have but one question
What's one way, while writing, your life has been blessed in?**
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 3:46 PM UTC
Cries of a wolf—howling in the
burns of a shadowy night. Preying eyes,
seeking, pouncing to hunt you out my dear.
Chasing love, or rather being chased by love
behind a trail of youthful winds. At the time
we still could count the scars on our knees.
Seems we've barely got skins holding solid
on our bones. Time is a she-wolf feasting on
once was youth. Her sharp tooth digs into my
eyes—gnawing my ability of sight.
I'm haunted by the long nights; seeming longer
if you're unsure you'd wake in the morning.
Death is a mistress of non screaming echoes,
but a peaceful whisper of her calling. She knocks
at the door of my cold feet; a deathbed unlike
no other rest to your eyes. (It's subtle goodbye)
But a longest night, makes expectancy of the day
brighter than it's tomorrow. But a few extra hours
is never what we'll borrow—still the hours of
wisdom we left behind is hoped to follow.
To let new things grow in the rises of one's
written experience, as the story of a Morn' flower.
Aug 16, 2022
Aug 16, 2022 at 3:08 PM UTC
*We were squeezed from corruption
armed with the monstrous cutlery
of rippers and tearers of rationed meat
for a day, for a day, for a day:
the butcher gives his best cuts
to the young and godless divorcee
find us, keep us : a spectre hiding
in the dark pig iron rust hooks looping
through your *** and shopping lists:
smelting your coin
and punching your face
Company is the full knowledge
of our protracted, 3 -stage decay
burn drift degradation
eyes crusting shut
in doom and settling bomb silt
palms up, taking a punishment
in the mothertongue
ignoring lessons in the gracious
expectancy of departure
We, A legion of ancient clockwatchers,
in on the joke of time
and folk fetish of apple-cheek poverty
[Gasp!] The gruesome romance of class!
!you cry! !safe! !always safe!
in the nuclear hotdog option , which is
observably, the title of this advertisement
We will never get you[ ]you're awake!
and your atmosphere is still In Da Black
We watch you
watching
the 5 car pile up
catch up rolling down your chin*
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
tonight a girl stands on a bridge.
the midsummer breeze dances around her curves.
it begs her to come play.
her heart beats steady.
her gaze is motionless.
the changing air steals a whisper.
"we are moving into the house of Aquarius"
under the bridge a man sleeps.
in a few weeks he'll turn fifty-eight,
but he doesn't know that.
he hasn't had a birthday celebration in years.
he hasn't had anything to celebrate in years.
the bridge is home now.
above him,
a girl is rediscovering herself.
a girl is rediscovering her fear of heights.
she looks 25 light years above her, at Vega.
in a way, she thinks, she is like this star.
she is about midway through her life expectancy,
but her light died a quarter century ago.
the man sleeps soundly.
a smile is spread across his face.
he is dreaming of his dinner,
a footlong sub.
extra olives, just the way he likes it.
it was his first meal in several days
but tonight, his stomach is full.
he has come to like the grease on his face.
it shows he has survived many challenges.
the hardships have only made him wiser.
the girl, she minored in astrology.
she was fifth in her graduating class.
debt lurked deep in her mind.
it polluted her every thought with
reminders that she was not in control.
now, she tries to justify her current position.
on the bridge.
looking out at Lyra, partially hidden by clouds
"nothing I do will matter."
she reconsiders.
she recalls an anecdote she overheard
on the subway, or somewhere:
"when you're dead, you're dead for a looooong time"
she smiles. kids say the darnedest things.
tonight she curses her 'lucky stars'.
nothing the girl does will matter.
tonight she will become a woman.
tonight she will give herself to the wind.
the man will find her in the morning.
the man will chuckle to himself.
"they always make it down here,
one way or another"
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
Through the nature that i've travelled
There's so much to unravel
And the sea's that i've swum
Whether fishes are dumb
And the skies that are blue
Do they wear lace shoes?
Those dinosaurs which were ugly
Did they shave their legs regularly?
Do flying fishes even fly
Or its just a rumor spread by cats
So that it can eat every time a human has its catch
Did apes develop into humans
Or totally vice-versa
Before we know it we'll go extinct
And apes on trees will have sips of *****
Do kangaroos have pockets from birth
Or did they buy from Denims
Before i know it dogs will purr
And rocks will have feelings
Do owls sleep or act their way through the day
It will not be Meryl Streep but them, catching the oscar and walking away!
Do snakes hiss by nature or just be angry due to their body folds
Before i know it others will wear Jimmychoo's and all they'll do is catch a cold!
DO lions have smelling ability or they just put a tracking device
Playing billiards in 'Catsino' and using cell phones made of mice?!
Do eagles, the pilots of the sky have pretty air hostesses attend to
Or locate and make a buffet out of the, that's exactly what i'm referring to!
Its this jungle or paradise, or what a new age city?
Casino's of lions, oscars for owls, that's my LIFE'S EXPECTANCY !
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
do dreams mean anything or was freud full of ****
bronchitis symptoms
american life expectancy
how to use excel
what is a mortgage
average american student loan debt 2015
why is everyone more successful than me?
how to delete facebook
facebook linked to depression study
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
Every Grain Of Sand,
A Second,
Every Clump Of Soft Earth,
An Hour,
Each Molecule A Cell Taken Away From My Being,
Every Worthless Thought A Burden,
Mulling Over The Possibility Of Destiny,
Is This Mine?
My Fingertips Tentatively Touch The Glass,
My Future,
Slipping Away,
More And More By The Minute,
My Knuckles White,
From Clenching My Life Expectancy In My Palms,
Years Flowing Through A Sea Of Pain,
And Tears Rolling Down The Gullies,
Carved Into My Warn Cheeks,
The Hourglass At The End Of It's Life,
And Mine Is Gone With It's
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
Press me into the mossed tree
flanked in auric diaspora
lifting billowing dress with one hand
pressing it with mine into the drape of fabric
framed by tree bark divets
breath incumbent
drifting in mellowed heaves
heavy against my frame
pulse cadence
requisite engorging
blood thinned
eyes dilated
spine *****
pinning me
expectancy
pelvic tilt
sacral arch
calf raking thigh
I climb you
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
oblivious remarks pierce the air like arrows
they fly around our heads
like sugar plum fairies
waiting to strike at our dreams
words exchanged they hang
empty, soaked in underlying emotions
coated with expectancy
they fall
shattered looks of pained expression
melt away broken hearts
we stare through to each soul
bruised by poison rain
gaps of glass
tread cautiously
to barred soul
untamed
release the beast inside
revive emotions drowned
by whispers tainted
you are the one
a single touch and bonded
our roused lips laced
moving in sync to the beat of
our undying hearts
our eyes meet
locked in a trance
and we know
forever is just a moment away
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 4:30 PM UTC
*concerning the last lines... all we can do with the Cartesian Libra is add adjectives to it, which is contrary to what the existentialists did by simply modifying a furthered abstraction of the compounds 'i think' and 'i am', via the inverted comma(s), otherwise known as dittoing, sic, prior said, or re-, true to the oddity; a king will continue to question his position / being a king by not thinking about it, hence his uninhibited delusions, hereditary, very much genetic; and hence someone who precursors his being with much concern for thinking, the inhibited delusion, self-serving - both are adjective expansions of the Cartesian Libra, just added qualities, given both are facts requiring a slab of marble to look like Rodin's kiss - or approximate, with therefore being the chisel, and so dependent the end product, indeed a slab of marble at first, but not necessarily Rodin's kiss at the end - perhaps a Notre Dame gargoyle...*
i am what i think,
that's what i came up with after
reading some of the bio sketches -
even though the truth is that
i am what i own -
thinking is the part that comes last,
if i own a bed and a roof over my head,
i end up i thinking about being
homeless - but sometimes you do find
the ones that are inclined
to be what they think, the extremes
we call them - supreme anti-materialists,
it's not satisfying to own a house
or a phone, more is required,
something tinged with transcendental
counters - they "own" a home
but rather not live in it, already the
looming fairy of heaven tells them
of an unnatural life expectancy -
some might say thinking a form of
uninhibited delusion sketches,
like i'd be a venture capitalists taking
a weekend away in Hawaii while
some ridiculousness of poverty in India
was to blame for my jet streams and
carbon footprints - they keep the
inhibited delusional in cages without
a chance to sketch - because the uninhibited
delusional have all the freedoms
that Versailles could allow - or...
uninhibited delusions of non-thought,
inherited, hereditary,
versus inhibited delusions of thought,
mutated, self-invented...
this could very well be a "magic" square
with two further variations, i.e.
uninhibited delusions of thought (psychopathy)
inhibited delusions of non-thought (coma?
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
Coffee stains on these lips you stained
Your breath I can still feel, whispering
"I'll never leave"
But promises are feigned to be broken
Deigned with trust, words that matter unspoken
Fate played its twist, karma hit me like I deserved this
Past loves I slaughtered, they'll be laughing now
"I hope he'll die a loner"
*These lips are stained
With more than just coffee
They are stained and tainted
With the ghost of your memory.
I still recall, last fall,
When you took the words
I love you and
Breathed life into them
As you whispered them gently
In my ear
And stamped your name
Underneath my rib cage
I remember how sincere
You sounded,
How so willingly
I plucked them from the air
And surrounded
Myself, in their warmth.
I'll never forget,
The yield of regret,
That comes with not
Building up walls
And putting up a safety net
For all of those times you
Let me slip
Between your fingers
And the pain it still lingers.
Your promises were made
Empty and broken
The lies and deception
Apparent yet unspoken.*
Life's expectancy to decree what I believed
That our love was bound by fate
If only I didn't get my coffee that day
We would never have met
And I won't be dealing with this heartache
I hear but I can't see
Blinded by your Iloveyou's
Those 7 letters, three words will be the death of me
Clinging on to hope, hoping you'll be my last
But like the others you left,
For the first time, leaving me broken
Helpless and leaving me wanting more
Was it even real for you at all?
*I thought that maybe
I had finally found the one
But past lovers
They too, had upped and gone
And I'm left thinking
And wondering*
***Is there something wrong,
With me?***
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 11:55 AM UTC
This fire smoldering between us burns so very intense that all my inhibitions just seem to melt away.
I can't stop myself from becoming drunk off the intoxication of your captivating physic, MMMM I love feeling this way.
I see your eyes light up with expectancy when I tease you, sending waves of temptation thru your imagination.
With deep anticipation, I savor the idea of our bodies intertwined and my head becomes dizzy from my hearts acceleration.
Curving my long sleek body to fit into your mold, while teasing nibbles and seductive kisses are given in just the right place.
Breathless whispers fueled by pure desire, exploring each others body with enticing caresses as we long to stay locked in this lustful embrace.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
My demons come when I am weak
wounded lion spirit
hyenas scratching at my bloodied sides
fingers pushing at cracked glass soul
corpse of decayed love whisper vile insanities
once kind life voices mewling crowing
over fresh ****** wounds to new for rotten
push your grey fingers in through my split skin
fish hook tenderness as you disport in my misery
defiled by the profanity of soiled joy
black shapes flap and rattle at the thin glass
break through with the shards and pierce my soul
my heart is frozen by your lapping rising tide of eversore caresses
too late to cry for help if death comes to me in a demon's red eye
it will find a fallen spirit of light burnt by close flame falsehood
and regrets barren embraces
held in the grip of the twisted gone
it is the crack-scabbed tomorrow that mocks my today
wounds cry tears of knife edge expectancy
arms shrink at cutting-shrine memories
God cannot stand against you but vomitting can play his role
4004 6015 numbers list your mocking horde
to late for redeemers blades
reject and defile the war cry of the un-dead
choosers of the slain cross skies of dead hope stars
No dandelion seed would stoop to carry my soul
too twisted for heaven's soil
rotted leaf shrine heat of decay warmth
no hell for demons to dwell carried within heart-carcass vessel
sail through eternities baying grief this reward
cherish fear and pain marks the hours of still alive
window of thin despair ready to crash but striving still
gossamer molecule threads still cleave to me
fight against 1916 cloying of death-sweet expectancy
shell hole camaraderie with last summers corpse gas kisses
twenty-eight pills later summer needs to come soon
at four degrees I can be water ice or gas can I be alive
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 1:57 PM UTC