"firmer" poems
if I should sleep with a lady called death
get another man with firmer lips
to take your new mouth in his teeth
(hips pumping pleasure into hips).
Seeing how the limp huddling string
of your smile over his body squirms
kissingly, I will bring you every spring
handfuls of little normal worms.
Dress deftly your flesh in stupid stuffs,
phrase the immense weapon of your hair.
Understanding why his eye laughs,
I will bring you every year
something which is worth the whole,
an inch of nothing for your soul.
73.7k
This is how it goes
your hands will be proxy for mine
my hands will be proxy for yours
your fingers my fingers
and my fingers yours
what I describe, you enact
told in detail so exact
Just to begin
I squeeze your *******
knead and pinch
tweak a ******
give it a tug
Stroke your tummy
work over your thighs
move up the inner
where skin is smooth
circle around, moving in
till soft contours are caressed
through pants that burn
to be removed
that pain you to wear
and I see in my mind
as you describe
the spreading, darkening patch
that fills the gusset
Now they're pulled down
removed quickly, completely
and you are revealed
spread, opened, shameless
Gentle fingertips tease
dance in circles, barely touching
yet the fire within grows
back and forth, round and round
dance the fingertips
as both reciprocate
with growing pace
and firmer touch
I hear you gasp down the line
and your breathing quickens
as you hear mine
as your excitement fuels mine
as mine fuels yours
in our feedback loop of lust
And I tell you how
my fingertip would give way
to tonguetip if I could
that I can taste you
in my imagination
fragrant, salty sweetness
with musky undertones
the tip of my tongue now circling
then flicking back and forth
beating out the rhythm
that you best harmonise with
bringing forth your moans
Then darting down, back
between wet, glistening folds
exploring each ridge and valley
working remorselessly
Breathing faster now
with animal grunts and moans
directions of pleasure gasped
breathless down the phone
As fingers again
take the lead
find the opening
slip readily within
probe, explore, ****
find that place
on your front wall
yes, just that spot
that's a little rougher
and feels sooo goood
Add a second finger
working and *******
licking and rubbing
moaning and gasping
barely intelligible now
...yess...more...yess...ohhh
are all that have meaning
Finger three joins one and two
then the pressure builds
demanding release
and shaking and thrusting
grows to shuddering
and...yes...yesss...sooo clooose
******* faster furiously
till we both explode
hearing each other's
voicing of our ecstasy
in language intelligible
only in this one context
Brains and voices return
as we bask in the afterglow
and what passes between us then
in those moments
is the deepest intimacy of all
Cynthia Pauline Jones 01/02/2014
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
he introduces himself
saying quiet, but slipping in, firm:
“something he knows for sure,
no is no”
I, (19, f)
replying, smiling
saying louder, firmer:
“something she knows for sure,
yes is yes”
and he says
“yes, ma’am,”
returning her smile, so shyly,
while blushing, so loudly,
thinking he said something dumb,
looking down at his shuffling feet,
covered in worn out cowboy boots
I like this guy
I like this man.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 7:35 AM UTC
gee i like to think of dead it means nearer because deeper firmer
since darker than little round water at one end of the well it’s
too cool to be crooked and it’s too firm to be hard but it’s sharp
and thick and it loves, every old thing falls in rosebugs and
jackknives and kittens and pennies they all sit there looking at
each other having the fastest time because they’ve never met before
dead’s more even than how many ways of sitting on your head your
unnatural hair has in the morning
dead’s clever too like POF goes the alarm off and the little striker
having the best time tickling away everybody’s brain so everybody
just puts out their finger and they stuff the poor thing all full
of fingers
dead has a smile like the nicest man you’ve never met who maybe winks
at you in a streetcar and you pretend you don’t but really you do
see and you are My how glad he winked and hope he’ll do it again
or if it talks about you somewhere behind your back it makes your neck
feel pleasant and stoopid and if dead says may i have this one and
was never introduced you say Yes because you know you want it to dance
with you and it wants to and it can dance and Whocares
dead’s fine like hands do you see that water flowerpots in windows but
they live higher in their house than you so that’s all you see but you
don’t want to
dead’s happy like the way underclothes All so differently solemn and
inti and sitting on one string
dead never says my dear,Time for your musiclesson and you like music and
to have somebody play who can but you know you never can and why have to?
dead’s nice like a dance where you danced simple hours and you take all
your prickly-clothes off and squeeze-into-largeness without one word and
you lie still as anything in largeness and this largeness begins to give
you,the dance all over again and you,feel all again all over the way men
you liked made you feel when they touched you(but that’s not all)because
largeness tells you so you can feel what you made,men feel when,you touched,
them
dead’s sorry like a thistlefluff-thing which goes landing away all by
himself on somebody’s roof or something where who-ever-heard-of-growing
and nobody expects you to anyway
dead says come with me he says(andwhyevernot)into the round well and
see the kitten and the penny and the jackknife and the rosebug
and you
say Sure you say (like that) sure i’ll come with you you say for i
like kittens i do and jackknives i do and pennies i do and rosebugs i do
9.1k
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
So it is eighteen years,
Helena, since we met!
A season so endears,
Nor you nor I forget
The fresh young faces that once clove
In that most fiery dawn of love.
We wandered to and fro,
Who knew not how to woo,
Those eighteen years ago,
Sweetheart, when I and you
Exchanged high vows in heaven's sight
That scarce survived a summer's night.
What scourge smote from the stars
What madness from the moon?
That night we broke the bars
Was quintessential June,
When you and I beneath the trees
Bartered our bold virginities.
Eighteen -years, months, or hours?
Time is a tyrant's toy!
Eternal are the flowers!
We are but girl and boy
Yet -since love leapt as swift to-night
As it had never left the light!
For fiercer from the South
Still flames your cruel hair,
And Trojan Helen's mouth
Still not so ripe and rare
As Helena's -nor love nor youth
So leaps with lust or thrills with truth.
Helena, still we hold
Flesh firmer, still we mix
Black hair with hair as gold.
Life has but served to fix
Our hearts; love lingers on the tongue,
And who loves once is always young.
The stars are still the same;
The changeful moon endures;
Come without fear or shame,
And draw my mouth to yours!
Youth fails, however flesh be fain;
Manhood and womanhood attain.
Life is a string of pearls,
And you the first I strung.
You left -first flower of girls! -
Life lyric on my tongue,
An indefatigable dance,
An inexhaustible romance!
Blush of love's dawn, bright bud
That bloomed for my delight,
First blossom of my blood,
Burn in that blood to-night!
Helena, Helena, fiercely fresh,
Your flesh flies fervent to my flesh.
What sage can dare impugn
Man's immortality?
Our godhead swims, immune
From death and destiny.
Ignored the bubble in the flow
Of love eighteen short years ago!
Time -I embrace all time
As my arm rings your waist.
Space -you surpass, sublime,
As, taking me, we taste
Omnipotence, sense slaying sense,
Soul slaying soul, omniscience.
4.4k
27
Morns like these—we parted—
Noons like these—she rose—
Fluttering first—then firmer
To her fair repose.
Never did she lisp it—
It was not for me—
She—was mute from transport—
I—from agony—
Till—the evening nearing
One the curtains drew—
Quick! A Sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!
4k
1753
Through those old Grounds of memory,
The sauntering alone
Is a divine intemperance
A prudent man would shun.
Of liquors that are vended
’Tis easy to beware
But statutes do not meddle
With the internal bar.
Pernicious as the sunset
Permitting to pursue
But impotent to gather,
The tranquil perfidy
Alloys our firmer moments
With that severest gold
Convenient to the longing
But otherwise withheld.
3.8k
It’s evening
The hawkers at the station are loud
One is selling lottery tickets
The girl in her old dress, and new earrings caresses her earrings to feel their weight in her hands
She looks at the lottery tickets and wonders why people believe in them
A local comes along with a wave of people
She stands upright and surfs the wave to stay
She knows this isn’t the local she is waiting for
She tells the boy she is with that she had a great time
And he thanks her for a wonderful evening.
He looks at her face one more time, not quite ready to say goodbye yet
He looks at the clock at the station. It’s precisely 8:06 PM
The local will come at 8:08 PM.
He is hoping it’ll be late today.
He needs those extra seconds to prepare himself.
Certain goodbyes in life are harder than you thought they would be.
He looks straight into the eyes of the girl
And sees his reflection in her eyes
Scared of what he sees, he looks away
The girl adornes her new earrings again
She looks at the clock
The old rusty clock still shows 8:06 PM
Time had slowed down for her.
She feels the platform shaking
She fears it is the local approaching earlier?
She hugs him without a seconds delay
Surprised, the boy blushes. And continues the embrace
He whispers to her and tells her, that her earrings are pretty
She smiles
Perhaps this is the best way to say good bye.
The clock is now at 8:08PM and the local is not there yet
They both smile at each other, then look at the clock.
The boy can see the local approaching. He hugs her tighter once again.
And makes sure she doesn’t see the approaching train
She slowly slides out of his arms like sand from a man’s fist. He tries holding her firmer, but in vain
They both smile at each other and say an awkward bye.
She boards the local and tries to find a seat.
He waits patiently at the platform waiting for her to look out once more
The local is about to move and his heart is beating faster than the engine
He can feel her sight on him and looks her way.
She has a crooked smile with which she waves at him.
He waits at the station till the local moves.
He walks a bit with the local and then stops next to the hawker.
He waves at her one more time and watches as the train goes.
He looks at the hawker and wonders why people believe in lotteries.His phone buzzes in his pocket.
He has a big grin, he won the lottery after all
He walks out of the station with a jump in his step as he pats the Bandra station board.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
278
A shady friend—for Torrid days—
Is easier to find—
Than one of higher temperature
For Frigid—hour of Mind—
The Vane a little to the East—
Scares Muslin souls—away—
If Broadcloth Hearts are firmer—
Than those of Organdy—
Who is to blame? The Weaver?
Ah, the bewildering thread!
The Tapestries of Paradise
So notelessly—are made!
2.8k
It's hit and miss the ********
We know It's there and needs a kiss
A gentle lick a temperate ****
A delicate flick with the tongue
Then more and more and firmer still
It pops up to show it's thrilled
Then hands you feel on your head pushing you deeper in her cleft
Faster still you thrill her more as she writhes and asks for more
Then finally as her body shakes you taste her as she slips away
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
I watch you as you lightly moan holding back the pleasure.
Lightly grabbing me
I'm pulling you deep into my mouth
glancing at one another
we both grin
bonding
I pull your manhood
Deep
Deep
Tight
pushing and pulling with my tongue
the taste of your flesh... Mmmm
My mouth pulls tighter
Your ******** growing firmer
You ******
..............................
testing my limit
I shove you deeper
Pushing you onto the chair
No holding back
SPLASH
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 8:07 PM UTC
This life, although startling in its brilliance,
remains confined to the electrical shadows
cast on the walls of our brains.
Do you ever feel…
no, no, no
not feel.
Well maybe feel...
or sense…
that everlasting something
sometimes off in the distance I can see…
I’d love to take my hands
and, like the meaty instruments they are, dance
sweet symphonies up and down
your body.
Your mysterious mountains I wish to see closer
to land my ***** machine
among majestic silver seas and
strange beautiful grass of green.
I would use my subtle touch to say
what I couldn’t any other way and
drag you down to the depths.
But things are not so simple
in life
as in our thoughts,
nor so rough
as our poor idiotic language.
*Every hand, give me your hand.
I’ll talk to you, you wont understand.*
These electrical shadows cry at the ultimate,
but our mere conception shames it.
Like the dream tigers we desperately try to craft
they continue to disintegrate
like the castles made of sands,
rocks piled on rocks
reaching for the stars.
The firmer the hold,
the quicker it slips away.
“Just try squeezing the truth from water,”
the angels sing to me in my sleep.
And it’s the love of dreams
which is so greedy for recognition
swiftly performed in the sight of all.
And it’s the waves I feel…
well maybe not feel.
And I wanna say **** you”
because I still love you.
I sense…
well maybe not sense…
And I feel
my soul being slit up as if by a razor.
frenzied but beautiful and
an awful ambiguity grinning over it all,
cackling out the Tao’s opening words,
lukewarm to the point of being
enigmatic,
“The truth that can be told, that is no eternal truth.”
I guess after the laughter, then comes the tears.
**** you, Lao Tzu
and your ****** ancient wisdom.
Why you staring at my finger when I’m pointing at the moon?
I got nothing at all.
The center, unapproachable
forever.
You’re willing to die you coward
but not to live.
Love life more than the meaning of it.
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 8:25 PM UTC
I stand on the shore, my feet sinking in the sands,
My hair tousled wild in winds hustling hands,
Covering my face, veiling my eyes,
Distantly, I hear the seagulls, their yearning cries.
I grip firmer and hold myself tight,
In dusk's diminishing, dwindling twilight.
I watch the waves lunge at me -
Overwhelming, menacingly.
But as they race to the shore, reaching my feet
They drench me, turn back and then recede.
I see another wave, I yearn to move a step behind.
Fear and uncertainty fill my troubled mind.
But I still stand, stand my ground,
Unmindful of the sounds,
Of the winds and the waves,
In a trance, lost, nature's slave.
I nearly fall, my balance lost,
Taken by surprise, by waves tossed.
But I still stand, stand with unsteady feet,
Where the land and waters meet.
I, on the seashore, a speck, besides a sea so vast -
I know that each wave will rest and it too shall pass.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
Somedays, the tide only laughs
at the sandbags we put up.
When the ocean of emotion
breaks with waves above our hearts,
we swim or drown.
The swell of current overrides
and riptides pull us down.
Move parallel to shore against the tide
till firmer ground is found.
Swim.
r ~ 4/6/14
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
Where Purity is the Covering of All Flesh
and no private part of the human body
may be shown
and thus where the lack of Purity is Dishonesty
and therefore are Dishonest Paintings
wherein are depicted female ******* and such
buttocks and navel
and where genitalia female or male
asleep or awake
and such are shown
and crotches and such flesh and curvatures
may arouse
such being Dishonest Paintings
the Eminent Guardians of Purity
announce multiple positions vacant
of Reviewer of Dishonest Paintings
and so to cover up with black paint any signs of *******
and so of any other part of images in such paintings
as buttocks cover up with black paint
and so on each Dishonest part of human anatomy
to be covered with black paint
and in this task one always to use a firm, long brush -
the longer and firmer the better for the Soul -
so that
one may not come too close to such obscenities
as coming close one may be aroused to ***** desires
in male
(Females need not apply for said position
for such lascivious creatures are always
in a state of wet desires)
and so in covering with black paint
the Sanctity and the Will of Heaven prevails
and human souls transported to Divine Ecstasy
at the sight of paintings with black holes
corrected by expert Reviewer of Dishonest Paintings
and such positions to be filled
by honest men firm in their resolve
and long in stamina and determination
they should arrange their own transport
for various locations in the Holy Empire
for indeed Various Positions are available
and while the renumeration is handsome
derived from confiscation of properties and means
of the Perpetrators
of those Works of Perfidy and Damnation
those Artists who produce and who engender
Dishonest Paintings and such Works
and far more too included in Renumeration
is the Seat of Purity in Heaven -
O the pay shall be Eternal Heaven
Apply directly and in person
at the South Wall of the Grand House of Divinity -
put your scrolls in the holes
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 4:20 AM UTC
These times strike monied worldlings with dismay:
Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air
With words of apprehension and despair:
While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,
Men unto whom sufficient for the day
And minds not stinted or untilled are given,
Sound, healthy, children of the God of heaven,
Are cheerful as the rising sun in May.
What do we gather hence but firmer faith
That every gift of noble origin
Is breathed upon by Hope’s perpetual breath;
That virtue and the faculties within
Are vital,—and that riches are akin
To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death?
1.8k
the world is just starting to seem real
clay in a firmer state
studier but harder to mold
and i am still trying to shape it in my hands
without getting it under my nails
... something,
something under my nails
clambering for something to hold onto
anxiety racing, scratching, life catching up to me
why am i bleeding
why am i bleeding
this is supposed to be freeing
i guess i just
pick one of these lines
deeply clawed into my skin
paths like addict,
wash up,
footstool;
lives carefully planned for me since birth
i played trumpet in junior high
so that must mean i'll be a paralegal like my mama
regretting my love choices
regretting my life choices
wasting away at a job i hate
doing work i don't get credit for
destined to fade away lonely
but then again i've got my dad's bad habits
and twice his screaming spirit
so maybe i'll spend half my life in a bottle
and the other half trying to chase the dreams that i ****** away in my twenties
maybe i'll run all over creation
trying to be something bigger
someone stronger
yeah
that sounds about right
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 12:26 AM UTC
1327
The Symptom of the Gale—
The Second of Dismay—
Between its Rumor and its Face—
Is almost Revelry—
The Houses firmer root—
The Heavens cannot be found—
The Upper Surfaces of things
Take covert in the Ground—
The Mem’ry of the Sun
Not Any can recall—
Although by Nature’s sterling Watch
So scant an interval—
And when the Noise is caught
And Nature looks around—
“We dreamed it”? She interrogates—
“Good Morning”—We propound?
1.6k
These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,
Than all th’ unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense, love orations.
Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve prov’d it;
Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov’d it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine;
With silly whims, and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene’s a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent,
(Since Shakespeare set the precedent;
Since Juliet first declar’d her passion)
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain;
He surely, in commiseration,
Had chang’d the place of declaration.
In Italy, I’ve no objection,
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself, is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we’ve done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you:
‘There’, we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than plac’d in all th’ Arcadian groves,
That ever witness’d rural loves;
‘Then’, if my passion fail to please,
Next night I’ll be content to freeze;
No more I’ll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate, for ever after.
1.6k
**Maybe this is our opportunity to finally see change
we've endured a system archaic and strange
we've watched the world revolve quicker than us
because we are stranded while the rest shift on the wheels of revolution
maybe this is the time you made that resolution
to constantly remind your brother and sister
Father and mother that that position needs a new sitter
maybe this is the time to say enough is enough
however much it instills in you fear, however tough
maybe it's the time we finally say to hell with the past
because like they say to stone nothing is cast**
*and the only thing that doesn't change is change itself
otherwise for how long will one old man exploit our insecurities?
For how long are they going to tell us that change is unsafe
A different time a different king even the monarchs say
what are we saying in our deafening silence today?
maybe this is the time to tell even the most ignorant by the country mile
that only and only a different king will dry their tears and give them a smile
we've been told he's the only man with foresight
come on,how are we to judge the rest without chances
for so long change has been a distant vibration along the threads of time
and opposition to conservatism a crime
maybe it's time for that to change too
and guess who can do that, only me and you*
**maybe it's time to flip the page for this great country to start another chapter
And it doesn't have to be all smooth a flow to happily ever after
Let other dancers step to the podium
and only then can we judge their dances
maybe it's time to another hunter we handed the arrow and bow
maybe now is the time for a different color on the rainbow
It cannot forever be a constant yellow
for even God saw however beautiful they look
the skies shouldn't always bear a sparkling mellow
sometimes the sky is cloudy, orange and most times blue
maybe it's time like I clearly think from my own view
for as a generation we are being denied the opportunity of comparative history**
*what will we tell our children happened to democracy
where did we throw, they'll ask all the resilience and efficacy?
maybe it's time to get back our country from the liberators
who use the same cuffs of the past regimes to manacle this country
and have since grown tall and firmer than palm tree
we have watched them wallow and buzz for so long
but for an idea whose time has come nothing is that strong*
**maybe it's time to save the embezzled donations and every single grant
a time to say confidently "to Hell with the tyrant"
maybe it's a time to be the change we want, the answer to all of our questions
and shove those that think we can't
maybe it's time to go past the roughing waves of conservatism as they whirl
maybe it's time to save our lovely nation
for at the moment, in very wrong hands lies the Pearl.**
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
I have a cat
Black as midnight
With a tail strong
From bristling and curving into s-shapes.
He came to us younger and firmer
Fur thick with the muscle of the cold
From the hunt for somewhere else
And he was hungry.
My mother said he must have been beaten
Because he had learnt to fear a hand from above
So we stroked him from the side
Asking meek permission.
He learnt to recognise my shoes as
That one thing which brought love
And could not be human because
It did not shout.
I changed my shoes often when I learnt this
So that every day it learnt to love someone new
And now it fears no human
And sits warmly at our sides.
We called him Bagheera because
We know that he comes
From a dark jungle
Where only the strongest of heart can survive.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC
Nima's mother came
to the side ward
where her daughter Nima
was sitting by a window
in her dressing gown
looking at the passing trains.
You look no better,
her mother said.
Better than what?
Nima said,
turning to eye her mother.
Than last time,
her mother said,
walking into the ward,
and sitting in a chair
by the bed.
You look tired.
I am tired,
always tired,
Nima said,
looking away
from her mother,
focusing on a train
going by.
Her mother sighed.
You need to get better,
how is the treatment?
Ask the quacks
they're in charge
not me,
Nima said,
watching a milk float
go by on the road
across the way.
You are a very
spoilt child and rude,
her mother said.
Have you come
to upset me or what?
Nima said.
Have you seen
that boy again?
May have,
Nima said,
turning to gaze
at her mother.
Have you or not?
Her mother said
in a firmer voice.
What is it to you
whom I see?
Nima said.
He could be
a drug pusher
and you'd be back
in dirt hole again,
her mother said.
He's not a pusher,
he has nothing to do
with drugs which
is why I like him,
Nima said,
remembering she
and Benny in
the cheap hotel bed
making out
at the weekend.
Is he our type?
Mother said.
Our type?
I doubt it very much
and am glad,
Nima said.
Her mother sighed
and stood up
and walked to where
her daughter sat
and stood over her.
If it wasn't for me
you'd be in some
cheap ward
with the others,
Mother said coldly.
When did you
see him last?
At the weekend,
Nima said,
seeing in her mind's eye
she and Benny
in the bed stark naked,
curtains drawn back
taking in the view.
What did you do?
Mother said.
Nothing much,
sat and talked,
Nima said,
remembering
the landlady coming
to the door with tea
that Sunday morning
and Benny going
to the door
in just his underwear
and she(Nima) smiling
at the landlady's stare.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 3:53 AM UTC
Under the eaves we’ll be dryer,
sat down in those chairs so not to tire;
there’s a fire in the back slowly smouldering.
It reminds me of your desire last Spring.
Below the light we’ll embrace once more
beneath the bed sheets that pour over us like tides offshore,
but you were different with your Trojan war, Iliad heart.
The snow has fallen, outside is the core and we’re now apart.
Inside the cabin we’ll be warmer
laying loose on the couch like lost foreigners:
you used to be a charmer back when it mattered.
Now the ground is firmer and the leaves are scattered.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
Oh precious Hyacinth, in my eyes a jewel
In front of your radiance, my knees fell
You’re like a glistening pearl in a ****** shell
I am enamored by your enthralling spell
Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!
Oh King of Sparta, you bear the tastiest fruit
On the land he is the handsomest youth
This is for everyone a crystal clear truth
That’s why in my heart the arrows of Eros shoot
Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!
Oh precious Hyacinth, you have equaled the glamour of a god
Your face is fairer than any mortal lad
Your muscles are firmer than any man had
Because of such beauty, you make me feel glad
Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!
Oh King of Olympus, let me have this seductive mortal
For him my godly being turned carnal
The appeal of his flesh is oddly unusual
I want him to be mine for time eternal
Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!
Oh precious Hyacinth, under my wings you’ll never fall
Come to the West Wind’s most desperate call
To you I’ll reserve the prettiest room in my hall
The most romantic & blissful haven for all
Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!
Oh deities & humans, grant me this costly man
Boreas, Notus, Eurus, bring me this heavenly Spartan
Let our powerful Anemoi bequeath him from his clan
Turn him over to the Western Wind, his greatest fan!
Listen everyone to Zephyrus’ Serenade for Hyacinth!
-02/11/2015
(Dumarao)
*Hopelessly Immortal Collection
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 9:53 PM UTC