"flavored" poems
The new # 69 hoochi coochi smoochi
rubberized *** robot ****** sucker model 2.0
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****** off
feelin lonely
tired of spats
credit cards charged up from dates that don't put out
don't like the same restaurants
not ***** to your taste
cant stand the in-laws
you wana live costal, they like Kansas
or
tired of internet dating
and no time for a quickie
when the one you love tells you they aren't in the mood
well bunky
its a brave new world
take a spin in our new model
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they talk
they walk
warm all ova inside and out
scented oiled perfumed *** optional
and flavored
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and
phooey
replete with an array of assorted interchangeable
***** pussy's and butts
extra sturdy for ware and tear
and those little irresistible spankies and whoopins
you just cant live without
plus any colors, or rainbow rubber chasse
gay straight or mix it up how eva
trans trans gender
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deluxe or standard
voice activated
advanced multi lingual
baby talk and hits the high notes
talks back software program
and
NO always means YES
plus
screams
cu cu cu cu cu cummmmming
cooes I love you
**** me now *****
shred me you ****** ******
and many others
in over 50 languages
Other optional features include
age play
ethnic fetish
banjee
blow jobs
tipping the velvet
**** to mouth
salad tossing
tea bagging
spit roast
bare back
chicken head
death grip
*******
mammary ***********
***** call
Netflix and chill
donkey punch
golden shower
brown bath
cream pie
*******
motor boating
and the shocker
two in the pink and one in the stink
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
Hurt me
Whips and blindfolds
Submission
Boarded up bedrooms
Leather
Fetishes
Being satisfied
Hard bulbous *** toys
Using flavored lubricants
Deep scratches
Red marks
Bruises
Rope burn
Pulling
Smacking
Biting
Smothering
Sitting
Licking
Pleasure
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
so it is, so it be.
life granted me a boon, come to me, the honey.
not the merest of coating, but a power enrichened,
capable of driving out the slow acting, daily killing,
poisonous venom.
makeover, coverup of tears of ancient marriage-madness,
black swan hate disguise, her lies, venom injection of
coffee blood staining love pretense, now just scar tracks for a
new boulevard.
the slow pour, the golden russian amber intertwined tones,
tongue tasted, inside me now, revealed in slow exiting, beauteous,
mellifluous tears.
you dance with the stars, I watch you watching,
clueless that my thee-flavored tears, dance and pour down
my face.
destitute, nearer my God than thee, god blessed this child's life,
love gifted from sweet bees, late in life, flew from my computer screen and sonnet-stung me with antidotes of
love n' honey...
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
Ice cream is sweet and quite the treat
A savory delight I crave at night
At almost any time and any where,
it is worth to desert for this dessert.
Some keep it vanilla while others want a twist.
Sometimes it's good to mix or other wise switch.
Maybe you're ***** can't resist other flavored dishes?
What if you were denied it or could no longer find it?
*** how I'd crave its taste, but at least I'd lose weight.
Other substitutes are lame and aren't quite the same.
Regardless, I would survive and still be able to thrive.
Why is *** so different?
It's a biological need you'll probably say,
so you, can't compare the two.
I disagree completely.
Though we'd all prefer not to be lacking,
it's not as if we'd die for wanting.
Additionally, people have lived ascetically
and have been perfectly fulfilled and happy.
Those kinds of people aren't born that way,
but rather we are conditioned to be *** crazy.
We are made to feel as if
we are measured by who or how many we've been with.
It is validation we truly desire
and to know we always matter.
And though *** is one of life's greatest gifts,
it does not give your life an overarching bliss.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
I really miss that thrill I used to feel when we started dating
I want to bring back the same moment exciting
Those days when we were not able keeping our hands off each other
So today when you are home, you will find our sleeping son
And me in a mood of beautiful seduction
Instead of regular powder I will be using formula flavored
That dress you gifted will be perfect not to cover my body tattoo
That would be the perfect accessory
I know you like my **** lips
But today I will apply some vanilla flavored gloss just to attract you towards it
My bronzed skin is itself **** you always said
You will be all hot and bothered by the perfume I wear
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
A scarlet confection
Made to tasty perfection
For your mouth’s inspection
The tip of the toppings
The vanilla flavored frosting
Is so tempting to you
The taste bud’s elation
In what you are facing
Is something like devil’s food cake
The tiled floor kitchen
In the hours bewitching
Leaves your pulse a twitching
From the caloric intake
And the hours you shorten
By licking the shortening
They are a mistake
But they are your poisonous pleasure
Made to bake and yours’ to take
It’s a sweet treat we call cake
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
In an instance,
I felt a calmness sweep across my body.
My body free of any restriction.
Her being my release.
Sweet liberties
Utilized by the touch of lips.
A period punctuated by perched lips.
Released in ounces of color.
The way she loved.
My tongue swirled around hers.
Fingers wrapped around her waist.
Brown peach flavored skin.
My addiction a place for her to stay,
Her bag broken down; piece by piece.
A home away from home.
Until the day she left.
I consulted family, I reached out to friends.
They say that she's no good
They say leave her be.
Truth be told
My vacancy left colorless.
Bland.
My tree grown fruitless
Revealed to me in bitter hunger.
The realization of perception.
Nothing left to fill my hands.
This vacancy punishable by death.
A ****** filled by her alone.
My fingers around her waist.
Her love sticky, sweet.
Swirling around my tongue.
My eyes left low
Anticipating her return.
They say that she's no good
They say leave her be.
Truth be told
I haven't spoken to them since
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 6:40 PM UTC
Remember that night?
The soft glow of the tv reflecting blue on the walls
Our tongues dancing to the music
That played in the background
I had you pinned the wrong way round on the bed
Your head between my arms
Every part of us touching
I could feel the heat on your skin
The melody of your heartbeat
You tasted like the cherry sucker I gave you
An hour before
Oh, how I used to drown in your melancholy
Yet now all I feel is water
Little drops from the shower
While I stare at what never was
The music of your breathing still plays in my ears
When the night is quiet enough
Sometimes I swear I still feel your skin
But the moment passes and I’m left with this cold sort of feeling
An empty swell in my chest
A tingle behind my eyes
You are nothing but dull memories now
Nothing but a thought of remembrance
Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 10:41 AM UTC
anise flavored love song
black as night unseen
fog fills tinting windows
bite me like I'm soylent green
Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 9:10 AM UTC
I swirled in a ocean of brown.
Venting in steam.
My drown overlapped by current
On top of current.
I swirled around and around,
swimming in sugary spec.
I once dreamed of dry land.
Loosing my footing on the edge of a spoon.
The top of a pink packet torn off.
Sprinkled on my head.
There was no sense in fighting.
One single serving brewed.
It was exciting to feel myself swirl,
All I'd ever know.
around and around.
All I'd ever know.
The more I drunk the more evident it became.
The here after in addiction.
Sweet in taste.
My skin dipped in heart of something so delicious.
I swirled around in an ocean of brown.
Her eyes.
Never once did it occur that I couldn't gulp them.
I still tried.
Lost forever in Mocha flavored aroma
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
I drink pink grapefruit flavored drinks
my face smells like the citrus
when I lose things and people
I change my hair
it helps me cope with the idea that I can never finish a stick of lip balm and most of the people I've known only yield disappointment
no one is at fault here
but the blame is usually pushed into my intestines
and I spend five days throwing up
I used to be afraid that I would never see the entire world
now I'm afraid I'll never spend enough time in a place I can call home
every morning the smell of grapefruit grows stronger
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
Ice cream
overwhelming
flavored with sweet pleasure
refreshing the soul within us
soothing.....
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
The Lollipop King, with his mighty staff,
Flavored all the colors of the rainbow,
Enticing me with what he has
To places where I must not go.
His lust-soaked pheromones masked with licorice
Entice the hearts of the fair maidens of the land.
While I too have fallen victim to his confectionary wishes,
Of this courtship and this romance became something unplanned.
I have now found my way into this lollipop dynasty,
Becoming another member of this sisterhood of sugar.
But the difference with me, if you’ll lean close, you see,
Quoth the Lollipop King, “I do not want to lose her.”
And always alone I’ll say to myself:
When will his time come to place me on the shelf?
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 7:43 AM UTC
(Spring 2008)
I have a sore
My throat
I have an ache
My head
I have a strain
My eye
I have a chill
My body
I, resist
And sang with them
I am heading to
My brain
As I think
Purple
It smells like
Orange
But melts like
Rain
Feels cold like
Blue ice
My lips are pale
Ay-yay-yay
Wild like honey
On a caramelized
Pie-yay-yay
Sweet red pepper, I
Disguised like roses
In the garden
You pricked me
A-ray!
Flavored pain
As I feel
I have warmth
My forehead
I have flu
To bed
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Gold glitter
Only stays on the ceiling
When the upholstery is gray.
Church gyms are suddenly
Piggy banks to play
Basketball upon.
I will draw a city on
The bulletin board
And owl pushpins will inhabit it.
My mind is no longer in a
Casing of gray rick-rack
And suppositions I do not feel.
It is a precarious thing to
Play a solar piano
Under the midday sky.
Have you ever heard
A pumpkin-flavored
Volkswagen van?
It happened suddenly
That everything I could possibly
See became a photography contest.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Stick a lolipop
into the mouth of moments
your life is a child
and somewhere in there
you give a flying ****
about the moon
and no it's not cheese.
That mouth knows what dirt tastes like
but that wont stop me from pouring caramel
and cigarettes over it.
I need a fix
of candied dirt
and addiction.
I'm not afraid of the eclipse
because I'm already hooked on the dark.
So lock the door
&
draw the curtains
&
be content.
The tide wont be knocking
no matter how much you
want it to fill the room
or how big is your sweet tooth
because
hunger
is BIGGER
and eventually
anything will do.
So thank the moon we were wearing seat belts.
Otherwise we might be vegetables
eating only exhaust
like Hiroshima
force fed the sun
because
you only make war on an empty stomach
or with an insatiable hunger.
Be content
for the civilians and their children
who only know the taste of war.
Idiot flavored idiots with a hint of
dead mothers
that will bore a cavity so big
it'll put holes in the head
of kindergardens everywhere.
Who write their valentines on bombs.
Who's love murders buildings,
topples families,
plowing through bodies on city streets all to reach
nobody.
Be content
for the people
who aren't
you because when parents ******* in a box
you call a country means
you don't care
you put genocide on the menu
and there are some things that just wont do.
As I grow weary of rivaling chefs pointing fingers
in circles forever
becoming a porthole to the ****** business
becoming the unsuspecting manhole for
the human animal's existence
in crossing.
Mothers may find safe shelter in the sewers
but it reeks of prepackaged liberty
express delivery
to
every where.
Be content.
Because to start a revolution means living it
and what better way,
to ******* a reckless pace
that finishes first in hunger,
starting fist fights with other people's lives
and forgets even sooner,
than
to
be
content.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
Thailand ******
Can read my mind
See my desire
Feel my pain
Siam Halloween in nana klong toey
Thai delights even the ladyboys look good tonight they know how to **** over and survive using a cheap disguise
Hey forang you wanna **** me?
1000 baht short time curiosity.
I prefer real ladies with juicy butts
Flavored with beer and sangsom whiskey *****
Take me home beat me with your
**** asian Treats
Make me lick your ***** feets
Asian women are my lust filled desire
They sit on my face until I can't breath no more
Than make me pay for my ***** laundry
Soap me up and knock me down
Bangkok Thailand is my home town
I slither along the Sukhumvit soi 11, devoted to the ***** I'm in 7th heaven...
Her **** smells better than stupid blonde Suzy the airhead girl next door boring rubber doll
Asian toilet scrubbers turn me on the never heard of boring old vain Beverly hills ugly rodeo drive full of stuffy old hags high on ****** pills
Sad drag Beverly hills I lived in that phoney fake berg I love the ancient town Bangkok where my face gets slapped and hurt!
*** is a weapon.
****** are mans desire
Zeus fell in lust with a Greek goddess than expired?
Nasty ****** in Thailand make me hard
I become 18 again nothing else matters but fun with that wanna be ******
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
If I collected my tears in a bottle, left it to the sea's mercy
Would you search for my tears among all that water?
Or would you just laugh with your liquid eyes
And lend me some milk and honey, milk and honey
The constellation of freckles mapped on your nose
Remind me of our milky way galaxy, of milk and honey
My eyes are leaking milk
My lips are drooling honey
Me eyes and lips leave behind
Milk and honey, milk and honey
Sometimes my words seem as empty as your promises
And that tears me apart worse than your love ever did
Limb by limb, ***** by ***** kiss by kiss
you dissected my love till I had nothing left to prove
Now I'm left wondering who made mistakes
Who sent me this bottle of milk and honey, milk and honey?
My eyes are watered by milk
My lips are touched by honey
My eyes and lips are flavored with
Milk and honey, milk and honey
Why do your cuss words sound like milk and honey?
You might be pathetic but oh what a pretty liar
Promises dripping with the water from your liquid eyes
If the symphony of my love ever touches your heart
Send me some milk and honey, milk and honey
Till then, I will l lie among the fallen pinecones
My eyes are turning into milk
My lips are turning into honey
My eyes and lips are now simply
Milk and honey, milk and honey
~If I ever wrote about milk and honey
I would write about you~
- n.g. // my fingers are sticky with your milk and honey //
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 5:46 AM UTC
Fill the silence of our discontent with the sound of a swishing liquor bottle and the popping of pills.
We are rocks in each others’ sinking worlds but I’m
not your rock anymore.
You threw me out of your life
The night I let you
Hold me
The night I let you
Touch me
The night I let you
Fell the love I have for you through the touch of my lips
The pads of my fingers
And the walls of my ******
The night I gave you everything I had
And asked for nothing in return.
But I’m not yours anymore
I’m just a ***** on her knees begging for something more than ***** flavored
I
Love
Yous.
I’m not yours anymore
I’m not begging or crying with my heart torn open
Ready for you to pack another bowl within it
Waiting for you to forget
hername
myname
yourname
Waiting for you to slip past hateful sobriety
Waiting for you to drag me down with you to the bottom of a bottle
Waiting for you to
Love me.
Waiting for you to smile and tell me all the things I want to hear
and trust you.
But I’m not yours anymore and I hate you.
But today when you
Smiled, spoke to me like a friend
While she looked on from the corner
I felt my heart eager for more ashes and resin of some
late night whispers
that sound so sweet
but in the morning light
float away like the smoke that slipped
out of your mouth and into
mine
My legs ready to open
But then I remembered
I’m not yours anymore.
For you
I’m not worth
the lighter
Cigarettes and love
You stole from me
But I don’t give a
****
Because **I’m not
Yours
Any
More.**
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
Another day goes by on the beaches of Dubai,
And I'm sitting here drinking my tea.
No explosions or death,
Erosion not theft.
Just enjoying my days on the beaches of Dubai.
Planes over head,
My head filling with dread,
As the bombs begin to drop from the sky.
Now we all need to say,
Goodbye to the beaches of Dubai.
Bombed for our oil,
Exterminated for our pride.
We now say goodbye to Dubai.
Big American men,
Dressed in gold suits and ties.
They will always deny.
Their seeing off the land tonight,
Can't wait to get their prize,
That big old slice of oil flavored pie.
And they will never learn to share.
Now we all need to say,
Goodbye to the beaches of Dubai.
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 12:19 PM UTC
a taste of frozen snow
how about pistachio
chocolate fountain
or vanilla chateau
could be strawberry fields
maybe mixed
with honey and wine
or collected from
the lower slopes of
confection perfection
call it what you like:
Dondurma,
Kulfi,
Cornets with Cream,
perhaps like Agnes,
Queen of Ices,
wading deeper
into blissful sugar,
waffling
back and forth
in endless
flavored dreams
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 12:56 PM UTC
Curled under blankets
with the shades pulled tight,
I'm hoping for rain
so I can't witness the beauty
of the summer day.
I think I hate it here but I don't know.
I find myself wondering why I had to leave.
I wish I was on the wind-shorn coast of Kilcar,
tasting garlic flavored seaweed and drinking tea
on the bluff after a long day of harvesting.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
<>
for the early morning teach
<>
she's young, beautiful and thinks her life is cursed,
in the past, subject of some of my poems, her health to nurse,
yet, as is normative, you fall into & out of a well of touch,
until you accidentally once again path cross,
she provides a precision mathematical status update
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
it is 1:38AM for you,
the not unnoticed ironic minute and hour
when the night ether has prematurely worn off,
rising time close but not nearly close enough,
a dark dose of a sleeping nurse's aide seems inappropriate,
and TV reruns seem like an insult to your brain
instead you turn on some belle string musique,
a Grande Messe des Morts,
a chorus,
singing a high mass for the dead,
while opening all your various email luggage and baggage,
smiling as you read a poetess's message of
laughter behind tears
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
and Mississippi ******
your uncontrollable mixed drink of her emotional
Grenada grenade cocktail,
flavored with musique, paintings, and words and a nearby beloved's
gentling sleep sounds,
has you writing your own protest poem,
your very own,
oy vey, grande messe,
about lives that were supposed to be
pictures of perfect artistry
and for but a word or two,
instead, a painting of a life that got hung upside down,
and indeed,
leaving a grand mess and no one to help clean up
alternatively weeping, laughing as you are thinking,
smiling recall
Laurel and Hardy's summary definition
of living a life's of ill begotten, misventured adventures:
"Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into !"
but 38% worse?
not an even-steven rounded up 40%,
should I write you only 38% of a poem, teach?
or more accurately, more mathematically,
138% of what was writ before?
and you recall your older, prior words
about the love hate affair between
you poet,
and the beauty of written brevity
(her style)
and you give her this then,
this rambling, scrambled, attention paid notification,
word attentiveness, a summary of your readings
of her cheddar sharp and honey mustard sweet retorts of
pained poetry,
it is insufficiently but perfectly sufficient,
a summarizing phrase that opens
and yet
briefly encapsulates all that
you are feeling for her
"thinking of you"
or the 38% larger version thereof -
***"Well, here's another 38% more
nice poetic mess
you've gotten me into!"***
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
warthogs for men singing amen
i ink my scars with a ball point pen
buffalo grass and ******
they want *** but won't die
i want *** but it's not me
they tell me that I'm pretty
i smoke **** in a blazing forest
i feel as rubbery as a curious tourist
and plenty of coke goes in my nose
i bleed headaches, when it rains it snows
i'm dreaming of a white christmas, i suppose
with my squad when i don't want to feel alone
i make lies but can't hide like room raiders
i cut up coke for all my haters
with a side of oxy
tells me that I'm foxy
right before he knocks me
my brain goes on high alert
i can taste my stomach
because cake was yesterday's desert
i say that we're proxies
i take the red pill
some like oxys
some like bikini ****
some nights aren't so chill
some brains are mentally ill
but he doesn't like to feel, y'feel
tell me if you want a
*** flavored banana
a broken heart from havana
or to drink my coke flavored blood
dragging me through the mud
whoops
son of sam
touch my **** like we're not fam
drug me if you want to slam
my head off the coffee table
i'll choke on fear until i'm not stable
i pretend i'm in a fable
this can't be real
does he not feel
break it off and shove it down my throat
cut me into pieces
make a blood moat
oak splinters suffered through winters in my spine
find you in jail and you ask if i'm fine
i break off rhymes like i break out grams
shaking because of a spiked promise
i wish i wasn't here
i wish i wasn't here
sham in the garden of clouds. when you 'fuck' you want people around
when i cry, you hear no sound
buffalo grass and ******
they **** off but ask why
my box in their face
i don't want to be in this place
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC