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Thia Jones Apr 2014
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
(W = Anonymous Elderly Woman With Sudden and Severe Dementia)
---

W:

"I was an evil little girl".
I used to stick my tongue out at little boys. They would say,

"SHE STUCK HER TONGUE OUT AT ME".
Then the teachers would always say,

"Young man, she is a respectable young lady and has done no such thing".
So I'd put my thumb to my nose and make faces as they sat".

"My grandmother always raised us to be "GOOOD" "GOOOD" and I was goood.
It was so boring.
They used to get so frustrated with me".

"I was so proud of my father.
Everywhere he went he had to fix people.
He changed things
nomatter where he'd go. He always said

"I CAN MAKE IT BETTER FOR THEM.
IT CAN BE BETER".
He never loved me. Didn't have time. I should call him.
I want to call my father"


Me:

"Did he ever self-actualize and realize that he was making their lives /his version/ of better? Before he died, did he realize maybe what he thought was better wasn't better for everyone?"


W:

"No.
He was a tsunami that changed everything he touched. We girls
respected him.

Listen to me, hah.
talking about such things, on a toilet.
I have no dignity left.
We have to laugh.
Am I crazy?

Me:

"You're no more crazy than I am.
Who wants to be sane? That's no fun".

W:

"That's right!
If you can't laugh,
you die".

Me:

"Earlier, to describe yourself
as a child, you said
you were "Evil".
Do you beleive that part of the reason you were so "evil"
was because you were beautiful?
And you knew it?".




W:

She paused for a moment and pursed her lips in contemplation.
...

"Yes."

The woman nods a slow turtles nod, with both eyes shut and squinting and a pouted mouth.
Her puckered lips fade into a smile.

"Yes, absolutely It was".
Obadiah Grey Jul 2011
Bones
make reeaal
goood soup

dig mine up when
I'm done with 'em.
magicbroccoli66 Sep 2017
we is no kind *** we lik de nazoos
dewinch cakle esz wbi pnik hedponesw are chool in mi book
hoorecane irmia no es divertido., we here at buzfeed tink we no wot u are dooeng
mnanspred is de goood teng ti do evri dai
dundundunduncdundunduindunduindundundudn
pie.


gavery is dood cor my vanes
@foundboy
Mohd Arshad Mar 2019
My true friend is

Goodness

He accompanies me everywhere

Visibly, invisibly
RoyHal Dec 2017
I crinkle my paper in anticipation
I'll write about you today
I got a million thoughts
Its gonna be one goood poem.

Pen kisses paper
My mind on your smile
Black eyes
Silly naughty boy
My Brain stops dead

I miss you
Words cant possibly be accurate
I tuck my thoughts to sleep
I'll write about you tomorrow
Its gonna be a good one
Stupid crazy love
T R S Jul 2019
Pressed upon the edges of lamp black were words.
It's absurd But so still I had to breath and convieve.
I have to live in a life where hate could take total control over me even thogh all I can see is pain. And I want to die. and you won't help. Good night! GNGNGNGNGNGN
Go to bed. Goood Night.
Vanessa Gatley Jun 2019
Estrogen
Goood
Gene's sweet
String along
all saints' day is upon us...
Duvali here yet?
i never imagined fireworks going off
on Halloween...
it's as if Catholics exist in Old England
not the New England of
Protestants and ****...

my sin is that i smoked marijuana
in public
and walked around
and instead of nakednessn i found armour
and love and armour...
love of armour
in the darkness i forged one ring
and in the darkness i found
the cloak of invisibility
and in the shadows i roamed
and i swayed and gave encouraging shouts:
OAR! MORE!
OAR! MORE!
TO KIEV!
FOUND USN KIEV!
NA RUS!

find master! find master!
what did you find Ivan?
master! master!
i found your meter!
i found music in poetry!
master! master!
good...          goood E'van...
good Evan:
there be life in this fire water of life?
yessssss... masssster...
good Evan...
i will smooch up to this spirit
and take a sip of her milk:
Bolsheviks of Vistula
and Basra...        Vikings of the black sea
and the mouth of Dniepr...

little tides of a great big sea:
and time as water
and fire no...
fire as space: therefore god had only
once chance to rebel
and he rebelled
and made himself known
leaving ******* artifacts of omni- robes
when in fact he could make contact
with the world at the base of the Pyramids
but would not sit on an Auschwitz's chimney...

blah blah allahahhablahblahallahahhahahahahaha!
i think of god's judgement to make poetry
there:
since only the grey Jew in the hands of the khaki
smear campaign and the nacht black SS mensch...
to no brick in mud Jew:
to your intellectual drain: i will sucker up...
pound for pound
inch of water and a grain of salt...
for your grain of fertile soil...
show me potatoes grown in Israel...
show me tomatoes...

ah! now i remember... it's Thursday night
and i thought it was Friday night...
but i have to go to bed early Friday
wake up at 5am on Saturday
and heard a flock of bothersome Cerberuses...
stagnant ghosts of pets...
cats, dogs, ******* cannaries...
if America has such a problem with Catholics
then i have a problem with
the Protestant Nation of America
not being Enlightened Bilingual by Now!
America should be officially a nation
as best as Switzerland
be a Anglo-Spanish consolidation project...
for the old history:
before empires and wet ***** and hard *****
and the waves...
in our Circle... of drinkers...
St. Peter might have the keys...
but St. Matthew has the bell...
what's a bell? a dzwon?
a bell? what's a bell... the imitation of Adam's head
in a glass...

i carry the Church Bell...
i'm Matthew in Church... but elsewhere
i am known by my better name:
CONRAD...
Slavic blood fused with German principalities...
a Stalin was a Georgian was a Russian:
Russians are sheep:
swayed by barbarian stupidity
to experiment with Hebrews...
while the Germanic now not laugh with
the advent for the dispersing of
the Levant and Babylon...

              a bell is a glass of a top heavy mixer...
a sharpshooter...
4:1 ***** to pepsi...
         sharpshooter...
you fill a glass with loads and loads of icecubes
pour some ***** in
then some pepsi...
sit and meditate in darkness
smoke a quarter of a leftover joint...
that's marijuana and tobacco...
you eat pizza in the dark with mother
you watch the RESIDENT with her...
hmm... protagonist just...
the protagonist... in what we're watching?
did he just crawl out of the t.v.?
are we watching requiem for a dream?

it's like the Sybil in painting surrounding
the decapitated head of John the Baptist...
the bell is a glass with only one
ice-cube in it... carried like a church bell:
mother is falling asleep and i don't want
eggshells and walking on water or air...
so no clamour glitter ching ching...

                     a bell is a special drink...
      not served in bars:
don't worry: you won't be seen with it...
but unlike the non-illuminatory concept
of painting metaphor music and sound:
you won't be a Nietzsche with a candle:
or the Cartesian sexology of van Gogh's chair
and that ******'s table...

a bell is not a candlelight you will take
to the garden of innocence in escaping
the hell of realising how oysters ****
and spiders weave their place
this ******* Darwinistic-humanism! save me god
give me serpents! give me serpents!
i'm scared that i have been infiltrated
by a citadel: lesser creatures...
acne like worms
the hard-knuckle ones with black heads
are not the youths of pure
outpouring of *****-white...
a **** is a death-eater...
i have IBS... the death-eater of my **** might...
oh... no... wait... it's not coming...
i'm just about to finish reading Dune:
i, being the democratic reader and
no sycophant... or psyche surgeon specializing
in one author:
i'm an author myself... i am an authority
unto myself... therefore i could never relinquish
that: for novelty: of being a novelist...
different mirror:
i look into mine and i only see shadows and devils
and two eyes: one blind...

like... what was the reason for me to going to Hawaii
and just: flying over the entire status of United... hem...
states... hem hem...
i came for St. Matthew's Bell...
that one drink you drink in a special place
of a secret abode...
with a mother:
oh: this is not a tourists' attraction:
this is personal: ha ha!
you can't actually replicate this space:
perhaps a tempus similis: a similarity of time:
but as citizen first, individual later:
Mr PResisdent and Canon Commarade...

for the love of State: in the Old Republican Sense
of the word: to Conjure Rome:
for the Love of the State:
Ideology...
               iron fist
feeth with claws...
no nation no tribe no religion...
the state comes first:
the garbagemen, the train drivers...
for the love of the state:
of coherency and ******
and all those whimsical brats
who have the intelligence of gnats...
for the love of people
who one minut walk around
like prized sheep:
who next day could be turned to minced meat...
how i love to stalk
and prey and knot prey on prey in
a crab bucket...
    oh how wonderous you are...
by dearest: i and nobody.
Nellie 55 Jan 2020
Good morning,  goood afternoon,  and goodnight to you darkness
I wrote the note hopefully it won't hurt everyone
I'm pretty close to being done
I swear somedays I'm not okay
But i have to be
A handfull of issues and perhaps something that gets me through
I wish it was that easy
I wrote about suicide in my journal and the pages are increasing
Judgment and darkness is all I'm receiving
I wake up ready to just quit
Grab my journals and drive away from this ****
No matter how far or how fast
I'll never escape the darkside of my past
I wanted to write the note
I wanted to explain to you theres no hope
Wanted to cry but chose a different path
I'm always going to be that regret that no one wants back
I writing about suicide and goin in detail in my journal but I didn't want to type out 7 pages and my pages are increasing still. I thought I'd wrote this in hopes to help anyone reading this

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