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Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
you know how you can tell that women want
shorter  ****** encounters than men?
prostitutes.
   you know what they do...
they apply the secondary "*******",
to tighten the grib on
the penetrating object... i.e. they squeeze you
   invoking lamda
   the anti-chruchill Λ (lambda)...
huh?           don't ******* huh me...
          the index and middle
finger squeezes you...
   works magic when you've
be circumcised... but when you haven't,
and you **** while pulling
your ******* back exposing
the spartan "skin-head"?
         the c-ring is near your
head, rather than at
the base...
   so you're basically wearing
a bow-tie of flesh...
   handy jerking off,
      with the fleshy burqa...
and during *******,
imitating the monotheistic
aesthetic...
        two protruding veins,
you'd think they'd be
bursting at this point...
  even a ukranian *******
complained:
  when are you going to finish!
seems almost sad
   that women prefer quick
*** rather than athletic ***...
but the older the *******,
the more she's prone
to invent a second *****...
   her index & *******...
squeezing your phallus toward
a premature *******...
     kinda hard
   when you pull your *******
back and choke your member...
at the neck, rather than some
fetish at the base...
           sometimes you can go
for an hour and not *******...
and the ******* is like:
huh?! completely neutralised...
bewildered to say the least...
       i have no moral suggestion
at this point...
   i'm into catching moths with my
bare hands...
               i'm just trying to think
what sort of face i'd pull
when talking with someone
who hasn't
appropriated the jest of
a *******'s worth...
         there's still the minding
of the second-layer of genitals...
   it's almost ****, had i tried,
but i haven't, but it must feel just
the same...
        penetrating a vegan-jain-n'ah...
with a ******* trying to
speed things up    Λ
                       index    middle
         fingers, working their "magic"...
pretty pretty p'ooh,
                     i'm choking my **** by
pulling my ******* back...
i'm imitating circumcision...
           you're goon'ah 'av'
                                      to try 'arder!
         why do brothels always
have the perfume of bourbon
infusing them to solidifying
     a memory, unlike anything other
than blooming flowers
  in the evening, of spring?
           it's the anti-thesis of
b &  b (bed & breakfast) -
                    brothels & bourbon...
with all that ****,
america is softcore in terms
of ***... you celebrate strip-clubs,
but you don't celebrate brothels...
  you know what a strip-club looks
like in greece?
   a stripper places a green plastic
tag next to your drink...
   it's the green "light" to go ahead,
and head for a private audience...
            european strippers are like:
who the **** bothers with so much
tease but no action, if not
mid-western goodie-good-shoe girls
equivalent to those
with men having a fetish for dorothy?
that's borderline ****** prone dynamics...
i love recycling, i actually
love taking out the trash...
    only yesterday i was squashing
6 maggots in a napkin...
                   a woman that only
likes to tease, or wears the burqa
of a strip-tease?
             listen... i'd rather **** 6 maggots
while taking out the trash,
   wishing i could have impaled them
on a fishing hook, and caught myself
some dinner...
                   saying that,
america seems backwards...
  it's all tease... but no action...
                    get mauled by a ******,
   **** the gaping and gasping and
   pervert insinuating: look but don't touch...
this isn't a ******* art gallery,
   this isn't a church, or a temple...
            i have ten eyes at my finger-tips,
i'd love to use the eye down south
rather than feel infuriated by the two
in my cranium...
                           with all that ****,
it's almost asking for an al capone in terms
of selling fleshy cushions and duvets...
   to me america will always be the
first to have the nuclear weapon,
be always the second to send
a man into space
(slavs chose a dog
   germans chose a monkey,
       tells you a lot
about the collective psi;
   i'd have sent a baby elephant)...
    the first & only idiots to ban
   alcohol...
      and yes, i agree, it's great,
but whatever music and film
   they produce,
i can't have a high opinion
of them...
   i know i should...
   but if i was living in that tornado-ridden
mass of land,
         i'd be in the middle...
in the "boring" places...
                         or at least that's
how i imagine myself living...
         away from the schizoid
export of twins americana
                      n.y.              vs.               l.a.;
i met a mongolian in amsterdam
once...
           i was looking into
the void-eyes of history...
                 i imagine looking into
the eyes of a native of the continent
            to be a likewise telling of: wow!
saying that, a welcome revision -
the more you shame brothels,
and glorify strip-clubs?
   the more **** you're going to produce...
i have absolutely no idea
as to why america is founded upon
strip-clubs... more teasing than actual
muddy waters of juice...
                  the american notion of
strip-clubs before brothels is
very much like the act of prohibition
in my eyes...
                           i hope, hard as ****,
to never visit that puritan continent,
  when a ****** rebellion is always protruding
around every corner...
  where a ****** rebellion,
           can never be a ****** liberation.
Cynthia Oct 2016
mana dvēsele man teica,
ka tā jūtas nedaudz iesprostota
tā teica, ka manā ķermenī tai nepietiek vietas
tā laužas ārā
tā cenšas izlauzties brīvībā
tā grib lidot
būt brīva kā putns tālēs zilajās
reizēm ieslēdzot dvēseles mūziku
es zinu, ka tā jūt
tā pazīst savu mūziku
kā gans pazīst savas avis
tad mana dvēsele dejo
tā dejo manā ķermenī
vairs neuztraucoties par vietu,
jo tā jūtas laimīga un pilnīga
laime un pilnība ir salīdzināma ar māju sajūtu
dvēseles mūzika rod šo māju sajūtu
kad nekas netrūkst
esi tikai tu
tavs ķermenis
tava dvēsele
un mūzika
visas šīs lietas saplūst kopā
un tās sauc par
mājām
Yamini Mar 2021
Hot dripping air
What I was doing
Was not that much rare
But something was meant to be special
Me clueless of what's happening
We all playing some stuff
But there was a guy examining
The hot driping air

He wasn't the charming one
But he got the ocean eyes
That grib my heart for seconds
And then it ached due to interests
Unaffected by my ache
Not familiar with my crush
He was still examining the air

Me being puzzled in the group
That is known for fun
I wanted to just escape some
Seconds from the crowd
The stuff that they were playing
Was truth and dare
I chose the exception this time
And got the desirable

Task was to company that guy
Who wasn't interested in stuff
Who was so rough
And acts more tough
He being considered the danger zone
Cool dudes thought it would
Be disaster
But that was all I wanted
I wanted that task and
Company the air examination

It wasn't that hard
Nor that easy
I had my guard
But I was also scared
He wasn't taht disinteresting
Yes he was exceptional
I wanted to sit a while longer
I like my friends
And he then became my friend

This is how a dumb *****
Met an exceptional boy
And he passed that smile
Which could carry me to miles
Thus meeting was cosy
And thus was how I know him
.
Stu Harley Sep 2014
what lerks behind
these prison walls
where death
pace up and down
the halls
deep inside
the prison cells
are pitch black souls
that scream and yell
extend their hands
that grib and pull
these cold iron bars
the faceless souls
inside death row
tells who we are
Lejla Hott Jan 2020
the trees stand so tall
golden tears have been shed
the glossy rain-washed strees
winter has its grib
from grey deep to pale
silhouettes of blackish-green
light up
the snowy mountain peaks
were the dream
of every child
lays

— The End —