"hooking" poems
Umm, the presence and scent of a man
Magnetic attraction where his feet stands
His natural body charismatic aroma
Element of charms, seeping to awaken a woman out a sensual coma
Is it his eyes, the soul behind his life’s mysteries
Flirtation in his smile, tells me he has an undercover ****** history
It is his nose that smells out my charms
An enticing deep baritone voice, his spoken words, which turns me on
Is it the erratic heartbeat he has for a woman, his passionate relent
Stealing my breath, as he tenderly seals my lips in an impassioned moment of content
The strength in his biceps
His triceps
Strong, yet such comforting arms
An epitome of steel, circled around a woman in winter life’s storms
In the cold of night, his body providing your heated warmth
His chest, a hard pillow to tell your doubts, your uncertainties, your fears
Pulling you closer onto it, his reassuring words eradicating your tears
His intellectual mind to think as a man
A stimulating, slam bam and thank you ma’am, or your personal grand slam
His weakening love, taking your body beyond the stars
Woman from Venus, my handsome Man for Mars
His groin, and his family jewels from which it springs forth
Erected compass of his wand now pointing North
A woman’s reservation to tease, please, stroke, or allow it to choke
His loud murmurs shadowing your moans, echoing in the wind
**** I love the presence of men, and his undulated carnal sins
From the first taste of honey dipped Butter *** me
As his giving oral fixation is traveling free
Freeing the elixir of juices that deems to flee
His hairy legs as he stands to lift my weight
In the shower, no wait, as I anticipate
Hooking my twerking bait
His physique in general…Oh, God thank you
Without the scent of a man, we women would not know what to do
Your presence to a woman is our earthly food
Our je ne sais quoi for our every ****** mood
Rather you are standing, lying still, or upside down
The blissful 69 number conquered as we’re fooling around
My Dream Weaver
My distance heartbeat receiver
His dripping sweat
Droplets to my skin have been met
The presence and scent of a man holds me throughout the night as our eyes finally rest
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
You come in late, wiping your lips.
What did I leave untouched on the doorstep---
White Nike,
Streaming between my walls?
Smilingly, blue lightning
Assumes, like a meathook, the burden of his parts.
The police love you, you confess everything.
Bright hair, shoe-black, old plastic,
Is my life so intriguing?
Is it for this you widen your eye-rings?
Is it for this the air motes depart?
They rae not air motes, they are corpuscles.
Open your handbag. What is that bad smell?
It is your knitting, busily
Hooking itself to itself,
It is your sticky candies.
I have your head on my wall.
Navel cords, blue-red and lucent,
Shriek from my belly like arrows, and these I ride.
O moon-glow, o sick one,
The stolen horses, the fornications
Circle a womb of marble.
Where are you going
That you **** breath like mileage?
Sulfurous adulteries grieve in a dream.
Cold glass, how you insert yourself
Between myself and myself.
I scratch like a cat.
The blood that runs is dark fruit---
An effect, a cosmetic.
You smile.
No, it is not fatal.
17.8k
It's around prom time so I thought I'd share my prom night experience. Getting a date failed I had for possiblities who ever said yes would've been my date. I went stag hung out with my best friend and his date
On the way to the prom we got lost so we missed majority of it. The prom was at some mansion after prom we stayed at a hotel. I drank a few and passed out. Now the story has a twist the date my friend had didnt workout but ended up having another night with his dates friend.
She had to drop off her date do that's how these two ended up hooking up.
I hung with this girl who didn't have a date she out drank me and passed out. The next morning was awkward my best friend and the new hook up were busy so I had to wait to go home.
I went home all of shame hung o er and no action but I was in HS I didn't expect much
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
Here's the thing about being a secret,
The secret starts off being so ****
Sneaking around,
Telling little white lies,
It's all so thrilling,
Secrets make life interesting,
Plus it makes hooking up that much hotter.
Inevitably that all changes eventually,
Eventually keeping the secret becomes a burden,
I want to confide in people about what we are,
I don't want to put in the effort to keep us a secret anymore,
And more than anything…
I want the world to know how happy I am with you.
When I tell you I want more, you apologize and say you don't want the obligation,
And I understand,
But at the same time… it feels like ********
Because I realize I'm not just the kind of secret you keep for fun or to make life interesting,
No.
I'm the type of secret you keep because if it gets out…
You'll look bad.
*A ***** Little Secret*
Do you know how it feels to be your ***** Little Secret?
It hurts.
It feels like you're ashamed of me.
So why go on like this?
Why lie to everyone?
Why not have me and be honest?
Let the secret out, deal with the fall out.
Because being the one revealing the secret is far better than doing damage control when the secret gets out.
But of course, I say nothing.
I play along.
Try to keep it quiet.
Play by your rules,
In fear of loosing you if I don't,
And I continue to be your ***** Little Secret.
But remember this:
I may be your ***** Little Secret,
But you are my everything.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
The most beautiful thing I've ever read-
was a love poem that I found,
hidden between the dusty cupboards of my mother's room,
filled with things that just
"didn't matter"
anymore.
It was flooding with thoughts I waved off as-
"foolish"
with fake plastic vows of love,
not unlike those crisp, shiny valentine heart rings,
only given to the most attractive every February.
Stories of parting,
from which shone a glossy sparkle like that of a fake glass diamond,
labeled with black numbers as something worth a thousand.
I've always thought that if you were going to leave someone, you should be aloof and cold.
If you make "warm memories", won't the parting just be that much harder?
That sunset that was described as being unrealistically
ethereal,
I tried to see it myself,
even hooking my feet around the cold metal bars of the balcony,
and pretending that I could fly.
But that sunset was fake too, I discovered.
A synonym of those medals that you eagerly await to get, but in the end,
aren't gold,
or silver,
but just a sheet of mocking plastic,
thousands of identical ones of which have been made,
in a factory choking on smog,
thousands of miles away,
in China.
There was always that villain,
who would try to break the lovers apart.
Sometimes,
the villain was described as, "dark", and "Irresistible".
I was puzzled by that fact,
mulling obsessively over the idea,
Why didn't the protagonist get with the villain in the end?
I was undeniably jealous, of the heroine,
who seemed to draw everyone to her with a warm light,
that I didn't seem to have, no matter how hard I tried.
She was a perfect damsel in distress,
waiting for her partner, who would always,
always,
without fail, come to save her from danger and the unknown.
They were both risking everything for what they loved.
"Stereotypical love poem,"
I scoff,
willing myself to throw that piece of paper away with the trash,
But-
to this day, the most beautiful thing I have read,
is that stereotypical love poem,
now tucked between two bookshelves,
which are full of things, that
"matter"
now.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Siri. Type this:
More memories. Less Facebook moments.
Let’s go back to concerts filled with lighters — warm seas of flame,
instead of stadiums filled with phones and waves of blue light that keeps us from sleeping at night.
Our phones, it looks like we’re all telling one big ghost story around the campfire — our faces lit up from underneath in the dark.
It’s like a part of our bodies, a mollusk’s shell,
That we won’t outgrow until it’s torn from us and we’re eaten, still fresh.
It’s like we call it Facetime because that’s what we need, but don’t have.
Since when is being viral a good thing?
Viral means an infectious disease.
Viral Viral Viral.
I feel like I need a ****** just to surf the web.
I honestly can’t have a conversation with a person
without toying at my phone anymore.
We post our beautiful stories on snapchat,
the colorful blurred days of our lives,
and let it slip away into the ether.
Your stories are still interesting even after 24 hours.
Seeing that red notification, knowing I’m special, I’m wanted, I’m special.
when it turns out to be another Farmville invite.
Talk about crutches. Nitze called religion a crutch but at least religion helps people walk. Phones make people run into things.
I wonder if the New Messiah will have a social media account.
We are so close to just hooking up our phones to traveling robot vehicles and navigating our world from our home.
The future’s hangouts will be phones arranged in a circle
on a table,
all on Facetime,
as we take shots,
in our rooms alone.
Jerry smiles because he isn’t wearing pants
but no one can tell.
Our phones only show what’s on top.
Please share this poem, by the way.
For videos of my reading my poems, visit https://mateilatte.wordpress.com/content/poetry/
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
Time went by as it's wont to do
It passed by without a trace
But, as the years transpired
He could not forget her face
He met her in the park one night
An offer from her lips
She could make his whole night special
She would use her woman's hips
She burned a mark onto his heart
A face he'd not forget
But, he sent her on her way again
Like others that he'd met
A ticket back to Georgia
To the home from where she came
He declined all of her offers
He didn't even know her name
Since then he'd had more offers
Fed more girls and brought them home
Many left before redemption
They would rather fight alone
But, she...somehow remembered
Not for her actions left undone
But, for the fact she took his offer
Left before they saw the sun
He never knew how long she'd
Been residing in the night
Never knew just what her reason
For leaving home and taking flight
To him she was a question
Left unanswered to this day
Did she use the one bus ticket ?
Did she venture on her way ?
He took her to the station
Left her waiting by herself
Never saw her board the Greyhound
No luggage for the shelf
He'd been back to the town park
Hadn't seen her since that night
Not that he'd been looking
For he knew he'd set her right
But, without proof of her leaving
The question gnawed at his insides
Did she take the chance he gave her?
Did she board the bus and ride ?
He was often at the diner
Eating meals with those he picked
Those he felt would take his offer
would try to heal the wounds he nicked
He'd get them all to open up
A mental knife slice to their brains
Make them see that they were worthy
Try to release them from their pain
Some would go and some would not
Still, he would venture back
To the park so full of vices
Where so many were off track
One day while he was waiting
For his dinner to be served
He saw across the table
A face that left him quite un-nerved
He swore he'd seen the girl child
The one whose name he did not know
She was in the diner with another
Inside, protected from the snow
He caught a glance, and that was all
He looked again, she was not there
He looked around the diner
Where she went he knew not where
He really wasn't certain,
If it was her he saw that night
But, it raised that certain question
Or was it just a trick of light
Did she go home back to Georgia?
Or was she still there in the park?
Was she at home with her parents?
Or was she hooking after dark?
I guess he'll never know the answer
Nor, will we without much fuss
Is she still waiting for redemption?
Did she get upon the bus ?.....
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
Turbulence of displaced warmth.
A shiver hooking limbs
with the lure of touches promised
by sultry eyes
now
closed to the world for the night.
Exiled
from mind.
Seduced by fatigue.
Your lover eloped with a dream
leaving you behind
to walk alone along the stair to the kitchen
and the dinner abandoned there
because of her promise.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Remember the time we ate shrooms
and spent the night lying in a graveyard
my shoe broke on the long walk home
and you carried me across the parking lot
because there could have been glass
Remember the time you saved me
from a boy I didn't want to kiss
you hid me at the top of a rocket ship
and every time he tried to enter
you shoved him down with your foot
Remember the times we laid side by side
on the cold wooden floor and blasted music
all night long till the stars ceased to shine
Remember the time you got out of jail
and walked to my house
to crawl into my bed but found another boy there instead
you quietly left and I had no clue
till you confessed later
Remember the time you left early in the morning
to catch your flight
and I didn't wake up
but when I did there were two CDs on my pillow
that you had spent all night making
Remember the time you said I was wifey material
after I danced on stage
at a white rave
in my black bra
Remember the time I dyed my hair green
and met your visiting girlfriend
and you said I looked like medusa
I wanted to sock you
Remember the time we got drunk and took xanax
and laid in my bed
you made your move then
and I giggled during our kiss
because I was high and scared it'd change us
but it hurt your feelings on accident
Remember the time I started hooking up
with your best friend/roommate
and you had to sleep on the couch
I'm sorry I was so callous
Remember the time you sent me
a christmas present
it was a build-able straw
the best thing anyone has ever given me
Remember the times you tried to love me
and I wouldn't let you
now you're gone chasing ******
and I miss you so much
that I write to you all the time
I write about you
because I can't stop talking to you
even when you disappear
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
Ladies of the Net… A warning to male adolescents everywhere…
“Hi Honey….I just got matched with your profile”… At least that’s what I think it said.
Brilliant I thought because I’m available and life round here is, well…it’s dead
“I’m looking for an experienced guy who’s good in bed… been round the block, but not the clock…
One with plenty of experience and a huge…err…appetite…
for hooking up instead of these inexperienced boys…
They’re all excitable, probably all over too quick…
need someone with poise reserve and a twelve inch errr… Libido?… ego?
Click my pics kiddo and let’s get it on… you Stud!… Well I would!
****** hell! I’m overwhelmed but let’s not peak too soon…
There’s loads of stuff coming in as Spam that would probably make us all swoon.
So check it out…without fail, “eeeh!” They’re all there - these ladies of the net - they crop up daily -
Sheila Blige… Tanya Hide… Mandy May, Bette Sheedus, Lovinia ****
I’m not sure if these are their real names... But - Phew -
with things like this going on round here we could all get *******
She says she’s just round the corner, you know like Sompting, Steyning, LA (that must be Littlehampton)… Southwick…Little Haven Halt, Portslade.
We could meet in a lay-by and we’ll get laid… just an innocent little escapade.
It won’t be my fault if you miss this chance…
Just try it - I’ll handcuff you to the bed and lap dance.
Click on my pix, big boy, they all beckon.
Take a closer look at these sonny boy - now what do you reckon?
Well, you’d have to say they do look very alluring in the taster…
so why not just click...
to the next page… see the site… don’t waste-ya time…CLICK!
****** hell! The screen’s gone blank…
now I won’t even be able to have a ____
Knock, Knock, Knock!
"Kevin!!!?"..."Mum?" "Is that you?" "Yes Mum!… Everything’s OK!… I’m just turning out the light… G’night!"
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 5:45 AM UTC
I will readily be the first to admit
I heavily romanticize the **** out of life
It’s not that I don’t separate fact from fiction
But if I can find something that is beautiful in both
Then I know I have found something truly wonderful
Give me a movie moment and, for the time being, I’ll know that I’m doing okay
I’ll know everything is going to be alright
So give me summer nights
Let us run out the doors of a pizza place past midnight and drive
Standing up, top down in a convertible jeep around the back roads of a small town
Sticky stage makeup streaked by sticky wind
Overly gelled hair windswept into Picasso shapes
Let’s notice how the stars spin when you look directly upwards
And feel the swaying balance in your feet, as the air plays louder than the music
Hold out your arms like
Titanic
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Superman
Hooking my ribcage forward over the top of the windshield so I can let my hands explore the sky
Reaching to touch low-hanging branches that are never quite near enough
Leaning bent back against the railing
And singing mismatched lyrics to whatever song I can’t quite hear
Since I’m holding my head farther above the world than usual
Standing straight and tall and
Let’s appreciate the way the laws of physics keep us from falling but not from tipping
So we’re always just on the edge of cautious
Slightly alert
But mostly lost in the magic of being
Young and free
Past midnight on the empty streets of a small town
With fireflies spinning past like low-hanging stars
And a summer breeze intensified into enveloping all five senses
Let’s forget about responsibilities and forgive the people we’re running away from
Even if just for the moment
Give me the rush of this moonlit escape
And memories that could fit with pretty soundtracks and rolling credits
Let headlights be our guide and the radio be our leader
For one night the tears in our eyes are going to be from the sting of speed
Not the empty hours of another sleepless night
For one night we are going to reach out for a hand
And actually end up holding tight to each other as we race through the darkness
Four heartbeats and a loud engine
All drowned out by a summer night being lived as it’s meant to be lived
Standing up, top down in a convertible jeep around the back roads of a small town
And romanticizing the ever living **** out of the movie moments in life
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
We are the disconnect community.
We think, therefore we are.
We blink, therefor we see the
ticking, flicking florescent FIVE HUNDRED.
A personal "connection-collection" of mine.
500 pieces of redefining human identity as bees in a hive.
Buzzing. Whirring. Chatting.
A world can be displayed on a single screen
of ticking, flicking florescent FIVE HUNDRED.
All tuned in.
*All turning into hive minded creatures.
Degeneration at it's best.
For the most advanced generation,
We are zombies disguised as cyborgs;
carrying our hearts literally out on our sleeves.
For home, I'm told, is where the heart is.
And though books say it's in our chests,
One look and tell you "Homepage" is handheld.
And with the world in the palm of your hand,
the rest comes fast, calm and easy.
Like breathing,
But without feeling.
Invisible networks bond the inner workings
Like an ultra-cranium.
Or a hive, dangling precariously over the valley.
Lives, carelessly unaware that a bow can break
when it forgets it's roots.
Like jumping in puddles in rubber boots.
The difference between what's easy and what's simple.
The little girl on Youtube who can't flip a page of a magaizine because all she know's are HD touch screens.
Learning to type before learning to write.
Obesity, skyrocketing to a sun we barely lay eyes on.
One by one, we stop hooking up, and get hooked up to the trending crazes.
Hang up. Telenophobics praised.
E-mail and texts.
Social skills wrecked.
Eye contact replaced with descontent looks.
Pirating crooks
Torenting video games, DVDs &books.;
The 25th of December is more for toys than the son of God.
You can't remember the last time you went fishing with your dad, because you've been too busy playing C.O.D.
Unplugged is savagery.
but escapism with a drug by any name is just as inhumane.
Just as fatal.
For all the blinking,
and thinking,
chattering,
babbling
500 redefined "friends",
Can you easily feel alive when it's more simple to call us dead?
Do you know all your neighbors names without checking online?
Can you understand relationships, as they were meant to be?*
We are the disconnect community.
Cut out "unity".
Leave the rest for our virtual home page address.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Five for fighting
hands to the face
personal foul
player disgrace
Illegal contact
leap in the fray
willful head shot
leg astray
Encroachment defense
mouth guard out
roughing the passer
back field bout
Grounding the pigskin
mis-aligned
horse collar tackle
clip from behind
Knee on knee
offside end
unnecessary roughness
too many men
Gross misconduct
poke in the eye
hooking the shooter
sticks up high
Match ejection
over the top
face off folly
penalty shot
Unsportsmanlike conduct
chopping the block
slew foot infraction
hammer lock
Stick to the head
kick in the crotch
**** end jab
adhering the watch
Slashing the d-man
spearing the wing
running the keeper
back checking
Intentional grounding
stoppage in play
punching and hacking
delay of the game
Striking the ref
aggressor in fight
obstructing the line out
ear in a bite
Loss of downs
hands in the ruck
pinching and boarding
illegal upchuck
Rules of the battle
by the bye
pushing the limits
with a wink of an eye
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
I see a couple holding hands
As I try to not think about you
…they remind so much of us.
He starts to kiss her neck
I remember how bad our PDA was
…almost hooking up in the bus
Now I spend my nights
Wishing I could talk to you
And my days at work
I try not thinking about you
However, that is not enough.
Its 5:51 pm and I am at work
Writing pointless poems for you
..Even though I know…
You will never again read my poetry
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
This is the Fisherman's tale
With a rod in hand and live bait in a pale,
Of a day spent out on the beach
And fish just a cast out of reach.
The day started as any fisherman would
Before the sun was up, when the fishing was good.
He hopped on his bike and road the old trail
Till he could smell the tides from the ocean gale.
Today was the day, he could feel it in his bones
He would bring food to his loved ones at home
This was his day, he was so sure,
With a brand new rod and a homemade lure.
Cast after cast, hour by hour
Time moved by until he started to sour
All that time and not a single bite;
Now clouds rolled in, black as night.
The wind started whipping the sand all around
Still the old fisherman stood his ground
The storm was coming, in just a matter of time
"I can't leave" he thought, "until that fish is mine."
As the thunder boomed and lightning crashed,
He decided to give just one more cast
As the rain came down, soaking him through
This was the one, he swore it was true.
Waiting there patiently, slowly he'd reel
Even if his legs he could no longer feel.
When all of a sudden with a great flash
he was able to tell that this was the cast.
The line went tight as he threw back the rod
He was hooking this fish, he thought with a nod.
The battle that followed was one terrible fight
Fish verses man all through the night.
And as the sunlight rose, marking the dawn,
The fisherman still fought as the battle raged on.
He wouldn't give up, he wouldn't let it go
The fish was his, and he would soon let it know.
The fish neared the shore jumping clear through the sky
Only to get robbed off the hook by a seal passing by.
The fisherman stood there, staring in awe
"The seal stole my fish!" He thought dropping his jaw.
"The fish it was huge, six feet at least," he would say
"I fought it all day and night till that beast took it away"
Yet no one believed him, they just called him a goof
And scoffed, "how convenient it is, that you don't have any proof."
Still this is The Fisherman's story
After fishing all day and night on the beach
One filled with unseen glories
How he was one cast away from the catch of the week.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
*step this side..
no, you.. that side!
in a line, in a line.. quiet now – get ready for fire.. no miss!
please line up the children in neat rows, get them ready…………………..*
1.
eyes are misted over – something happened in the gap
hooking-up strangely with estranged sons lost in custodial-wrangles
alienated values;
family-core defunct like a super-shiny apple with putrescent-flesh
long-beard wants a son after so many daughters, sits unwashed in the smoke
gender-penalty – sorry, sister.. you chose the wrong straw
you remain in that cage till we say come out
2.
bread-basket filled with stealth-grenades
rights and benefits squirm in slick-oil of rules
peasant skirting the limits of the city; even rats fare better
cloak of goat-skin, the shield hides serpents beneath
the hunter will aim for the head, land in the centre..
yet an inch or two too high
sentry, close the gates and bar the window-frames!
3.
inadvertent greed and control; aggressive power
news-man dies for feed that’s untrue, anyway
picture-man twists an image to suit the viewer
all kinds of lines disappear so quick – ****** jokes, theatre, life, even poems
and if you’ve never had the sad combo of sick and homeless,
famished and cold,
tired with sores
oh, war will be courteous enough to bring you all these, on a platter
and more..
*there is no border when we all roam in hunger and in fear
like the orphans in crowded-camps
high-rankers sit far away.. ominously "well-off"
chew on hard-cheese
gulp down red wine
but the throat still feels parched, and that bayonet is too short
its fear will kick in.. on a day least anticipated
would you be shocked if it is a child who will drive that wedge-stick home?*
st – 14 march 2014
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
You apologize as if you feel remorse.
You lie!
It's all about the sale.
I was merely your customer and the bed was your product.
Anything for a sale, anything to convince me you had what I wanted.
But you were the one that wanted what I had.
You apologize because you miss me.
Well baby, keep em comin cause I'm not buyin.
A lonely salesman is all you'll ever be.
Apologizing for your selfish words and charming lies.
Pity party honoring you, tragic life thats only yours.
Salesman, I'm not interested.
Your money does not impress.
Salesman, show me the door!
I don't care how sharp you dress.
Salesman, you had me fooled.
Your flashy cars and fancy toys were your favorite tool.
I don't give a **** what the world says you're worth,
because it's only a name, simply a title.
A lonely salesman is all you'll ever be, a
lonely salesman who thinks of me.
Keep dreaming baby cause I'm never coming back.
You had your way with me, stole it all in only a day.
'I love you' is what you speak, but 'I lust you' is all that leaks.
Talking large and living the same.
Hooking me was purely a mind game.
A lonely salesman is all you'll ever be, a
lonely salesman who thinks of me.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 10:19 AM UTC
I want a nobody.
A faceless commuter swearing as the machine ignores his credit card. Or the guy two tables to the left who isn’t checking his watch because he isn’t waiting on someone. Any hoodie-wearing, adidas-laced, prospective english major rambling along the sidewalk.
I want a nobody.
‘Cause there’s never a somebody that won’t say “I love you” because it’s numbed by too many mouths that don’t form their lips the right way. The somebodies slide it off their careless tongues—
because little words are pennies in tip jars.
But Nobody, he’ll say
I love the way you put on a jacket
like some kind of whip-snap in the lapels and collar
tipping your chin up and
hooking your silver-ringed thumbs in the pockets
and I love how you flip through books
eager to break the spine but not fold the pages
holding your breath to hold the focus
propping open a paperback between long tapered fingers
and how the barista at the coffeeshop knows your face!
and blush rises like foam on your cheeks
because it’s so ******* incredible how
when you drum your fingers
you don’t drum you press
into a phantom piano
the treble clef of Linus and Lucy
or The Entertainer
or, if your eyes have already gotten deeper
—in a mossy well of thought—
it’ll be Augustana’s Boston
dancing C-E-C-E-G-E-C-E
in the jumping tendons of your right hand.
*
oh darling, I’m in love with
your clumsy movements when you fall into bed
wrapping a thick comforter over your bare shoulders
curling your legs as you settle on your side
hair fanned out on the bedsheet because
the pillow’s too close to the wall
but lovely, I don’t love you
because I’m not real at all
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
they snagged on her gown
as she attempted to flee
the retched night that had gone horribly wrong,
they worked with the enemy
to ensure she would not escape this town,
piercing her satin embroidery
and tearing at the draped silk,
hooking into her flesh, softer than a rose’s petal.
she gasped as pain struck her
and little rivers of blood streamed down her skin
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:26 PM UTC
It depresses me
To see other couples
Or people hooking up
I don't know why
But it has something to do
With you
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
It flows
And stops
It dies
And clots
Revives
It thrives
Until I drop
As alcohol courses through me
Turning pure blood to taint
My wits are dulled
And thoughts askew
That light is rather bright
That one up ahead
Too boozed up
To find the brake
...
Awaking briefly
No pain
Talking man with his blue mask
Hooking up a bag of life
It's red and thick
I've seen it before
Perhaps it was mine I gave
My life is too pathetic for another to save
Irony of my own blood replacing
My own blood
Is it worth it
Should they bother
Let me suffer my consequences
Just let the blood stop
I can already it feel it starting to clot.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
no one is perfect. we all make mistakes.
are you one of them?
relationships are messy
(all of them)
friends, parents, teachers
lovers
emotions, tears, pain.
but, here's the thing...
i feel myself becoming attached
like elmer's glue on construction paper
messy and sticky
and with one touch, it's hard to
clean off
i try to imagine
hooking up, sleeping around, being with
someone else...
and i all i feel is...
"eh"
but i swallow it.
and i feel it all the way in my
stomach. gurgling. threatening.
to find it's way back up
i fake it
i like you.
but not that much
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 7:04 AM UTC
He’s watching, but she’s not looking
In this new form of modern day hooking
A golden transaction
Creates an instant attraction
As the two meet in a binary realm
With a computer screen at the helm
One stares dead eyed
Completely fried
The other separates mind and body
After all, it’s not quite a hobby
Allowing a fiction to take hold
Making her actions more bold
She quells the urge
The other desired to purge
Once it’s all done
He stops calling her ***
Reverts back to the misshapen dialectic
Of a right handed epileptic
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
the Internet sets
higher aspirations
a teaching guide,
on how to
go beyond and deep into
the fast lane's curved and wide,
stretching
the straight and narrow
longer than lasting,
lasting no longer than
memory feelings
blurred overlapping burnt edged video recordings
pores pour oil and noise,
differentiating little between
beginning ending continuous
in the mind, from the walls,
Santana Rob sings "Smooth,"
but it is
the guitar wailing controlled penetrations.
a national anthem
of driven perpetual needy fomenting
outspoken physical truths
you don't care how you
got there,
where you are,
anybody's name,
high octane high performance
*** today,
is not for
the shy and the retiring, sissies,
we all got the necessary expertise,
with violin accompanist of pharma teaching aids
recalling first time tumblings,
exhaling
deep down throated rumblings,
rushing
fumbling ********* an ****** innocence
rushes of surprise and discovery,
success of feeling successful,
the shame of miscommunications
think I'm gonna watch me
a romantic comedy,
write her a love poem,
come up from behind,
caress her *******
kidding kissing her ear lobes,
then entering her entry point,
her neck
even when she is
armed
but forgiving,
busy chopping dinner's vegetables,
make them make them
give up the hidden
soft atonal squealing
like a
piccolo on steroids,
high pitch teasing,
pinched by air ****** intaking
I'll play the bass,
hitting those low notes,
********* my own strings,
deep ooh's and aah's
diode emitting,
the drug employed
is unadulterated
wanton but wanted
desire
this won't be the poem of the day,
no mind,
it already is was and
will be...
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC