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Tanisha Jackland Oct 2018
at most we are
the cosmos.
humming in hi and lo.
to the vibes you cannot see
but feeling with your soul
your feet
moving to the rhythm of notes
that we are together
in unison and out.
but even in our dissonance
We are in harmony
in sync
with something
beyond us.
Music is a spiritual experience.
Deb Jones Aug 2018
Once a man asked me back
To his home for after dinner drinks.
I was comfortable with that.
We had went to dinner several times.
I drove my car and followed him.  
We talked for about 30 minutes or so
And I excused myself and went to powder my nose, carrying my handbag.
I was out of the room about 4 minutes.
When I returned he was naked.
He had placed a metal folding chair
In the center of his well lit dining room.
I know my eyes were as big as saucers.
I remember thinking
“This escalated fast”
Doing a pantomime he held up a latex object that looked like a decanter stopper. Oversized. And upside down.
He waved his hand under it as part of his presentation.
Think of a stewardess doing the pantomime of flight safety rules,
Or QVC seller on television.
He then set the item on the metal chair and sat right down on it with an odd
squishy-sucky noise.
Up until that point
I had not moved an inch.  
I am pretty much open minded about ***.
But the whole situation and the mime-like presentation was so much ick I panicked.
I ran out the back door.
I didn’t say a word.
Just ran.
He obviously couldn’t follow me quickly because you know....
He had something up his ****.
If this topic is too much or over the top I will be perfectly ok with deleting it.
Sam Hawkins Jul 2013
This hand which moves and rides some voice is not mine.
I have given it over to you, young boy.

This is what makes it fly so, traveling out,
tripping along in dance of shape and sound.

I acknowledge your presence in this fashion.

You tell me by messages,
beaming out the back of your head,
you are the very boy who has waited an eternity
at some upper railing.

You sit and peer through the spaces,
down the twisted stair.

Your hands, they grip the vertical rail.
Silent. Silent. Waiting you.

Let this right hand of mine be your secret voice.
Let this scrawl and scratch be your gravelly tongue—
ick-nicking, ga-chooing, click and stutter.

What language may I shape for our sake?
With you, may I follow, setting trail markers just so.

Will others come mistaking their ways for yours?

My hand is opening and opens wide.
I remember you. I am returning.
Let it be.
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
There's an ick in my crick,
that makes me feel sick,
my insides are taring in two!

I seek some relief,
complete disbelief,
this sickness contracted from you!

I put on my scarf,
am ready to ****,
my temperature rises above.

I'm ready to hurl,
my diamonds and pearls,
lost all of their their lustrous love.

It lays at my feet,
spread out on the street,
I told you that I wasn't faking.

My mind and my heart,
all splattered apart,
my soul lays there now for the taking!
KCibot Jul 12
Unfinished Duet*
Bridge:

I am Home
** ome Sick
Without A
Bit

Of the things
That I Need
To Feel Your
Love

I am Love
Lo ove Sick
Without a
Lick

Of the things
That I Need
To Feel At
Home

We Are
Si ick
But We
Are Stong

And We
Can Wait
A little
longer

Wait A
Little
Longer

Wait A
Little
Longer
Just
Need
My
Partner
Now
both Moby and Phillip K. ****
      the book I love and the flicks
              try the best I Kan, indeed Als Ick ...

                                 wifestrife!

— The End —