"inhaling" poems
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It's here again...
Heavy downpour...
I inhaled the rain,
cloying with petrichor.
Standing at my window,
looking out...
Street lamps struggled aglow.
People with brollies walking about.
My eyes reached out to the heavens,
tracing these glassy beads
as they'd free fall...
Falling by the sheets,
the pattering hastens,
periodically punctuated
by the thunder's call.
Mind is drifting and floating,
intently listening to a
million love wishes...
Liquid beauty...melding, sketching...
In light entrapped splashes.
Raindrops descend and come,
into my still life tonight...
Won't you will me numb,
with your chilly bite...
Wide-eyed enamour...
Catching a stray droplet or two.
Riding the tail of a zephyr,
finding a place where
no trouble could ensue.
An errant gust blew
to meet with me.
The refreshing moist
meets my parted lips...
Inhaling deep in this reverie...
Into a sea of tranquillity,
my mind slowly dips...
Sigh... If the droplets were kisses...
I would savour each and every one.
If the moist wind came and caresses
I would meet it in a tight embrace
till the break of sun.
What a sight...
Almost surreal it seems...
As the light from the surrounding
lamps dances playfully...
Dispersing and exploding into a
barrage of shattered beams.
Before it gets subdued in the drops
caught by the leaves on a nearby tree...
The drops would trickle
and fall before merging,
forming stranded puddles
unable to flow...
Rippling... Splashing... Reflecting...
An image...
Borne out of a fantastic show.
An image of beating hearts,
overlapping one another...
Speaking of consequential love
and feelings so true
Intertwined...
in the promise of forever...
Slowly retrieving itself into an...
image of you...
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
Pushing and pulling
Reaching and retreating.
You get where you want
And then you go & **** it all up.
Coming and going
Leaving and returning.
Your so unsure of your needs and wants.
Arriving and departing
Inhaling and exhaling.
This would be easier without a troubled heart.
Setting Sail and dropping anchor,
Have you made your choice
Or will you hurt her some more.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
i guess you only like girls who are broken
and want to be hurt, like your hands
around her neck, want
bruises and cuts
in the shape of a heart,
inhaling and choking on your affection
like she needs it to breathe
translucent skin stretched across
veins that pump nicotine and you
you, you, you, you, you
judgement clouded by hyper-dependent
infatuation and the need to heal her
hollowness, although you’ll only ever be
another teardrop on her pillowcase
while she hums herself to sleep
with midnight lies
“the loss of you would be the loss of my life”
and the saddest part
is that i almost let myself fall
back into becoming that
lifeless, empty girl
once more because i thought it might
make you love me again.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
For Max
O cruel, drunken soul, darling tigress,
Come to my heart, you lethargic beast!
I long for my trembling hands to caress
Your thick and glossy fleece.
In your petticoats filled with your scent
To bury my poor, aching head,
Inhaling your flowery fragrance;
The sweetness of love now dead.
I wish to sleep, to dream perchance
As sweetly as death’s embrace,
Without remorse, my tongue will dance
On your coppery body and face.
To bury my sobbing for hours
Nothing equals your bed’s abyss,
On your lips lies oblivion’s power
And Lethe flows in your kiss.
Like one resigned to meet his end,
I’ll face my fate delighted;
Docile martyr, innocent condemned,
Whose fervour with pain is ignited.
I shall **** to drown my malice,
With nepenthe and hemlock blessed;
Placing my lips upon the chalice
Of your pointed, heartless breast.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC
Curled up beneath the duvet
knees drawn up to chest
inhaling the smokey scent of my fleece
sown fresh nostalgia
I remembered how
we laughed and ate off chinaware
while sipping out of plastic cups
sitting by the fire pit
in the backyard
my eyes wandered
towards the woods at dusk
and I breathed
realizing we are just specks of dust
that glimmer in the light of our Creator.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
He soars high, floating in her wake
Inhaling every detail of her flowing grace
Her brushes of touch, causing him to shake
Delicate weaving hearts of leather and lace
Inspiration sails high, with her drifting in his mind
Ripples from deep emotions, she elegantly paints
Closing his eyes, entrusting her, flying blind
Together, one with the other, interlinking chains
Flickering fates of fireflies under stars aligned
Precious moments in time, worlds collide
A rendezvous in the Milky Way, by design
Consummating souls kiss passionately, ignite
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
Warm laundry gives me the
fuzzies, makes my hands grasp
majestic purple soaps
to cleanse away the ***** wails
compacted under fingernails
A selection of smell good things
lotions accompanied by fuzzy things
to rub away and radiate the aura
of calm, balance, and tranquility
Lavender is condusive to many
different uses, inhaling the graces
of herbal essence, soothing said coolings
inducing mood peelings of layers of grime
a skin liberative—figuratively speaking
Flowers of passion brew thoughts into actions
silent buds permeating scents
so invigoratingly innocent
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
he is not heaven. he is not a deep breath of fresh air after being
trapped inside for so long he is suffocation. when his saturated fingers
touch me I am filled with a never ending fire that keeps me
awake until two a.m. and makes me question everything I've
ever believed. he likes to swear up and down on the metal cross
around his neck and pretend he is God when he looks at me.
his kisses are never filled with love they are filled with narcotics
and taste like a bittersweet kind of hatred. he smokes quietly and
slowly inhaling every toxic fume and making clouds
big enough to convince you that they are skies. everything about him
screams shades of cool he is blue he is black his smile is gold
his eyes are grey and he is the color spectrum at its darkest.
he speaks quietly and laughs loudly and cries silently when
he thinks nobody can hear him. I wake up every morning to the
sound of tiny bullets of water scorching his back but he
likes the burn so I do not say a thing. he loves the way I sing
and teases me endlessly and whispers ****** things when
our friends are around because he is an exhibitionist.
I do not know what this is. I do not know who he is.
but at the same time I do not know who I am either,
we are cataclysmic together and wreak havoc wherever we go
but there is something so beautiful about what a disaster
we are together that i do not want to say goodbye.
he is the lover I never have to worry about loving back
and that if nothing else matters
(h.l.)
11.25.15
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
I wish I still smoked
So I could sit on my roof inhaling this misery.
My memories of you are so playful and sweet
(Only since that day they got this undertone of heartbreak)
It was like this roller coaster of falling in love, the one we all know.
But right at my highest point, when I could see the whole city and my heart was racing and you were holding my hand
Right there
You woke me up
And now I will never know how scary and fun the rest of the ride would be. All I know is how I will dream of the possibilities for the rest of my life.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
Once upon a time,
there was a girl who was consumed by cigarette smoke.
She loved the feeling of inhaling
death each time she took a puff. Maybe all she wanted to be was
death and
that's why she kept lighting butts.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
one April dusk the
sallow street-lamps were turning
snowy against a west of robin’s egg blue when
i entered a mad street whose
mouth dripped with slavver of
spring
chased two flights of squirrel-stairs into
a mid-victorian attic which is known as
O ΠΑΡΞΕΝΩΝ
and having ordered
yaoorti from
Nicho’
settled my feet on the
ceiling inhaling six divine inches
of Haremina in
the thick of the snick-
er of cards and smack of back-
gammon boards i was aware of an entirely
***** circle of habitués their
faces like cigarettebutts, chewed
with disdain, led by a Jumpy
***** who played each
card as if it were a thunderbolt red-
hot peeling
off huge slabs of a fuzzy
language with the aid of an exclamatory
tooth-pick
And who may that
be i said exhaling into
eternity as Nicho’ laid
before me bread
more downy than street-lamps
upon an almostclean
plate
“Achilles”
said
Nicho’
“and did you perhaps wish also shishkabob?”
11k
I feel flesh on fire
light my skin
and name me pleasure.
All hands
and waist
and thighs
and bare.
Lips not only inhaling
what the other exhales.
I still trace my hands on my collarbone
the way you did that night.
I named my pleasure after you.
Jun 9, 2022
Jun 9, 2022 at 4:34 AM UTC
”good night, good travels, pitch black”
depending on how one counts,
cause size matters,
do have I
one small blessing
though little do I get, more-less,
in each twenty four measuring cup,
when the sleep gas has come-for-inhaling,
lidded heavy with greatful/tearful anticipation,
it’s less than sixty seconds till
dispatched to where all poems
plead like unborn angels for
good parentage
the spoken good night ritual signaled and completed
with a perfect half turn skating axel onto ones side,
preceded by, a single solid smacking of
an innocent but flaccid, equally tired pillow,
then lost in pitch black galaxy travels
with other sleep-drunk little princes
instead of the wavering, singular word,
a traditional goodnight,
a parting and a haling simultaneous mumbling issuing,
undebated and a wish shot to all within dream-shot, a title,
“good travels”
to places where ferment the aging words under
the winemakers watchful caring eyes opening,
names or titles, same difference, for the newborn babes
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC
Desperate slutty ****
With an urge for hard **** to ****
Aching to bounce up and down on it
Her ***** inhaling his entire ****
And swallowing the load whole
And licks up every drop
Apr 11, 2022
Apr 11, 2022 at 6:30 PM UTC
Submerged in darkness, a shimmering shred of light reaches
Gasping for air, yet I am still breathing
Struggling, yet I am still moving
Drowning – Yet I am still alive
In fear, but not frightened
So confused, so unclear
Even in my dying breath I yet again find myself thinking
Again and again…
Obsessed I think I am, but how can I not be?
After inhaling every breath,
After our childish scuffles,
I am still trapped down this lonely abyss
Away from the land – Away from you
I’m still drowning
Only now in solitude do I find that I’m least alone,
Spending every second walking back through memories,
Memories that are already fading
Do I still love you? I don’t even know
The first 5 days was agony,
In the 2nd week all I could do was think of you,
It was 1 month and I was still…
The 2nd month came and I thought I was better,
The 3rd month I was scared because I was forgetting you –
Where had all those sweet memories gone?
The 5th month…
That shred of light never reached me…
I drowned.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC
inhaling smoke from fire and
it feels good
and it pleasantly washes down a shot of imported gold
but i can still breathe, and
the burn in my gut tells me i haven't yet had enough
so, i reach for one more
and i reach for one more
and i reach for one more
and i reach for one more
soon the page is blurry
and the vision is clear;
making no less than total sense
it begins at birth;
you cannot escape the hurt
just as energy is never destroyed
it is merely transferred
pain[.]
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
I usually begin these rants with a question.
But i find myself lacking in just this instance.
For whom can say.
Anything more
When ash refuses to respond.
No message can be relayed.
Just more things that i silently promise.
As i figuratively toast to a memory that will never do you justice.
Is it disrespectful to take words so literal.
To the point.
That looking down gun barrels and beer bottles.
Turned into a ****** routine that pride would boast.
Only there was no smile in my smile.
Inhaling disappointment.
As the years of missed visits and substance abuse.
Led me here.
At your deathbed.
wishing my words could reach beyond.
Without worry of a certain spectres blade in my shadow.
Then somehow.
I made my word.
The only thing worth asking about.
Because allowing the past to weave around the last routine we shared.
Would force everything that i have come to embody.
To null
Et fin.
But no.
Your gift was ever changing.
Trading a jack for skills.
While masking scars that only those with them would know of.
And in the darkest moments did i find a crystal.
Clear.
Resolve.
To struggle onward.
Tears wont spell the revisions we seek.
and i was taught to always look my best, no matter the destination.
Everything that i am.
Came from you.
It didn't come from a book nor a Professor.
I can only hope to pass on your wisdom.
Although cryptic at times.
Will remain in my heart.
So even though I will forever be thinking of a new metaphor.
A penny will sit in my pocket.
Until the day that I can place it in your palm.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 5:25 AM UTC
Come on my Love! Let us move to the East
Where the sun resurrects after his interim death
Where darkness first gives way to light
And life renews itself every morn
Look to the East beyond those crooked hills
Where poplars grow tall in line
And wild weeds hem the edges of pathways
Where bunnies and squirrels hop and jump
And merrily run round the trees
Where the wind moves whistling through bamboo reeds
Where the laughing cataract leaps down from the rocks
And flow along in silvery rills
Where the languorous breeze plays upon the leaves
Away from the tumult, far from the crazy crowd
With the pandemonium of the world
Hushed to serene silence
Let us move to that sequestered glade
Of perennial greenery,
through the sunlit grove
Where we shall walk hands locked
Till the bright day gives way to dusky night
Inhaling night air in scented perfume
Under the stillness of a star lit sky
Through moon blanched woods, mysterious
Listening to the sweet whispering of our soul
And ‘drinking life to the lees’ from the chalice of love
Oh! Come on,
Let us not tarry…. Let’s go!
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 6:36 AM UTC
-Until We Meet Again-
Pele has lost one of her lovers.
I miss the goddess in all her majesty; Her deep blue oceans, sweet sandy beaches, Her dark black hair billowing down like the lava from the peaks of Her highest volcanoes.
Her seven sacred pools, each one cascading gracefully into the next, all finally spilling into her magnificent sea.
Her gorgeous body will forever entice my mind, with hair dark and beautiful, inhaling the scent of fresh pineapple and coconut, a hibiscus flower pinning back strands of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes, they were just as deep and amazing as the sea, something with which they were so familiar.
With lips red and lined with Hawaiian love songs sung just for you, tasting as fresh and young as the ocean itself.
Her body was adorned with fresh tropical flower leis and Kukui beads falling gracefully over ancient Hawaiian dress; all made from the same grass and leaves coming from the islands many trees.
All encircling those perfect hips, born to Hula and sway to any island rhythm, be it the slow and steady rattle of the Uli Uli, or the fast and powerful beat of the Pahu drum.
Finally pushed over the edge by the sight of her long tan legs, not shy to the suns warmth and fiery grasp, ending in bare feet more familiar to the islands then we’ll ever be.
I miss her and all her islands.
Oh, how I miss the island paradise Hawaii.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
Before I knew it I darted towards her like a train.
Barreling toward her fast as I could.
Inhaling deep, releasing deep huff.
The rumble of what came to be manifested before I was seen.
The notion of steam clouds and rod hot like iron.
Darting past the station.
Caution thrown to the wind in a solid fluid motion.
The rumble of my heart lead the way.
Stead fast, the scenery of steeping in front of emotion.
Track after track.
Winding and twisting with nothing to block the way.
I shot into a tunnel.
Stepping head first into what I have always known.
The express route to desire.
To inhale in ultimate asphyxiation.
The next station miles and miles away.
We were punctual.
Breaking down in deep huff.
Trails of smoke funnel where I lost my breath
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 1:30 PM UTC
So delicate and ripe
Fruit waiting to be picked
I can smell the sweetness
Before I even dive in
So excited the anticipation
Has me famished
And us both leaking
So earnest in my approach
My descent seems snails pace
Spreading her open wide
Caressing those thick buttery thighs
My moans haven't developed yet
So all I can do is sigh
As I plant delicate kisses along each thigh
Tongue tracing the curves of her love
Nuzzling my nose in her fresh mound
Inhaling the intoxicating essence
This meal may stick to my ribs
Running my tongue along get dripping cavern
Such a sweet drink
Sweeter than my dream
My thirst has been ignited
As I envelope her between my lips
I feel her pearl throb and twitch
My tongue can't resist
And as much as i try to pace myself
I become ravenous for her nectar
desperate for her taste
vice grip on her hips
Caught in a frenzy
Oblivious to her moans, cries sighs and thrashing
Her libido is no match for my palate
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.
(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)
"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."
both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.
the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.
"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.
a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.
suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.
fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."
the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.
fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.
bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.
the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
A fly stuck in a spider's web gives a buzzing distress call
Too entangled for to fly free and too powerless for to crawl
Unto a safer surface for it no get away
The sleeky black house spider rushes forth and grabs it's prey.
It can't escape the spider's fangs no matter how it try
Perhaps it is a natural death for the common blow fly
Many of it's kind have a more painful end they linger for a day
After inhaling the poison fumes when hit by the fly spray.
For the hungry spider a nice meal it's appetite to satisfy
It may have to wait another day or two for to catch another fly
Of the flies that fly into it's web perhaps two out of three
Seem to cheat death in the nick of time by somehow struggling free.
The fly cannot escape the spider's grasp today the hunter eat
And to it's taste buds a sleek blow fly makes for a tasty treat
The laws of Nature apply to all of life even to you and I
And for the spider for to live the blow fly had to die.
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 5:15 PM UTC