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One day as leep by a captivating woke essence in your handscaught in your arms woke getting up after nearly having died ...you gave me your breathing air and calm your back to life, releasing the fear more gregarious, after opening my senses almost incinerated i learned that the stars trembled me to reach it

I started a new life to sharing with you,
sometimes i feel that in your hands sap this life to revive my acuity,
what to unfold my body, she quadrupled making me shiver by quakes your tenderness.

But today on the eighth day of the universe,
divided my feet walking to you for every step of light sonica,
road on it being over your carnal finesse frosted still light beams for aboriginal embracing love with your gutted threat to the end dump body, being today only light story emerged from any pythagorean indigo.

Eight feet by my raving not walk on forgetful slip hugs and achieve that without it on my feet, making you a path of kisses on a piecemeal moan  covering your pleasures in quiet regia union, sealing and my memories to mummifying the most sensitive areas disown make me when you suffer from almost feel much pleasure.

Your feet chafe my eighth willing body as your hands it to me, this is your feet eight  feet, and your finger eleven flute my way to you open your columns wet and trembling, born in the tropics decorative colors flashing your eyes when mine yours take on your innocence as a mother's dismissal, genesis as a maternal layoffs in the grotto shaggy times makes me roof for to paint with my kisses and my mouth full of oils,  full streaking manias those desires that are further under your skin, deep lining up to associate to me ...!

My seven feet is the semi - obese and language lenticular spider mine, unleavened filling the food, its highest sing syllabic, make your paint  blue and moan molecules liquid call themselves, with its concavity make the bio - live surgery last transplanted hallucinate ... vibratory column of my responsibility on your body, cutting all fear, every element of your flesh lying addict to me hanging on my conscience all descontrol physionomy, losing my light steps sonica falling into the abyss of your distances fragrances, falling in ovation interapeutica licking your body my breath, like a sixth sense.

I meditate burning between your legs, dying as i was born of a woman wild servant, fawn as an almost died for a hunter, i prefer my conscience advance day and night to your legs to die of living where one day saw in the recesses; the greatest pleasures with ambitions to break all your secrets, all your defenses to break your falling on my tyranny, allegory huge walk along the invisible to other united take that helped me your surplus usages, enter you and your being, feeling peace penetrate you, not feeling loving preact, or not to have you in the distance but hugging everytime you Drodida to moisten your words to me,  stuttering of desire.

My six feet organizing penetrates you feast on enraged cowbells,wishes with malice and early pregnat, alcamphor extreme longevity and erectile espermiosicotic, with smoothness and irradiating polish your rattling,
spitting cushion on my bones,
like a sapphire on until your clothes,
and as a inseparable attachment unit dispensable.

My bringing night of Saint John in your prayers for imaginary pain coexist
in between taking you doing it my trees by spoil collude copulate,
taking you stormy ray to the phenomenon with the masses elephantine hitting you on your shoulders, your ******* armpits challenge your beasts i want my grind with canines and incisors to create a new universe of shed your joy to laugh about our loving.

The five feet; rub your skin like a shower delicate pituitary
******* kilometers of rivers into criminal triads morbid on your face ...
as well as the sand masturbates the waves,
on the sand and wave nail with my eyes my spells dominating you,
rolling you thousand times to my love trades.

You shall be called Drodida; worship the everlasting orbit of my sight,
when i go for your absence mount your toxin grotesque gasp;
the stalk watered voluminousity  your mouth singing your sweating my
groaning  telling my cries thinking with my worst vanity,
the turn on rotation vanitatory what you just do me with your stalks and not my serous waters in my effervescent mouth in your ******* astral, arrested in any language your thinking lubrication retained me and your touching, what i always touch in you.

The five feet as a tightening necromantic porosity your skin that change shape your temples and declaims pretending aridity lovers bad; lords nomades covered them your area leafy tagled branches covered to neat legends of penalties appealed fables o mytofagic eaters; brotherhoods of the worst disease of not having small Mt. in high with it my staff rooted in resisting demolition and other eroding sorrow, reverie spoil it captive in your infinite journey of ecstasy explosional femic.

The four feet light make a gentle sonica, dry your language lenticular stalk ciliary zone, enter your supra entails, the cave unexplored wider,enter with both arms with herbs pulsating symmetrical cottoned sleeping in your walls and grotto forms  desensitized, insense redeem the pain of window pastoral bishop uniting both peni-***** areas full of gems balsamic, percusionatives full of eyes.

The three feet,
running is my hand movements on your ******* imprisoned,
they are my two hands scratched by scratching the delivery of your birth.
touch my hands that know not touch, when he was born without willing,
but my biohands touch your skin attached to transfer and progressive evil of love for the shores of cry to the center or your body centers clung to my hands over your thoughts rampant, wanting to stay in the fact to see you perisphery merge at twilight of our our sunken eyes friction and wet kisses dormitation delightful of travel and destructive of wickedness;
fulgurative but doubt of living or dying your enjoyment perpetuate.

The second feet,
you are you loving me on my feet vertically like a weak tower,
ash as rain that spread my fire for you.
i take my hands and i took a walk in the seas of ******* bellowing.
you took the scrub the eternal holy and spinal vocabulary of your mouth muted outrage both enjoy your subumbilicales areas.

The first is my feet Drodidaged,
it full landed liquid bathing you, your eyes full of ***** petals and replete, as bastions fallen with their helmets  gnawed your moans, that resound in memory of trees expectant that divert all about us practice,
only your tilt knee …will exalt   the  time for my happiness excessive.

My feet first,
it is my son music turret  ram rope breaking your every arbour grotto, asleep by the dream Drodida you commanded you do to me,
to rock for you and cutting wheel kissing my return to continue all apocalyptic dreams and your most ****** on my ways about it forever astral.
Plane  it me  come the way to sleep with me,
come see how i am able to teach Drodida
ways of sleeping next to me !!


Jose luis  / 0ctober 2003 -  Copyright 15 – all rigths reserved
Metaphysic Spirit  Erogenous Desire...
Chad Young Jan 2021
What more than a head and body?
What more than a room?
What more than staring eyes?
Do they ever pierce through?
The molecules of the things in here spark no new sense to me.
Nor outside taking a smoke.
There has got to be a word for this.
Not boredom, not austere.
Not glum, not shade.
Lukewarm light, maybe.
Noble stare of the formless mind, perhaps.
Miser, hopefully not.
Forgetful, of the world though.
Hopeful, no, a little more resigned.
A frequency? Could be.
The loser, the creative?
The inventor, the wannabe?
Expectant, too intense.
Drifting on the hard edge of the mind.
Why can't a fish bite?
Why not one?
I'm a doomed fisherman with none.
No flower has vloomed, not an exceptional one.
How do forms collectively merge into one, though separate I see?
I'll explore this novelty.
Blind to multiplicity things become one.
What price do I pay for collectivity?
Look at the Earth so together, so one.
Yet how little I can relate to Her.
I see a collection of rooms, a collection of houses, a collection of cars and businesses.
Collection of dishes, a collection of cash and credit receipts.
This is the minor Earth I see.
A collection of esteem's, a collection of words, thoughts, and things.
Nothing like iron-hard duty to break apart the day.
Laying contemplation
Izzi Dec 2014
The light of my life isn't a light
Not the sun
Not a lamp
The light of my life is different
Just different
My lights silhouette can not be distinguished
The mystery of it's feature lies in the hands of God
The feeling of it's hand is unknown to my skin
The flavor of it's lips unknown to my tongue
The insense of it's being is unknown to my senses
The rythem of it's heart is unknown to my audition
My light is not a light
A man
Who bestows the light in my life
Who destroys the darkness with his laughter
Who detaches the sadness with his words
Who strips the melancholy with his smile
My light does not glow
He shines
More than the sun
More than a lamp
He shines brighter than anything on earth
He Is The Beautiful Light Of My Life
Annamaria Gagno Feb 2013
Long to write
what my heart feels
I see beyond deztiny
to where it maybe

no wonders in my mind
just sit and write

I'm not alone
just the eay it is

I see life becomes real
I see death becomes sadness

Long to write is it history or facts
yet I sit
look out through
my window
wanting to escape
from the worlds battle

I see hear children cry
lost hearts
lost times

seeing the blood run through
the streets of hell

no wonder I write
it's real
Focus on others what they see
is life or death
being shot to ****

Where are their parents
laying somewhere in row
of others dead to ****

we are not strangers to all
this misfits
we write in pure honesty

facts of life or death

I sit and wonder how crazy the world
is
yet they say
let's fo for the children

protect them how

life is a history that never changes
cause seeing all the fragile
state of mind

this is how I write
I sit
wonders of my mind
hoping
praying

but it still same issue
we live every day

all we can do think ahead

long to write

what insense of people
children of all ages

cry in the mist of war to live or die

not I slowly settle down my emotions
close my eye's
wondering what I would do

as I sit and continue on
long to write
Celestite Nov 2018
i am from walking along the cold cobble stone streets on a rainy sunday afternoon,
only to be welcomed by the warmth of my home. that is tucked into the corner of a forest, at the end of a street in the borderline subburbs.
i am from the La La Land soundtrack being played one too many times, while accompanied by a warm bath that smells of lavender and chamomile. I am from fuzzy socks and blankets snugged up by a crackling firsplace. from watching raindrops hit the glass of my windows, to the way hot chocolate tastes after heart break. i am from a family of way too many essential oils, and burning insense to clear the air. I am from passing out on an unmade bed that waits for me with open arms, and from city street lights that shine brighter than the stars. i am from excessively hanging christmas lights in unnecessary places, and from baking cookies that tastes too sweet for most taste buds. but in the end it all adds up, i am simply just from love.

— The End —