"interrupting" poems
I love listening to you.
In any way possible.
Whether it's big or small.
Sometimes I get lost in not just the words you speak.
But the actions that follow.
I hate interrupting.
Adding on to previous statements.
Until I know that your completely done.
Not wanting to make you feel unappreciated.
My hands following yours in the deepest form of flattery.
Open ended questions that lead to hour after hour of communication.
My fondness for you growing deeper and deeper.
At times I can't help but interrupt.
Our pauses taking a bit longer after each statement.
It's the anticipation that I want you to know.
That I am listening and take to heart what you are saying.
Stretching myself to cover every part of you.
Completely attentive excited that you'd consider my opinion.
To sit back and reflect without jumping to conclusion.
The one thing that I can do to improve myself.
To love you better.
To accept any and every change that may occur.
A safe place where we can do and say anything without being judged.
I love listening to you.
Specifically without interrupting.
Noticing how happy you are being heard.
With the intent of hearing what you are truly saying.
I appreciate you for truly understanding that if I do interrupt
It's truly the sole purpose of how much I care
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
I tore the fabric of space
Interrupting my affectionate stalking
Spurts of longing, interspersed
with spasms of premature *****
In vain, hankering to attain that next level rush
*Oh you're a ***** girl aren't you*
That's when I was discovered...
Her shrieks royally flushing my cheeks with shock
-Superseded by pallid chagrin
I fumble to bail,
Pants entrenched around my ankles
Premeditative,
Of absent-mind, in haste
Prime directive a method of escape
Evasion failing
Detection:
Imminent
Reflecting a grim lack of circumspection,
accursed **********
Trying to conceal my turgid ********
Her father particularly beyond reason
And not fond of my indecency for his daughter
Proceeds pummeling me to death with my beloved binoculars
Devoid of clairvoyance;
I am coincidentally sent
outward toward oblivion
Bon voyage through the portal
Falling facefirst into an abysmal wormhole
Its then I voyaged backward through time
To the moment of Creation
And witnessed the universe
**** itself from naught to existence
Spewing forth such cataclysmic splendor
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
the earth shook the neighbors again today
but truly, i can't say that i felt it.
yours is the only one that still hits me.
your earthquake spirals through my veins
interrupting the day, awakening me by the night
i await the tremors with anxiety and need
disrupting intellectual thought, curving daily motion.
absence of your presence denies me
everything, yes, everything.
grasp ahold of me, my love, and shake me
shake me from the depths of this nightmare
return, return and make this right
troubled mind shrouded by memories
that which flow to my very core
this dark red heart beats for you
my courageous veins are your love's roots
weaving through flesh and blood
daring to grow more and more sturdy
your earthquake scares me, my love
for i cannot control it.
your memories will not crumble with the earth
shaking and trembling, i'll stand my ground
holy is your image, voice, and touch
hot is the molten passion, coursing through my young heart
rupturing from the only place that i know
your earthquake, my love, determines so much
faulty is the mind and brave is the heart
crazed intuition lurking from daily interruptions
my love, continue to shake my world
for i know you are still there
my love, continue to shake my world
for i know nothing else
if a day pass where i cannot feel that vividness
all will be forgotten. all will be dead.
my love, i beg of you---
send me that earthquake today.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 1:10 AM UTC
Benedict Arnold
We see them. Lying in the terrorist trap known as
The Uncomformers. What happened to them?
Did they say enough is enough? Stab their
Old buddies in their already turned backs? Well,
I guess some people just don’t understand….
Look at them!
They’re laughing!
How preposterous! They’re supposed to be lamenting or even just
Giving hushed whispers to someone about everyone else.
I can’t fathom—
How absurd!
The Good Girls
Ohhhhhh My Gosh! Can you like,
See how lame they are?
They just, like, don’t do anything.
I mean, I have never seen any of them at, like, any party!
Crazy! I know. They just keep to themselves,
I guess. But, I mean, come on? No parties!
Do they even know what fun is!?
Last night there was this really awesome one where,
I was dancing…..and drinking….and then I threw up in my boyfriend’s car!
Oh yeah,
Were exes now.
Anyway, I just, like, IDK.
I mean, who wouldn’t want to have the ultimate makeup and beauty?
It’s mind-blowing!
I swear their worlds are all, aerobics and songbirds.
But, whatever, you know?
Peacemaker
Talk about irritating. I hate people
Who stop fights before the crescendo finishes!
Bor-ring! Drama is what I live for.
Just let people ruin their lives already!
I’m dying for some action over here.
Hel-lo! Your “sensible justice” is causing me to have serious
Gossip underload. Stop getting in the
Way of everything! If you would just come in
One second after you usually do, there would be so
Much more to say.
It would be beyond belief if you just,
Go where you belong and stop
Interrupting before some of the most spectacular
Moments in people’s lives.
Iron King
This person is not so simple.
Loners that shield themselves from the world
Freaks that don’t want to experience reality
Maybe he’s evil
Attempting to hide a dark inheritance
Living in his mind, the Devil’s oasis
Visions of wonder and agony expressed throughout
Sending out blind waves of hatred to all who will not follow him into Hell.
Super creep.
I hope he leaves me alone.
I haven’t done anything to him…
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
360
Death sets a Thing significant
The Eye had hurried by
Except a perished Creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little Workmanships
In Crayon, or in Wool,
With “This was last Her fingers did”—
Industrious until—
The Thimble weighed too heavy—
The stitches stopped—by themselves—
And then ’twas put among the Dust
Upon the Closet shelves—
A Book I have—a friend gave—
Whose Pencil—here and there—
Had notched the place that pleased Him—
At Rest—His fingers are—
Now—when I read—I read not—
For interrupting Tears—
Obliterate the Etchings
Too Costly for Repairs.
5.3k
Supposedly too much television will rot your brain away
BUT... you can 't believe what everyone may say
KERMIT told us it ain't easy being green
TAYLOR SWIFT taught us people can be trouble & really mean
SEBASTIAN the CRAB told us it is better down where it is wetter
CINDERELLA taught us that eventually things will get better
SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS told us over & over he's READY! he's READY!
THE TORTOISE taught us that being quick may not always work
KAYNE WEST taught us people are rude, interrupting, annoying & huge jerks
MR KRABS taught us some people are money hungry & greedy
LINDSAY LOHAN taught us some people are attention needy
DORA THE EXPLORER taught us to live our life as an adventure & go explore
SWIPER taught us to always go for more
SQUIDWARD taught us not everyone has happiness to share
PATRICK STAR taught us that some people's heads are filled with air
PLANKTON taught us that you can never give up on reaching your goal
ALICE's curiosity taught us don't chase white rabbits with pocket watches down their hole
PETER PAN taught us to live carefree & have no worries at all
HORTON taught us that a person is a person no matter how small
THE LORAX taught us to take care of our trees
SNOW WHITE taught us that there maybe more than what the eye sees
TOMMY PICKLES taught us sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do
THE GRINCH taught us that deep down inside, the cruel have hearts too
NEMO'S DAD MARLIN taught us you can't protect people from all & or any danger
BARNEY taught us not to talk to a stranger
TIMONE & PUMBA taught us "HAKUNA MATATA"
LILO & STITCH taught us no one gets left behind or forgotten, that is "OHANA"
SOUTH PARK taught us not to give a **** & some friends can be a huge ****** BAG
JUSTIN BIEBER taught us what isn't "SWAG"
STEWIE taught us that even if you're talking not everyone is listening
NELLY taught us that not everywhere has air conditioning "HOT IN HERRE"
DOROTHY taught us is you want to go home just click your heels three times & repeat "THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME"
SOUTH PARK'S TWEAK taught us that your underwear get stolen by the underwear gnomes
So much we've unknowingly managed to obtain
secretly stored in our brain
celebrities, songs, shows & even cartoons have taught us a lot
& that's what life lessons are all about
little hidden lessons & messages everywhere
& completely unaware you pass it on & share
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
If you had not cheated on mom and ******* up my mind with divorce.
If you still lived with mom and me you would know there's no school.
You would know snow stopped the buses so I'm stuck in the ****** house.
Mom is still on another all night date with like her million personals ad hookup.
My net fiance wants me to come on gaiaonline to practice for our honeymoon.
What to do when I don't like what he's typing or sexting?
Dad you called to bellow I am late for a school not in session.
Mom turned off her cell phone so she can be laid without me interrupting.
What to do when I don't like his sexting what he wants to do to my body.
Never had *** with anyone or had my body touched like he text to me.
Kids 9 years old are doing it and getting married on the net.
Easy when you got parents like mine who are dumb and care only about their lives.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 6:58 AM UTC
It creeps up on me.
The sneaking suspicion
that I'm stuck
in it.
My hair is falling
in my face.
Only a year ago...
I built everything —
it was so clear.
Even though —
it was chaos.
People were worried.
But it was simple.
It was as simple
as simmering sausage
in a saucepan,
sweating in a brick kitchen,
listening to Sade,
and thinking of rooftops.
Things are more grounded now.
People are less worried.
The kitchen is smaller,
and shared.
I turn down Sade
when someone enters.
I'm still sweating,
but it's because something
is wrong with the heating system.
I long to take
an anonymous walk
between buildings.
There are only
neighborhoods
and shopping centers here.
And I keep running
into people who know me.
It's either too cold or too hot —
It's never summer every day.
Everything that was hanging on
my walls
is on the floor.
Precious paintings and prints
dusting with potential.
I reveal myself
less to strangers.
I don't take public transportation.
It's disconcerting how
comfortable having a vehicle is.
I feel urged to uproot,
swinging in someone
else's hands,
but feel like..
I'm interrupting.
Can't I just arrive for awhile?
My safety net is too big
and my home is too small.
But if I abandon it,
I'll wonder if I'm bound
to be restless.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 11:35 AM UTC
Everything is about me
I'm the star of a movie
And you're interrupting my scene
You stand there eating, eating, eating
Spitting question after question
Why do you have to know?!
Let me be, let me be
Because everything is about me
Here you come again
Coughing, coughing, coughing
I could care less what you think
You're fiddling in the kitchen sink
Shut up
I'm tired of listening to you
I want to scream
Because I'm not getting my way
And everything is about me
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
The owl and the ***** cat***
Were out having tea
After a simple beach side walk
The owl took out a guitar
And sang to kitty brash, kneeled
Before her Crimson chair
A sweet romantic ballad it was
Yet ***** cat was too busy
Observing owl and noticing
What a dainty meal he'd make.
Interrupting his declarations
She stole him away
Under the starry midnight sky
Whereupon in the woods
Her claws she unsheathed
And silenced his poetic display
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
293
I got so I could take his name—
Without—Tremendous gain—
That Stop-sensation—on my Soul—
And Thunder—in the Room—
I got so I could walk across
That Angle in the floor,
Where he turned so, and I turned—how—
And all our Sinew tore—
I got so I could stir the Box—
In which his letters grew
Without that forcing, in my breath—
As Staples—driven through—
Could dimly recollect a Grace—
I think, they call it “God”—
Renowned to ease Extremity—
When Formula, had failed—
And shape my Hands—
Petition’s way,
Tho’ ignorant of a word
That Ordination—utters—
My Business, with the Cloud,
If any Power behind it, be,
Not subject to Despair—
It care, in some remoter way,
For so minute affair
As Misery—
Itself, too vast, for interrupting—more—
3.5k
We slump in mismatched chairs. Two hunches
over shame and a 3am breakfast, I think:
*There’s gotta be a reason why art rhymes with ****
If you want anything to go anywhere with any respectable…affect,
the force of pressure on the inside must exceed that from the outside.
Interrupting this genius, He asks:
How can you eat that crap? It’s so…empty.
He is flipping through his coffeeblack back pocket note rag.
It’s soiled, wrinkled concave with the ever-heaving
stomachfuls of his inky midnight doubt, and I would really
rather not have it at the table while I’m eating.
I am pouring another glorious bowl of Frooty Froot Hoops—yeasty,
store-brand sugarfuel for the lower-middle-income child poet.
He spends another tasteless oatmeal evening
reading essays about how to improve his writing.
Instead of, like, writing to improve his writing.
I ask:
If you took a knife to the edge of your boundary’s boundary—stabbed right into your life-world’s fleshy monad-sac,
glory running ****** down your blade,
As you breached forth into the well-lit unknown,
would it still be courageous, if you emerged from
your warm wet ignorance, and they were all waiting outside with mylar balloons, a banner, and "Congratulations on your Artistic Rupture!”
in blue icing on the cake??
There's still a moment there, right?
Petrified in the sap of thrill, in the momentous-stasis between
The arrow flung and the arrow fallen. A moment of
advancement …a moment of abandon!
(He nods along, but he isn't listening.)
I say:
Newness, originality, (birth), is purely indexical.
It points, and no one notices that all those shiny vegas lights aren't really moving anywhere—It's just utility bills and light-bulb trickery.
They're asking for genesis extended, genesis again and again
and each false gesture points only towards another
incandescent unreachable elsewhere.
(He nods along, still, not listening.)
But there's little monotony in taking a stab!
Even if it's just for them, again, those perennial spectators expecting,
Waiting outside with ***** little pocket notebooks of their own,
crowding the bassinets, ever-eager to begin another “surprise" celebration.
Gulping sweet, sugarpink milk, I say:
I happen to like this crap!
It keeps my knife sharp.
(He nods along, but he isn't listening.)
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
You and I are both cliches
You with your girlish wit and obsession with everything masculine
And me
With my wounded feminist heart
distrusting every man no matter his professed honor and respect of the feminine
I can't help but get mad at you
and you can't help but feel sorry for me
You think I'm deprived
And I know your depraved
I just hope you finally learn your lesson
when your heart has been shattered
and your "girlish wit" taken advantage of
But really I don't
That would be too tragic and unfair
I just want you to stop talking
and spreading your false reality to all too eager ears
And interrupting this class I liked until you walked in
At least you're better than the men in here
hanging on your every word
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 5:39 AM UTC
Don’t you judge me while I am judging you
For judging me when I was judging you
For judging me since I was judging you
For judging me ‘cause I was judging you
Don’t interrupt while I am interrupting you
For interrupting when I was interrupting
For interrupting since I was interrupting
For interrupting ‘cause I was interrupting
What’s that? You say you didn’t hear or see?
How dare you not focus your life on me!?
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 4:53 PM UTC
all the pretty people
with pretty little faces
fake little hearts
and interrupting gazes
laughing away empty tears
loaded guns whisper in their ears
bottles of pills, personally filled
fake pretty people in millions of pretty pieces
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
My sister karen was a manhater
she hated all men
deliriously
she would sit on the top
of the bunkbed she shared with sue
and with one finger curl her hair
then pull it out by the roots
it was quite disturbing
she would spend hours
every saturday doing this
until she had almost no hair left
the family worried for her
During the week when I would
come home from school (I think
I was around 7 or 8) karen (being
older and bigger) would run up to me
kick me in the gut
push me to the floor
jump on top of me
grab me by the ears
and pound my head
on the floor until
my brains fell out
this went on for several weeks
until I told my parents and
they finally put an end to it
One night sue didn't want to get caught
eating an apple in bed
so she put the core in the toilet
and it clogged it
we (all four of us)
were awakened in the middle of the night
and had to line up so my mother
could beat us with a belt
until someone confessed
I was tired so I said okay
I did it
I got a good belting that night
I was suspended from school
for a week because the teacher
complained that the welts on my back
were bleeding so profusely that
lt was interrupting the learning process
of the other children
One day I was coming home from school
and I got caught in a hailstorm
I got pelted really good
Lucky for me Mr. Doty was home for lunch
so I took cover under
his light blue ford f-series pick-up truck
hail as big as golf *****
some the size of baseballs
continued to rain down
I don't know for how long
because I fell asleep
"What were you doing under there?"
he questioned as he was shaking my arm
awakening me
(I quess he thought I was messing around
or something)
I came to and stated
"THE GOLF ***** WERE FALLING
I NEEDED A PLACE TO HIDE"
"oh" he said
"you mean to tell me you were in THAT?"
"yessir" I replied
"well, your schoolday's almost over,
maybe you should go home and rest"
"yessir"
And I went home and rested
When karen turned eighteen
she married a wife beater
for nearly ten years he would
ugly 'er up
finally she couldn't take anymore
and divorced him
But she was only following tradition
my grandpa beat his wife
my father beat his wife
and al beat karen
Yep, those three knew
how to really take a beating
But, not from a hailstorm
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
Memphis got real high in the 50's.
Those honeycomb bathroom floors decided to become streets
them city kids got the buy bug knocking at their knees.
Problem is: They never dream.
Teachers just learning to write
using pens filled with interrupting ink
telephone poles gossiping about the trees,
they hated their branches—always loosing their leaves
office administrators on Section 8 Housing
while the vacant houses are out on the streets.
People swarming the sewers
forgetting: a bomb shelter is no home
while drainage floods the alleys.
If you could see this place with your own eyes
and not the ones you bought at the drug store
you would wish you were blind.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
"I'm a serial killer" Sarah remarked walking away from Jade.
"I'm dazed and confused, for how are you something so horrid?" Jade exclaimed, Sarah turned back.
"I ****** person after person" Sarah laughed, emotionless.
"HOW COULD YOU!?" Her sister Jade cried out.
"I shed blood" Sarah's eyes grew darker.
Jade paused and drew in a deep breath.
"You're a murderer?" Jade said hesitantly.
"My soul is darker than hell" Sarah grimaced.
"First degree ****** is horrible!" Jade cried and fell to her knee's in disbelief that her sister was a cold-blooded murderer.
"I'm a demon walking" Sarah said interrupting Jade's thoughts.
"No!" Jade said in denial.
Sarah pulled out a knife and stabbed Jade 17 times. She stood up and laughed.
Sarah licked the blood of the blade and walked away.
Sarah left Jade laying in the grass lifeless and mutilated.
That is a serial killers destiny.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
Pink Hotel
and behind some bitter, white picket fence
she sat
actually, she stalled.
Tapped her feet on the pavement, cuddled the curb in her ripped dress.
She wore pink in her hair,
little slivers of an innocent, chapped lip.
a dying pink.
The fence creaked with the interrupting wind.
and she stood, danced across the street.
cracked hands gripping frigid door handles,
come on in.
Torn garments, wisps of pink flying from her head,
she felt pretty in pink,
third grade, mother-just-bought-a-new-bow pretty,
innocent, dad-bought-me-glittery-shoes pretty.
Painless pretty.
Sane pretty.
No more
he-just-wants-to-see-me-bare pretty,
he-gives-me-lots-of-drinks pretty,
Worthless pretty.
Lost pretty.
Pink matter that drips onto a glass floor,
everyone can see through it,
through her.
What is it, woman?
she gave her hand to a solo cup,
So alone.
Pink drink, it’s good for you,
good to me.
To the third floor,
and lay down.
do you like the pink?
He always said I looked good with pink.
-C.M Aldecoa
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
and that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.
The beach hisses like fat. On his left, a sheet
of interrupting water comes and goes
and glazes over his dark and brittle feet.
He runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes.
--Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them
where (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
rapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs,
he stares at the dragging grains.
The world is a mist. And then the world is
minute and vast and clear. The tide
is higher or lower. He couldn't tell you which.
His beak is focussed; he is preoccupied,
looking for something, something, something.
Poor bird, he is obsessed!
The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray
mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst.
2.2k
It doesn't matter what I say; I'm never right - not to anybody except myself.
I am the only person who can justify just why exactly I choose to live my life the way I do.
People are ignorant, they don't understand.
Which is why I don't understand why I expect more from this world.
I'm a living testament to the power of contradictions.
Sometimes I wonder if I really believe what I think.
It doesn't matter what I do; I'm the only person that benefits from it. Selfishness?
I'm a prisoner to my thoughts and false perceptions of grandeur.
Is it reasonable to call them false if I'm the only person I know who doesn't think I'm mental?
Isn't this my life to do with which whatever it takes -I believe- to pursue happiness and satisfaction?
This is a blessing from God which should not be taken away, but this is the absurd contradiction of which we call "Life."
I seek purpose and reason in a meaningless world.
I see no point in trying to justify myself to anybody other than Him.
So why do I constantly strive for this? Are right and wrong (and morality for that matter), anything more than statues erected by man?
The life I live is defined by my own personal integrity and it is that which I believe I will be judged according to, and whether or not the path I've taken has been more beneficial to myself or destructive.
God does not see through eyes of morality.
My eyes have been opened and He has shown me the way.
Is this why I see life for what it really is, is that the reason why I am misunderstood?
People are too afraid to look for the doors to open their mind's eye when this world we live in commands them to be blind.
Who is anybody else to tell ME how I should go about living MY life - what I should do, to be a virtuous person or follow into somebody else's footsteps in hopes of acheieving transcendence?
Who am I to listen?
To be a zombie, never questioning the status-quo -
Is it worth fighting against the flow if there is something more on the side from which you've been floating away from?
I believe the answer is yes.
We are born into this world from true happiness - utter bliss.
Life is the river which carries us downstream, away from our nature.
Some may find what they believe they are looking for by not interrupting the flow.
But not me.
And I believe I will find what I am looking for in this journey I have chosen.
I will one day be reunited with that happiness of which I came from.
From playing both sides in this field of life, its safer for me to tell myself that I'm of completely sound mind.
Reality is the true artificial. Nothing even seems real anymore. Not people. Sincerity is dead.
I need to break free - but how can a flower blossom if it sinks deeper into the earth each day, away from the sun?
I cannot let this unfulfilling life consume me. I refuse to let it happen. But how do I escape?
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
the drama unfolds
and the young grow old
while the old go with a curse
I myself am grown into my fifties
and the people I’ve known
who called me Little Boy
have been called to dust and urn and to river over the decades;
and the kids I would kneel before to speak with them
now they say: Do I see you with hunched shoulders?
the earthly hours pass
and generations come and go
with little knowing though of their own flow
the drama unfolds
and the young grow old
while the old go
with a last bite of a fried chicken
places have changed
and villages and forests lain bare
and once where I stood admiring angsanas
and mango trees and peacocks
now I admire lilly-pillies
and hold the koala and the kangaroo as mascots;
people I have called mother, father
and uncle and aunty and grandmother
they now have gone, some without even a good-bye
some smiling and some with unintelligible mutterings
and ah, some in unendurable suffering
while I walk now as time unfurls like a flag in the square;
and the witnesses
of uncountable generations
of immeasurable life
those stars and the sun and the moon
keep me quiet company
and the sunlight uses the leaves in the garden
to whisper to me the secrets of things;
and in my leisure
these words I speak to you
and when I’m gone
through these you may speak with me;
and the ones I have told stories to
now re-tell the stories to their young
and time, interrupting its slumber,
lifts its head like a garden in the snake
awhile
sees all is right, all flowing as it would expect,
and looks around and gives me a look too
and goes back to sleep;
ah, the drama unfolds
and the young grow old
while the old go with a wink
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 8:17 PM UTC
You hear the vocals of my pores
Calling out for your ecstasy
Baby, will you answer me?
Annihilate my suspire
I'm craving for you to sojourn your lips unto my dermis
Floating in passion, your love takes me higher
With annimalism
Your death grip on my waistline severely quenches my skin
I feel your thunder storming on my frame
Being pounded by my waves
Of this flash flood you made
I NEED YOU
To come and swim deeply into my ocean
Contain my legs from this uncontrollable wavely motion
Surf my waves at each convulsion
Your breath trickles down my spine
You haven't even reached your peak yet
And I have came here
And
Came
4
Times
This visit, I do not regret
I WANT YOU
To make love to me
Like there is a war outdoors
With nature and valley
A war between temptation and flesh
But wait
Not just yet
Because your cinnamon skin
***** my tongue passionately*
Constantly
I melt, into a puddle
Full weight on the floor
That you lick up until no more
I travel my lips up and down your masculine build
You feel my exhaustion
Invading your spine
Interrupting your concentration
At this hour, in this moment
You are mine
And I am yours
Finally tasting those lips I've always adored
My succulent tongues takes a moment and travel down your chest
Leaving my mist dwelling on your buff
Down to the strong man hood you possess...
You grab my neck
As you explore the soft walls
Of my saturating portal
Your head inclines back in full relieve
As I continually, savagely feast
You then explode in great fury
We collapse as if an earthquake violated our terrain
And then we lay....
But,
This is not the end
Welcome, to foreplay
With gratitude, your excitements hardens
And your eyes paint me, you feel extremely lucky
You begin to fill your lips with thanks
But NO
Baby don't thank me
*Just **** me*...
Copy Right 2013
©Patty Ann
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
The face tears—splits—breaks
stained by the soul-blood
that pours out in the interrupting
time–space between two eternities
The replacement is an actor
a master of disguise
repulsive, hated, discarded, exiled
from the world of sweetness
The scar throbs across the face
Its rudeness red
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 10:03 AM UTC