"lechery" poems
Saturated in steely blue clutches, sweating from the 75 degree Georgia night
strung up and washed out with a serpent woman that keeps bringing on the blight
Singing you a song of bliss and blinders.
A big brick red boot on your neck and a green collar that reads The Gardens *****
The Garden takes the taxes tightens up the lead and never relaxes
Hit ya where ya like, the pain is disguised, leather tastes like candy, The Gardens got ya hypnotized.
Your late night camping sight attracts the moon light parasite, that acolyte of appetite, Tonight your the Gardens Delight
You wanna run but she's got those hooks between your shoulder blades feeling like an inexorable **** of silk, smoke and skin.
She gives you every thing you need,
Fountain heads of intemperance and black out nights
Whole streets smelling like grease and charcoal charbroils
Men and women of dexterous lechery, feverous severance, and generous deference
Crystals for your cranium, high altitude dives and the lowest lows.
A cacophony of any entertainment you might want or need, just as long as its seedy.
The Garden keeps blinders on your head to make sure you can't see anything she doesn't want you to.
Try to remove em and the punishment is usually severe.
She might give you the greatest loves you've ever known and turn em to photographs, blot em with LSD and trip you out on memories.
And when you come back to what you think reality is she'll take those photographs and burn em up right in your face and leave you asking if any of it really happened while feeling like it was the realest thing that ever has.
She'll break you and build you up, build you up and break you worse. A cycle of bad things feeling real good.
The Garden will do everything in her power to keep you right here.
But if you can get all those straps and tight leather off, all those hooks and chains.. If you can escape her steely blue clutches,,
You'll finally see how wrong you've been done, and your still gonna want her back in some strange way..
but you might start to heal....
But know this.
No matter where you might run off to,
You'll still be hearing The Garden City call.
That siren song of bliss and blinders.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 4:27 AM UTC
*all my life i held a dream
of a woman i would love
of course
she would be alluring
supple
a charming countenance
erudite, with an angelic face
her body
a muscular stretching willow
arching her legs over head
kissing her own
curving soft feet
a graceful contortionist
in confetti colored sparkle pantyhose
stretching towards me
silken hair draping a perfect symmetry
with spun sugar kisses
wafting the scent of vanilla
and candied vaporous breath
lips like cherry lozenges
but
one never knows ones destiny
i met her
my girl destiny
and except for a faint look of languor and ruin
with a tinge of withering
she was without doubt unbearably titillating
with razor-thin blackened lips
mascara slits for eyes
hair pulled straight back
jet black
jelled like hardened licorice
with satanic blood rivulets
and pitch fork tattooed ****
a vice of lechery
a malefaction of moral turpitude
her *** scarred from orgiastic beatings
her **** became
like a large wrinkly mouth
resembling the face of a bullfrog
from pleasuring herself with
tableware cutlery
her soul
a broken creel
suffering bouts of anxiety
like a weeping moon
having been institutionalized
in Mother Marys Hell House
from a ghastly bout of parricide
her father,
a hobbling gloomish troll
while the dark veins of mother
ran through her soul
leaving little choice
but to dispatch
the parents
abandoning their corpses in the kitchen
like strewn litter
turned out
just my
kinda
girl
d
e
s
t
i
n
y
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
**** men
predatory *** hounds
chasing skirts and tights
aching **** idiots
disciples of Eros
Christs of fetish
reconciling nothing
veiling that principled demeanor
of feminist culture
"of don't objectify me".....translation
sensual form is not natures ruse
machine Eve must
override override override
well the id does not negotiate
the superstructure
of affected political tele-reality
starring
the liberal chattering class
who speculate male motives
to be some vainglorious power trip
while corporatized media personalities
feign out of control lust
as a mental disorder
and
sit up like shuddering Pekingese
yessing the lascivious
as a fiction
no ladies
its not just power
theories are not testosterone
it is pure unadulterated
relentless
irreducible
urge to merge
like the beluga **** channel
sea world as you've never seen it before
where male dolphins
batter and gang bang
the weaker ***
in search of feral harmony
in an overbuilt society
yet to become a civilization
are we
scissored between a wild ****** id
of the damed
and the Victorian sacred
of the damed
oh you silky damsels
makin men moody and humid
pure **** heroine
a poison ivy of ***
like a rash
givin men folk the itch
cant stop the twitch
rubber *******
in a rubbing frenzy
from your soaking heat and odor
we are a rumbling of muttering torments
for the forbidden taste
of you
oooow
oooow
we are pan in a mad dance
for glistening shanks
and buttery kisses
we are the early bird looking for the worm
hunters decreed by the liturgy of heaven and hell
a constellation of infatuation and lechery
mad with adoration
love slaves in a raging furnace of desire
*** addicts
that just say yes
turgid dogs
hole sniffers
voluptuous monsters
all johnny apple seed
and sometimes your salvation
as you are ours
knowing that sometimes
real eroticism eclipses morality
and yes my darlings*
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
In your absence...
My thoughts
Your nakedness besets
My fantasies
Your lechery buffets...
This' reality...
Enrapture me with your presence.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
*My hunger for you never wanes
your, smell, touch, look send me aflame
my lips bruised after being crushed by yours
my thirst quenched by drinking you in,
my need as robust as your thrusts,
my cravings, like a ****** in need of a fix.
Immersed in you, luxuriating in you,
knowing you, has starved and saved
my soul.
Amongst the smell of lust and lechery
Dante watches, he watches my soul.
Purgatorio, penitent I walk within flames to purge myself of lustful thoughts and feelings.
Dante's Inferno. Souls of the sin of lust are blown about in restless hurricane winds, I feel the wind at my back. Howling.
A symbol of my own lack of self-control to my lustful passions
in this my earthly life.
Just be with me when we are judged, together we can prove our
Love*
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
Gold is dust, and silver sand:
Money made via vices is silly,
For it will by and by fly away surely.
Some people get riches by contraband,
Ruining others just for them to live
In luxury, like bees in a cosy hive.
Debauchery and lechery are a woe:
Girls chasing is many a man's hobby,
Running daily the full course of adultery
Or fornication. Some are soaked to sorrow
Drown in ***** A married woman, besides her
Hubby and God, may have another "helper."
Yet, the beloved apostle Paul in the Book
Of books, saith: "Godliness with contentment
Great gain is." Every earthly enjoyment
And achievement lacking holiness is a fluke.
Unless the flesh to the Spirit becomes a slave,
Worldly pleasures will the body often crave.
Greatness is not in the muchness of things,
But is rather in possessing the fulness of God.
Many whom this vain world doth highly laud
Are mostly before heaven very low beings.
They are the richest in life that have Jesus
As Lord and Saviour, who chose to be righteous.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
It's only you that i want,
that I need,
that I could have,
But also you weren't mine to keep.
I wanted to be held by you,
feel your hands on me,
Your lips on my skin,
I wanted you to feel what I had felt for you.
And I had a deeply hidden
And inarticulate desire for something beyond,
It's an inclination, disposition.
an impulse, a craving, a yearning.
This wasn't as ruining,
But yet it has taken every part of me to not think of.
A libido for you, a sensuality,
Lust to take all that I had to give,
And I'd given it—
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
Days are splendorous,
in the royal color wash,
and frost,
of November.
Four thirty is a burning torchlight
of reminiscence.
November,
older,
wiser,
But similar,
in the way that air,
is a rustle of crisp leaves,
and emotions that,
stretch across the horizon,
like an autumn parade.
Familiar,
in the way that,
shifting parameters of light,
invigorate and disturb.
Prodigious,
whispering of enchantment,
and it's Siamese twin,
disillusionment.
November,
That lingers like a somber melody,
or a dense beat,
hanging on the evening wind,
Whose disruptive energy,
is portentous,
of wakeful nights to come.
That shimmers,
and shivers,
and sings,
sending a mating call,
to ravenous winter.
November,
is a communicable pheromone,
am aphrodisiac,
A crescendo.
The yearly succubus,
crowned,
in her raucous display,
of jewels,
Her ingenious distraction,
as she drains the world
of warmth,
and daylight.
And I am hallowed.
November's champion,
riding the dark,
like a faithful steed.
A cowgirl about town.
An outlaw,
blown in on a strident wind,
Primed to partake,
of libation and lechery,
because I am restless,
and it is too brisk to wander.
November is distilled,
and flows like hot cider,
steaming in the faces,
of days it leaves cold.
It is one thousand proof,
and permeates breath vapor,
each small fog,
that lingers like an apparition.
Shades of November,
fettered from dissipation,
as winter,
in search of answers,
clutches at the evidence of its becoming.
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
when the sun fears enough to cower over
the moon with its knees and
is kissing the tender
glass of the mirror
that reflects one side,
neptune weeps like a baby
birthed from a place unknown
yet needy all the same.
with that,
my eyes are forced open
my hands to take its waist,
its apple that was once
part of a tree.
heat sears me like stigma
yet this is different:
a paradox that speaks
not in tongues of abuse
or nationalism of one's mind.
instead,
this new sensation
is accompanied by
a high-pitched falsetto
as if feeling every paper cut
**** into his mind,
his flesh of lost innocence.
then, when reaching out
to touch this "him",
this hymn i've found,
his skeletal oblivion makes itself known.
- eozyoh. 8.12.2017. 12:42 am
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
Hugging the devil, refraining from the Lord:
Filling my hollow and empty life, the gourd
Of my soul, up with the mirth of lechery;
Making frenzied fortune from debauchery,
While the account of my heart is credited
With slush happiness: full, yet never sated.
Lured by diverse lusts; rain do not up fill
A basket. Man is vapid outside God's will.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 3:27 AM UTC
You are...
The epitome of insanity
The goddess of hypocrisy
The rebel of gracility
And the idolater of vanity
The paramount of mistress
The fixative of my embodiment
I am a failed triad of disappointment lacking your physical, emotional and ****** completeness
I'm fueled by love of my adversary's scrimmage
And broken by my lechery
Thus making me facil to your incogent persuasion.
And infatuated by your complimentary image
Though you are the demoralizer of souls
The extension of my patience
By the obscureness of your oomph
Why in the foolery are you the axis of my goals
You're an abhorrent char to my mind
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
and this is a place i’ve been before
and this is a place i’ve seen before
watching his chocolate eyes search within the reflection of anything and everything…
he touched the surface of my conscience, waiting for the ripples to begin within
my heart, to begin
within
the heap of dreams inside my soul
piled there like clean laundry waiting for a
fresh pair of hands to fold
but his ripples came with distortion, contortion, it all became dsymorphic
my dreams converged with memories, my desires converged with melodies
sung in familiar tenor tones,
yet a voice i knew not to be my own
my own soprano theme subdued beneath the means
of self-discovery
that weren’t really meant for me, fettered to your contrary schemes,
playing out unwary scenes and losing myself in our routines,
seemed i didn’t mind losing me to find your dreams.
and so the heap of dreams inside my soul
growing moss and growing mold,
sprouting negligence for negligees,
thread bare, left there, lying in disarray
passed by for the chosen right of way…
chocolate eyes and hands on my surface skin, ripples, quakes, tremors, shakes;
my hazel eyes opening to your mistakes.
people are imperfect reflections, with our opaque complexions,
i was not your means, your queen, your pedestal, your play-ground.
i was not the place for you to **** around.
left skeptical by your lechery, your ability to capture me,
self-identity came much more dearly…
what i’m trying to figure out is who to be
and this is a place i’ve been before
and this is a place i’ve seen before
and it’s 'cause i washed up from the other shore, that i’m. ready. to. break. free.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
1.
Diaphanous dragons disgorge a deluge of diamonds
into the shadowed crevices of cumulus clouds.
Ruby-red sapphires overpopulate the glistening sky
like carbon-hardened locust: gorgeous messengers of the gods.
The Earth wears a crimson helmet, shielded from
the odious absence of ozone above the North and South poles.
Near Minneapolis, John Berryman's wizened body shatters
on the frozen riverbed below the Washington Avenue Bridge.
Angels weep to see him jump, as he waves a vaudevillian goodbye.
The sapphires blanch, then turn an angry, violent violet. Black holes ahead.
2.
Shakespeare and Mr. Bones **** on mortality's skimpy
skeleton of life. Will this broken body be resurrected?
Does it deserve such distinction? Better yet, does its daring,
drunken destroyer? Four hundred Dream Songs nod yes.
Berryman toddled ticklishly toward the last traces of transcendence.
Love & Fame broadcast how terribly his faith failed to trade
daily delirium tremens for the mysterium tremendum.
The God he prayed to demanded a syntax pure, plain.and perfect.
With jolts of jest, He jimmied paradoxes into koans. Berryman
howls for the sound of one diamond scratching the outline of his body on ice.
3.
He left a legacy broader than liquor, lechery and the love-struck ladies.
Lust seeded his fallow lacunae and lazily broke his wife's heart.
Scholarship scooted him to the squeamish, secluded top
of his Shakespearean class: Signal student turns trusted teacher.
Poetry cloned the Oklahoma clown in him. No successors,
no schools, no savvy peers, save Lowell. his fellow manic-depressive.
He dreamed songs of hilarity, humility, history, dehumanization.
Poetry proved serious business until it learned to laugh at itself.
Sapphires crackle under the weight of the creaking sun. They spin a kaleidoscopic rainbow of colors onto Berryman's obituary. Somehow, he has won:
An irreplaceable jewel of the sky.
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 4:01 PM UTC
She was my only friend
She is me.
There were times enough when I spoke to air
Consoling her; musing me.
A quiet room lets you think quite clearly
Stalking lust's avenues whimpering in debauchery
I'd search for a trait I like to see
Of arms that grasp to never let go,
Of presence enough to bait that inner glow
I hunger for dominance but submit easily,
Eyes transfixed in sheer ecstasy.
I dream at night the most perfect dreams,
starring him, and me.
A court so crooked it sickens me
Strangely,
I cannot get enough of that scene
I am only a 8336
If it were obscene I would find it so
But I think of love, and hurt no more.
I glare at her glass prison
demanding answers.
I cower and bleed
I make a racket so he will notice me
Be with me, punish me
Hit me.
And it feels even better at its worst
To wish he would **** me?
The consoling air screams
I try to hold her turbulent heart
But, with my lust, I will not part
With every tear of desire lost,
The fire burns hotter through searing frost
So I question the reflection
Who only hates what she sees
Waiting up at night to see him come home,
I always hope he'd stop by to say hello
He doesn't anymore.
If he was always mine,
How wonderful would that be!
I **** to be reminded of him
To imagine the finer details
And slake this wicked lechery
Until I'm close to screaming
**** me 32339, **** me!"
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 4:31 PM UTC
Heedless of the web hanging from every corner,
I ventured into your space.
Oblivious me
Again I dangle from your weave
You always find a way to wrap me
in your promises so tightly
Oblivious me
I believed your invite
to be something I trusted
R.I.P. to the fools
who came to visit you so blindly
I see you hang their carcass like a trophy
from that thirsty tongue so proudly
Constrained in your devotion
The lechery scene of their bodies
You leave them suspended from a straight-jacket cobweb
As you drink from their seductive flesh
R.I.P. to the pests of your future meals
I sigh in disappointment to your habit
As I escape disheartened by the damage
For the docile creature I had once seen
Has lost all dignity and rationality
Oblivious me
I can no longer present myself to your attendance
The truth is now bestowed upon thee
and I've accepted the let down to your betterment
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
There are drugs
And the shadow of divinity is scattered
By an unwelcome daybreak creeping into the room
Revealing lechery in our eyes
Everyone's voicing their ultimate truth
And yards if soul unfurl
As we distance ourselves from god
And words fail
All watched over
By the retreating darkness
And the wrinkled reality revealed
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
Hot,
Humid,
Awake,
Sweating,
My body unshackled
from the smothering confines of nightly fabric,
I lie exposed and unveiled
to the peeping eyes of the ****** night,
The throne of my forested desire
throbs with a pulsating fire,
My body yearns,
It turns here
and there
twisting the silky bed sheets,
I reach for the pillow
and
press the soft coldness
to my feverish face,
My love for
you
will never ever ebb,
I want you here
to calm my stormy sensuality,
I am no longer the captain of my libido laden ship,
The wanton crew of my stirring soul is tossed
upon ***** seas,
My sails seep with love's liquid lechery
and my fleshy mast is gorged and passionately perspires,
It stiffly smoulders and itches and rises upright
and the tip drips with aromatic moonlight,
Let me rapidly stroke
and come with all pistons pumping into your curvaceous Chinese port,
Oh, my husky darling, throw wide open your harbour's shapely thighs,
Let me plunge my craving anchor deeply,
Oh! so wet and sweetly,
Let the sultry fireworks of our carnality unify and our universes combine,
Bliss! Oh, how I do so much dream of you,
Yet...
My tongue is parched,
My ***** lips are dry,
My throat hungrily burns,
Oh! caress me, lick me, kiss me to life,
Offer to me the hypnotic narcotic of your honey
and let me **** upon your delicate dates
moistened with the milky nectar of paradise,
The air of your smooth touch alone
would cool my licentious temperature,
In the dawn I would surely rise
to face the new day
with a wicked smile making merry upon my chaste face.
©Rangzeb Hussain
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 23, 2010 at 9:11 AM UTC
Don't call Trump a chimpanzee.
Chimpanzees can't talk.
Don't call him a pile of ****
A pile of **** can't walk.
Don’t call Trump an Orange
That would be indiscreet.
You see, different from an orange
Trump is in no way sweet.
Don’t call Trump a swindler
Take his fat *** to court
Because when he needs proof
He will always come up short.
Don’t accuse him of bribery
Unless you have the proof.
He’ll just change his residence
To another unlisted roof.
Don’t call him a squanderer.
He’s not if it’s his money.
Trump likes stealing from other people
He finds that hilariously funny.
Don’t accuse him of gross lechery
He feels that is his right.
Don’t appeal to Trump’s conscious.
He doesn’t have one quite.
Don’t expect Trump to speak the truth.
He doesn’t know what that is.
When they were passing out ethics
He was off taking a wizz.
Don’t whine to us about that ****
And how he disappoints.
He’ll claim you heard him wrong
And that is his only point.
Don’t hope everything will work out
In any way in your favor.
Doing what’s right for regular folk
Is not Donald Trump’s flavor.
Don’t look for anyone in authority
To rescue you from the dump.
And, of course, most of all
Don’t call Trump.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC
Fiendish wires driven deep into the mind.
Subsisting on the chaos it compels unto others.
Craving lechery and deference.
When resisted the coils tighten.
Its weighted vines make it difficult to stand.
I know what it fears,
We are the same.
The threads are not mine.
If I controlled the them I'd do the same.
We are puppeteers.
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 4:39 PM UTC
The pride of the north
Yankee lasses;
Oh… those New England girls can love.
They’re not too prim and proper
for lust and lechery;
they learn their skills and ply them too
on dark, cold winter nights.
They’ll keep you going and keep you warm,
make coming in from the cold
all that much more...
delightful.
Mar 19, 2010
Mar 19, 2010 at 3:28 AM UTC
You're ******* me up,
And tearing me down.
You throw me around,
So I might spare the whole town.
But I don't give a ****
About the ones with a frown.
I'll only spare the ones
Bestowed with the crown.
But you can't make this crown
For the ones with a frown,
Because the ones in this town,
They are solely unsound,
And can't turn it upside down,
To sprout life from the ground.
Not for you, not for me,
You'll eventually see.
And what happens here,
When you turn them all loose?
They all run wild,
Like a lonely stray goose.
But, you see, when you pull out
The notorious noose,
Stability and order,
Is all they dare to produce.
They just can't turn away,
From the hatred and dismay,
They can't sort out the disarray,
Without rules in play,
And as humans of clay,
They'll slowly decay,
And no matter how much you plea,
They'll drown in their own sea.
They lust and they ****
And they fornicate.
They deceive and they lie,
And obey with closed eyes.
They **** and destroy,
With the men they deploy.
And the ones who take lead,
Are compelled by their greed.
But I'm not going to lead,
I'm no kind of dictator,
I fall more easily along
The lines of a perpetrator.
I glory in chaos,
And overpower creators,
Of their "society" and "order",
I spawn black ash and deep craters.
But I'm not always insane,
Sometimes I like peace,
And I'll take any great lengths
For disorder to cease.
I isolate myself from them,
And only watch as they fall.
Hell, if it weren't for you,
I'd have killed them all.
But you're not the same,
You're gentle and sweet,
You give them endless chances
Because your faith won't deplete.
And even with me,
That I'm not quite concrete,
You give me your heart
That I struggle to complete.
And so just for you,
I contain myself,
And work to keep my worst
Up on the shelf,
Try to bring out my best,
And let my soul shine through,
It's the only thing I think
Might bring me closer to you.
'Cause in my eyes,
You're all that I need,
You're the only I want,
For whom I would plead.
So I leave myself defenseless,
And simply out of affection,
I make you my one weakness,
The only one crowned in perfection.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Even as the neon lights lit up the street with seductive winks
of blue promising colours I slid past the tonne of a beef burger
doorman, muscles tensed in conversation with his power.
I had no identity, no number to call to confirm
my foray into the ****** of sincity doom
but my adrenaline turbo was greater
than all the indulgences laid out by the church.
Soon the show started and it was neon
seven course greasy meals of delicious
red rosette ******* and bulging cabbage
bums that were only found in naughty books,
so against my catholic upbringing
of saints in halos, sinners in chains-
all collecting at the ankles.
My eyes were young and untrained
to the slow naked lights and movement
so I had to stare
through the shadowed light and dancers
throbbing to the music of savage drums
gyrating to the pulp of night.
That's how I mixed up
poetry and lechery
in one single escape from innocence.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 5 days ago
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
O, cry morning, sun breaks again
In that history of banalities
Are written, I finished the cigarette
Before the coffee, twirling wind
O, sigh morning as inverted
Could carry me to the rock wall, thinning grey,
Of the house where egos, bruised, seek guidance
The black bird builds a decoy nest
O, shy morning. churlishly answering questions never
Asked before, “nah-uh, nah-uh, nah-uh,”
(A ****** is heard, of most[ly] fowl)
Spoken mostly to the fact:
It is what it is. Acceptance
O, belie morning. builds a brutalist window, round by row
The they that walks whistles low with nebulous intent
To remind itself to forget
Abysm is a stranger in your city streets.
O, blithe morning. Such cringing in place
Of those sleeping hours, parsing the drop-ceiling’s
Calligraphy: kings be draped in robes of flesh
To depose the anarchists in cerebral lands,
O, yes, my morning. a lechery for the heart,
That religion of my given path
Or its surrogate, the lawful rebels
Writing on every city row, so willing but rough,
My guest, O, my morning, such a pity!
Restless and genuflect, the they does not find itself
Swayed by the largess of absence
Craning neck eastward toward the perfect morning,
Ever on the cusp of the perfect twilight.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
Breathe in my breath,
Intoxicate me with your presence;
Let me lose myself in your fragrance,
Till I don't exist anymore...
Ensnared and enchanted
By the one essence of our existence,
Woven into the web of our own wonders;
As we nestled in our lover's nest.
Stinging passion with poison,
Let's attend with urgency to our fervency;
Burning fully in fervent fire and fury,
Flowing in frantic frenzy.
Bodies dripped and dribbled
Lavishly with lickerish longing, lust and love;
Splashing and thrashing in lake of lechery,
Till we're submerged beneath our sin.
Thrusts begets shivering rush,
Pounding with passionate pain and pleasure;
As groans become cacophony of cravings
To be harmonized as symphony...
Hell's hysteria breaks forth,
Thundering into echos of volcanic eruption;
Calmed by the zephyr of heaven's touch...
Cuddled into cocoon of pure bliss.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
Blood thudded in my ears. I scuffed,
Steps stubborn, to the telltale booth
Beyond whose curtained portal coughed
The robed repositor of truth.
The slat shot back. The universe
Bowed down his cratered dome to hear
Enumerated my each curse,
The sip snitched from my old man's beer,
My sloth pride envy lechery,
The dime held back from Peter's Pence
with which I'd bribed my girl to ***
That I might spy her instruments.
Hovering scale-pans when I'd done
Settled their balance slow as silt
While in the restless dark I burned
Bright as a brimstone in my guilt
Until as one feeds birds he doled
Seven our Fathers and a Hail
Which I to double-scrub my soul
Intoned twice at the altar rail
Where Sunday in seraphic light
I knelt, as full of grace as most,
And stuck my tongue out at the priest:
A fresh roost for the Holy Ghost.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 6:38 PM UTC