Paris
The city of light
Having its darkest night
Since World War Two.

Lebanon
Double the body bags,
Yet no media hags
Turn their heads.

Normal
For there they say
But for Paris nay
And so we pay attention.

Kenya
Syria
Iraq
Libia

A suicide bomb
Over here,
Two hundred dead, we overhear
Wrapped into our daily news.

We pay it
Almost no heed
As the blood drips down to feed
The list of the dead.

We say
It is because we have grown
Accustomed, yet we have flown
Over the Coocoo's best to believe this.

The truth is,
Both for here
And there,
A white life is worth far more.

It is worth
10 Black American lives,
16 Hispanic or Asian lives,
27 Arab lives,
35 African lives,
These numbers
Straight from CNN
And the New York Times.

Do we not bleed the same blood?
Have we forgotten what it is to smile
Such that we cannot see ours are all the same?
What has happened to this world,
Once so gold and bright,
Now a darkened, saddened grey
As it weeps it's tears
Upon the red river
That runs through the valley of fears.

I’ll lay here and let the sun make love
Penetrate the shielded part of my being
to bear the brightness of its warmth
right to the base of the unmoved core
and when hysteria sizzles time passes
right to the century of the ancient timeline
where women sadness was denied access
only to be healed by a scientific ***** massage
that gentle movement of finger in the pelvic
to bridge the eruption with the explosive paroxysms
where a woman would relive forgetting
all the unattention behaviour bore by their husband
women wombs would be removed so as not to feel
women ****** desire would be numbed so as not to feel
women would be sent into asylums so as not to feel
They are ****** women confiscicated to a domestic gloom
Let them tend to the men and gain no societical standing
until the doctors got tired of it all, with broken hands
those cramped fingers and supportive bandages
tired of motioning and fumigation of the libia
with sweet smelling and relaxing oily lotions
It was as simple as that...... the change of notions
and the innovation of the handheld vibrators
eradicated hysteria in mere 1952........

His Anaïs Nin-THE MUSE
     Of ****** Souls.

Glancing up from her pipe,
    She saw his gazing to her face.
Eyes connect, she almost freezes in
     bewilderment. Exhaling, lips rise at his, she knows his thoughts.  They
     are her own.

Lighting the Camel, face flickering,
     As the campfire drifts,
Giving way to the glow of the distant
     horizon of the ocean,
He moves his lips to her  neck;
     Lifts her to the blue Ford.

"Dance primal for me, baby.
     These shorts are not needed.
I'll throw dollars you way;
     Or I'll love you forever, for now.
Or eternity. But I must taste you.
     Share every drop of my...
       warm...juice.

That's beautiful. I see you."
     The creases where they should be.
"Glistening slit, where I probe to touch
     your soul; where pain, itself,
Feels the sword, as intensely
     As, deeply, as you feel my ****.

May I join you?" Dance the stars.
     Sway, embraced, bodies toasting,
Celebrating survival; of themselves, the stars,
     Glowing, feeling all their fire burning,
A tingle, a hot chill, moistening her libia minora;
      Now sliding, anticipating his tongue;
Inviting his bell shaped head; come inside,
      find me.

Climbing, standing, rod throbbing, grazing mons *****,
     Precum drips across a tiny patch of hair.
Pulling her, ******* titillate on his chest.
     He kisses her softly, passion deepens; tongues, as well.
I want you. I need you inside me. **** me until I can't move?
     **** my breast, my primal beast. Bite them.

I'll almost ***. You'll pulse at that, then drip.
    Give me that, baby. I need your *** on my ****;
Mixing with my cream, a perfect solution;
     Smooth glide of life. Put your fingers inside.
Stretch my walls. I'll touch my ****,
      My *** covered fingers. My tongue in your mouth.

He grabs her firmly; spins her around.
      His soaking head slips down her crevice;
Across her ****; it tightens, wantinglly,
     Yet like her soul, timidly afraid. This might hurt...
A bit. But if she doesn't have him,
      She will sure die from crave, curiosity, what ifs.

"I'm coming, baby", she cries,
     Distant figures, walking the beach,
With eyes to dilated for detail, see a shadow push,
     Another shadow give and lean,
Over the hood of a truck, banned from the beach.
     They suspect. They do not know...

She is shaking; trembling; pulsating...*******:
     Whimpering, "Please **** me, baby."
Arching a perfect ***, with a dimple he knows intimately,
     She feels his head massage her ***** lips,
Slightly dipping inside. Then "OH MY GOOD GOD!!!
      I...can't...breath!....I...can't...I'm still *******!  

I...can't....oh GOD!  Deeper baby!  I'm gonna *** again...AAHHH..."
     Pushing deeply. Retracting. Slamming.
"Faster!  That ****'s yours!  Just ******* take it!!!"
     **** me!  ****.....ME. **** ME...TO....DEATH!!!!"
She shares her lovely juices, the length of his ****.
    
     The sun illuminati. Not man's, but pure truth.
Now, most assuredly exposed, both the couple
     And ten early morning beach strollers;
He slides out, still strong. Still hard. Very wet.
     To take her up the trembling ***.

"It does hurt, my love. My **** and my soul.
     Be gentle. Tender. Move slowly.
For now. Protect me. Love me.
    Then *** in my depths. I am your muse.

V

Per certo i bei vostr’occhi Donna mia
Esser non puo che non fian lo mio sole
Si mi percuoton forte, come ci suole
Per l’arene di Libia chi s’invia,
Mentre un caldo vapor (ne senti pria)
Da quel lato si spinge ove mi duole,
Che forsi amanti nelle lor parole
Chiaman sospir; io non so che si sia:
Parte rinchiusa, e turbida si cela
Scosso mi il petto, e poi n’uscendo poco
Quivi d’ attorno o s’agghiaccia, o s’ingiela;
Ma quanto a gli occhi giunge a trovar loco
Tutte le notti a me suol far piovose
Finche mia Alba rivien colma di rose.

I am ordinary refinement
I see things differently

I wake up in the mornings and breathe
from eyes of the universe
I am so small
me and you
we are so small

our kisses are small
my different loves were atoms
that connected to one of my sisters
who I had never met somewhere in libia
we both make a crease in the ebb
a very miniscule one

this finger print of our earth
does the universe have 10 fingers
the thoughts linger
my small thoughts