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Ashley Jul 19
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
jammed,
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we jerk into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other:
my mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
You,
murmuring desire for me.
Fuck!
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched penis,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

Lust and love,
closing-in,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
days,
hours;
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to penetrate your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tendernessness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful bone china face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
Come!
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay naked to me,
flesh,
sinews,
everything,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ejaculate over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain semen on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we fuck,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

There,
Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
lusting after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
makes me pop,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

Lying,
lying,
side-by-side,
lying prone,
lying fucked,
never unconsumed,
because,
please,
please us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
Oh,
God,
throw the fucking comic at me,
will you?
Beat my fucking flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly naked glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a dog!
Beautiful
long-haired,
skin tight,
upright,
wise,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my cock into your cunt -
where I love it best.
melinoe immortal Jul 2017
'Healer' time take thy poor, black sheep,
and stop it from wondering
in the dangerous corners
of the mind,
because heaven and hell collided
inside a body and in unity they came
in the presence of all those
who conspired to it.

From the frontal to the occipital lobe,
dark thoughts obstruct
the brain’s watershed regions
and thanatos they bring.
The soul cannot take this coffin
anymore.

The stone is too heavy to carry;
sliding down and pushing up,
every night the pushing starts,
for the dawn, her courage to crack.


It may be like Hooke's law they say,
but bodies break down,
when people apply the extra force
and so do the souls,
long before.
thelonious Aug 29
Why should the lips part
only to release the words
which make us turn inward
and consider what is absent:
“How are you?”

Why shouldn’t they make shapes
that form notes, and

Why shouldn’t they caress the lobe
of a blushing ear, or

Why can’t they remain pressed together,
plump and pumping blood
while the beginning and end turn to heaven,
and familiar lines crease the skin?
PamCom Sep 3
One day, you’ll fall deeply and irrevocably in love
with the nape of the neck and the lobe of the ear
You’ll want to nibble just above the edge of the jaw
and run your fingers through the tousled willowy hair,
but the slight quiver of curved lips will halt You in thoughts
as the darting pupils furtively flutter behind closed eyelids
searching for a break of dawn in the shadows of a room
where dust hangs heavily then settles in unsuspecting lungs
making the rise and fall of the chest raspy and laborious,
making nostrils flare up to make room for something less heavy
something more familiar, more light and less lugubrious,
something like a touch on the curve of the neck just below
the edge of the jaw and a whisper of something gentle
that nibbles on the ear as erring fingers run through willowy hair,
sending waves of shivers that make curved lips quiver and
darting pupils flutter enough to one day break open closed eyelids
where You’ll fall deeply and irrevocably in love.
Joshua Myers Aug 8
A brightly lit room still holds darkness.
Look deeply,
Leopard like sharpness.

In a corner or behind the door.
Look closely,
Maybe under the floor.

Look high, look low.
Bring a friend,
Let the search grow.

Look to the wardrobe,
Maybe you see it.
Pressure building in your lobe.

Look under the bed,
Creepy crawlies,
Infecting your head.

Look in the closet,
Careful there I say,
Untold, unknown,
A ghoulish made deposit.
I had to try a childhood nightmare of mine
rob kistner Jul 21
What follows here is Science Fiction (SyFy) Poetry.
It is written in long-form, Free Verse, narrative.
It will introduce you to otherworldly people and places,
with names you will find unfamiliar.
Suspend your disbelief, and welcome to my alien world.
I hope you enjoy the journey, as I offer for your considerstion:

"Distant Farewell"

_

"I've watched golden fire clouds,
hanging in pale green skies,
over the azure seas of Tólurasâ"

"I've seen the copper leaves
of the parmus fronds
flashing from indigo mountains
in the crystal mists of Gémin."

"I have beheld exquisite beauty
in my rich full life
but none so beautiful
as your eyes tonight"

Artheö whispers
his breath warms the tender lobe
of my eager ear

he presses his lips softly to mine
with gentle passion
bids me farewell

now three hours since
I linger in the bittersweetness
I can still taste him

here I am
hurtling through space
standing on the aft deck
gazing
reliving the sensations

a sudden chill shocks me sober
a foreboding grips me
my survival instinct peaking
I shiver
peering through the portal
watching the jade-sapphire orb
grow distant
smaller
less relevant

it continues to recede
less detail visible through the carbon-Lucite

zero-g frost forms
obscures this breathtaking view
of the lush planet
our home planet
Gaia

a place
some now on board
will not again see for fifteen years

but only
if they are counted among the fortunate
who do return

we race
approaching light-speed
toward a distant call for help

unknown destiny
in uncharted space
with no idea what we will encounter

the call made it certain
no good lies ahead

I am Séphias
going to Topiârus
to return in a year's time

I am distraught
the anxiety of separation

palpable stress permeates the crew
who are going the distance
to the edge of space
to answer the cry for help

it is contagious
I feel it too
intensely

I feel ungrounded
each time I choose to leave my man
to go on mission
my soul mate
Artheö

our love is deep
it has withstood these essential separations

we understood
when I joined FarWorlds
that separation came with the program

but knowing this
makes it no easier

my anxiety is heightened further
given this mission's ambiguity

at FarWorlds Corp
we are involved
in new-resources exploration

we are scientists
not trained spacetroopers
our expertise not military

this ship
the Thadius
is a space schooner
solar-wind powered

a research vessel
fast and agile
not suited for deep space combat

the security force we have on board
trained to defend
not to attack

they protect us from known threats
on our journeys through known space

this mission's much different
the unknown marks us for danger

the Dextorium was our advance ship
sent to reconnoiter 9 months ago

the Dextorium
did in fact
carry a battle-trained space-trooper force

but it has now fallen silent
for many months
not a word

to distract my mind from things disturbing
I drift to Artheö

to our last kiss

his was a calm
brave
stoic face
at our goodbye
but I knew better

now together two centuries
rest assured
I know my man

as decorated Primests
of the Science-Sect Elite
we are privileged with three birthing cycles

after each
to improve our species
a 40-year no-birthing phase

our second now nears its end

soon
we will enter our third and final
free-birthing cycle

we both welcome the sabbatical
of twenty years
this coming cycle affords

we've begotten two families in the prior cycles
and love them both

we now dream of this newest family
our near future holds in store

this coming family  is most important in our lives
Artheo's and mine

state edicts dictate
3rd cycle families caretake their birthers
through health's decline

when we enter our final stand down
and sustained cryogenic hibernation
this new family will be our comfort
as our last life-phase draws to its close

as I reflect
I am disrupted

a sudden chaos
panicked commotion on the foredeck
there is great alarm

I rush forward
in time to see a startling scene begin to unfold

there
in front of our speeding ship
a menacing field of strange devices

they begin to spread
with apparent logic
to form a grid blocking our path

acting intelligent
with a single mind
as though a sentient living thing

they are immense
and they are many
as they assemble in net-like fashion
far to the left
and as far right as one can see
from top to bottom

spread far too vast to travel around
their advancing speed
we cannot outrun

as we approach the steely web
their acceleration becomes exponential

there is no doubt
we are on a collision course
there's no escape

suddenly
my senses jolt
I stagger back in disbelief

it is now quite clear
what fate befell our advance party
others as well

they've been absorbed
by this horrific
smart
electronic
living mesh

we are defenseless

we on the Thadius can only stare
filled with fear
and yet spellbound

the crew's emotions now run the gamut
tears fill most eyes
as hell approaches

it's then I see it
in the grey-green carbon and cold blue steel
closing upon us

captured life-energies of the Dextorium crew
and countless others that have come before

their vital essence has been consumed
by this nightmare that now besets us

their images flicker in and out of focus
trapped in the grid
held fast and hopeless

empty looks of complete surrender
bewildered faces
living ghosts

this thing is coming
this host of evil

terrified
I feel helpless
so confused
and so alone

its then I rush to my solarcomm
to send a message to Artheö

bravely
I begin by sharing poetry
as is our custom

"I've heard the haunting call
of the coral winged Lellurt
in Droon's violet skies
over teal Darpin Bay"

"right now my dear
I want to hear your soothing voice
my precious love
I would give the world to hear your voice."

I am speaking in a tone controlled
yet laced with longing and melancholy

"I love you my dearest
but something bad is happening now
here where I am"

"there is a chance"

then I must pause
collect myself
to start again

"there is a chance
I may not return to you again
to our sweet life"

here my voice quavers
and then it cracks
as I try to add

"nor to our children"

grasping for courage
I continue on

"if this is to be my end
it falls to you to raise them now"

"please
let them see they're loved forever
protect them well
and keep them safe"

it's now a struggle to form the words
but filled with love
I do press on

"remember
my eggs are safely stored
at the OffWorld Corp's Reproductive Center"

"my surrogate has been selected
she is tested
and bonded pure"

"you must see our new family
Zenus and Rennar
are healthy born"

then urgently
"please promise me!"

choking back so many emotions
I now fight to conclude the message

this is the last I will ever send
to my beloved
Artheö

these are the last words he'll hear me speak

"these children
Zenus and Rennar
will be the final connection
between you and I"

"remember forever
they are a part of each of us
my darling one"

"he and she will care for you
and see you through your dimming years"

"they will love you
as you'll love them
give them my love
tell them about me"

voice faltering badly
I rise to finish
and share with Artheö my final words

"god
oh god
how I want you here in my arms
my one true love!"

with that
my heart breaks
as I stare silently into the screen
teardrops streaming down my cheeks

12 hours later
on Artheö's commstation screen
my message arrives

he is gripped by disbelief at what he sees
at what he hears

consumed by horror
unable to move
he stands trembling
frozen by grief

as he sees my message end
my image flickers
and then it fades

Artheö falls to his knees
without sound
silent for some time

then
with a growing mix of fear and sorrow
branded on his ashen face

he throws back his head
thrusts up his arms
straight and stiff
fists clenched in anger

clenched so tightly
that fingernails cut into palms
and bring forth blood

bloodied hands
whitened knuckles
stab helplessly toward the stars

he keens and moans
then begins to wail
the heart-wrenching wail of a man bereft

a man soul-gored

devastated

_


rob kistner © 2018
SyFy poetic short story about farewells, separation, and death in the line of duty. And about love and the power and importance of family.
By: Cedric McClester

It’s a witch hunt
Donald Trump insists
But listen closely
And then dig this
You don’t hunt witches
Where none exists
Despite the President’s anger
And him balling his fist

It’s a witch hunt
You’ll hear him shout
At various rallies
But there is no doubt
He runs the coven
And they’re all about
In his administration
As well as out

It’s a witch hunt,
That Mueller probe
But Trump lacks the patience
Shown by a Job
The investigation
Stays on his frontal lobe
And he appears naked
Without a bathrobe

It’s a witch hunt
And Mueller’s caught witches
He’s indicted dozens
Of those sons-of-bitches
The president needs to
Be kicked in his breeches
Because the emoluments
Adds to his riches




Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.

— The End —