"lounged" poems
God knows how our neighbor managed to breed
His great sow:
Whatever his shrewd secret, he kept it hid
In the same way
He kept the sow--impounded from public stare,
Prize ribbon and pig show.
But one dusk our questions commended us to a tour
Through his lantern-lit
Maze of barns to the lintel of the sunk sty door
To gape at it:
This was no rose-and-larkspurred china suckling
With a penny slot
For thrift children, nor dolt pig ripe for heckling,
About to be
Glorified for prime flesh and golden crackling
In a parsley halo;
Nor even one of the common barnyard sows,
Mire-smirched, blowzy,
Maunching thistle and knotweed on her snout-
cruise--
Bloat tun of milk
On the move, hedged by a litter of feat-foot ninnies
Shrilling her hulk
To halt for a swig at the pink teats. No. This vast
Brobdingnag bulk
Of a sow lounged belly-bedded on that black
compost,
Fat-rutted eyes
Dream-filmed. What a vision of ancient hoghood
must
Thus wholly engross
The great grandam!--our marvel blazoned a knight,
Helmed, in cuirass,
Unhorsed and shredded in the grove of combat
By a grisly-bristled
Boar, fabulous enough to straddle that sow's heat.
But our farmer whistled,
Then, with a jocular fist thwacked the barrel nape,
And the green-copse-castled
Pig hove, letting legend like dried mud drop,
Slowly, grunt
On grunt, up in the flickering light to shape
A monument
Prodigious in gluttonies as that hog whose want
Made lean Lent
Of kitchen slops and, stomaching no constraint,
Proceeded to swill
The seven troughed seas and every earthquaking
continent.
6.5k
I am the embodiment of your sins.
I am your greed, gold in color and always asking for more.
I am your lust, swirling in amber with a slip of my tongue upon your flesh.
I am your wrath, rolling in a fit of redden anger.
I am your sloth, lounged in white, sleeping in between your sheets.
I am your gluttony, always craving more, more, more...
I am your pride, held purple in my state of royalty.
And
I am your envy, green with what never can fully be mine.
I am your sins. Full bodied. Anointed.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
Brackets
Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW,
we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125
(Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.)
You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules,
we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door
(the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.)
You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers,
we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans
(a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.)
You lounged in the common room in your study periods,
our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher
(and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.)
You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result,
we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go
(again.)
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
So here we are, just you and me. On the edge of everything and nothing, we sit staring out into the ocean of things we wish we’d done.
We hold hands, it’s a formality. I’m scared. You soothed my anxiety, because even though I was scared of you, I knew everyone else was too.
I miss making you coffee in the morning, I wish I’d loved YOU more. You always had that massive mug with two teabags or two tablespoons of coffee.
I wish your family and I could have worked. Please don’t think for a second I didn’t try. Most of my time spent at yours was on eggshells, the ones they had placed.
I miss our first year, your second. Remember that? We were so silly and full of joy. Gimmick Puppets, Plants. You and your stupid trenchcoat that ended up smelling awful no matter how much you washed it. Your long hair was nice. I liked it. It framed your smile that was as bright as the Sun that set in the West over Zephyr’s strawberry field.
The light sank in your eyes the more you were with me. I drained you, I knew that. I stayed. I lied. You didn’t trust me anymore.
I’m happy, admittedly lonely. But I know you’re happy, scared but happy. It’s always been my job to appear, do what I must (whether I know what that is or not) and watch over. The bear finds another like him, and as I remember mentioning a few times, as we lounged lazily on the sofa with our cereal, playing every bit the monsters others cast us out to be;
What on Earth is a bear doing with an angel?
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
She often thought that, in a morbid way, loving someone was like death.
The parts of yourself that you reveal and give, wrapped in silver tinsel and flowered paper, can be broken, stolen, or returned worse for wear.
Sometimes love waters the beautiful parts of people, allowing them to grow and twine their way into everyone’s smile. However, the same effect can be gained by the famine that rejection brings, drying the beautiful parts until they are no more than the
husk of the darkest humanities seeping into snarls.
What makes love dangerous, is the allure of how easily you could get hurt, rejected, tossed carelessly aside, or broken, but you’re taking a chance on another human being having the compassion not to abandon you in the gutter along with every other heart they have wrung dry.
The trees we carve with hearts and initials are almost like our tombstones, waiting for the date to be scribed underneath, of when he stopped loving her eyes or she stopping drying his tears.
Our memories are deposited regretfully at the sites we have marked with our love, the diner where he first saw her drinking coffee, the library where they shared their first kiss, the grassy patch where they lounged and discussed their children and wedding. The memories and emotions we leave in these places are the fragrant lilies and roses stained with our tears that we drop at the grave site; allowing ourselves to be overcome with the sting of losing someone forever.
After you lose the emotional connection with someone that can rarely be re-forged, you go through the grieving process that’s special and selective for every individual. The length and intensity of the grieving stages varying on amount of betrayal, nostalgia, affection, broken trust, and anger that came with the initial passing. Sometimes it’s the denial stage that clings, your mind intent that they will walk back into your life next Tuesday like a maelstrom hasn’t wreaked your lives.
So, in a morbid way, she often thought that loving someone was like attending a funeral to look at a mirror box, with your heart nestled inside someone else’s hands.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
Rustle in the leaves,
tussle with the vines,
afoot in the tree of life,
the gutsy snake coiling,
Raddled and rattled with mans sin,
Divulgence to the loner who cherished the fruit,
in the dusky orange red skies which brought in the adhen
and from the tolling bells in the distant church ,
While the snake lolloped in the stark blue skies,
Manipulating this oppo for the abyss.
The wandering seam of the night,moon,
With flickering light forbade the seance on the seemlessly never ending night,
Pity the snake for another morn would rise
For it will have to go to the *** ,no the pit.
The ***** and cuckoo within cooee , chanted and coerced another morn out !
Following the sun like the grail, the people lounged in to the waters of the ganges.
While broods of hurted children huddled in hate,
hurling stones at the traitor.
Hauling the renegade into the throngs,
Hunnish hands assaulted him until he swooned in to the motherlands lap,
Hue and cry of the avengers brought in the tripper,
Heavy loads hugged on to his shoulders,
In poise words he spoke,
''for every creation has its flaws,
And when we batter on the withered soul,
It leaves the barren man dry again,
To ward off evil is like blowing into the forges of Vulcan,
And only when tests and temptations are burnt in the bonfires of joy,
will man be moulded into a joyous being''
Hissing whisphers from the crowd spoke,
Heresy of the tripper is the hold,
Hasten yourself and bring our brother medication,
Hunt down the snake will we,
For this vagabond has spoken in verses,
Only to be filed in the trippers travelogue.
Hushed up as the snake in the pit.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
Alone beside crimson
Destiny exclusively found
Gore has income
Jealous king lounged
Marred nightly often
Putrid, quite rotten
Saved timely use
Voracious with xenia
Yearning Zeus.
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
It was a beautiful day for a picnic.
The sky was the deepest blue
with a bright yellow sun hiding too-
Hiding behind fluffy white clouds, wasnt it?
You were stunning. Radiant.
Your auburn hair lit up in the sun
and made the lush grass pale in comparison.
You were dressed in the purest white
with not a speck of dirt to be seen.
It was impossible not to stare
as you lounged on the checkered blanket by my side.
Oh how I longed to hold you
and stroke your lovely hair!
To kiss your lips and cheek
and clutch you close to my heart.
It was a perfect day for a picnic,
but you didnt have to spend it with me.
I understand it's been three years
since you buried me under our tree.
Live your life in radiance and sunlight,
my dear.
Be free.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 12:49 AM UTC
Yesterday I turned 24
I got everything I could wish for,
I evenn got a unicorn.
I seen everyone I adore & love,
If there was a cloud 9
I'd float slighty above.
Chocolate cake
That my my son
Wanted to smash in my face.
I stayed in the house all day
And lounged around like a ***
Eating eggs cereal and pizza
With my bf & son.
Pretending to clean,
And "get dressed"
I didn't drink,
Not even a shot,
Go out or party, I did not.
I just spent my day day
Inhaling love and peace
Doing whatever came to me.
24 feels way different then 23.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
That 1 lengthy and detailed conversation we had as I fixed her a hot bubble bath, it was very necessary to figure out the pattern in which each of our souls orbited around one another's life. Life. It seems that in the seams of this biographical regime, we get lost in between 2 wings, steering without a true tale, leading with our beaks instead of our two feet. Finding elation through impatience. Determination to fly without defining our own matrix. At that particular time I just wanted to slowly sit your soft body down into that pool of lavender scented steamed water, but everything you had to say nearly drowned me. The invisible crown I continuously placed on your head suddenly vanished as my imagination panicked. I always thought that my mind was backed up by my heart which was backed up by your art. Oh how gentle you scribble. I have to erase line by line, direction by direction, affection by affection, disconnect on top off disconnection. Difficulties I'm having while looking at you lather but no longer seeing you in the picture. Watching you lave as you give me your take on how our relationship was shaped was a bit unfitting. In my mind "it's inevitable that she's open for bidding". I'm lounged against the sink in a bind. Bonded by your fondness, then detached by your honest responses. How blunt you are and how drunk I'm soon to be. Wasted vibrations, my mouth began to tremble. Somehow I find an idea to cause the both of us to tickle. Temporary bliss. Moreover all of my hard efforts that night turned out to be the worst shift. I went from pleased to please. Expectedly you never tried to appease by appealing to my needs. Draining water like my decaying heart. Drying off reminds me of my suffocated feelings. Lotion as I drink this 40% potion. Hoping of hydrated coping. Can you leave? So I can shower, attempting to rinse away the most beautifully devastating hour.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
The Story of Love
A long time back, when
Vices and Virtues were,
Young, playful, and inexperienced.
They had made a game of which,
None wished to ever remember.
Long forgotten in the span of time.
There was once a story of,
How Love had gone blind.
In this tale, it spoke,
How those friends were caught in,
The boredom which Idle Time bestowed.
In nature’s garden, they lounged,
Until the music of,
Silent minds had,
Riled Impatience twitchy thoughts.
“We should play a game,
Of Hide and Seek.” he said.
“What’s that?” Madness asked.
Impatience smiled as he explained,
The rules of the game,
Of how they would play.
“Everyone hides where ever they like,
But there will be one that will seek.”
“Sounds fun!” Madness thought.
“I’d be ‘it’.” He suddenly said.
Vices and Virtues went to hide,
As Madness counted,
The grains of sand on the river side.
Envy hid between, the clouds to watch,
Wishing she had a better spot.
Anger hid under a rock to think.
His face as hard as that thing.
Laziness laid on his bed to sleep,
Caring little if he was caught.
Patience sat behind the leaves,
Together with Tolerance he hid,
Amongst the trees.
Secrets stayed below,
Hidden in the Lakes,
Clouded by a shadowed face.
Vanity cloaked herself in,
The reflection of shiny things.
Love hid behind,
The white rose bush,
Of which she liked.
There she lingered for some time.
In time, Madness had forgot,
Why he counted the grains of sand.
So he searched every where but,
Was unable to find anyone.
In hopelessness, he glanced,
Up and found,
Envy’s sinister face
Peering through the clouds.
“Found you!” he declared.
For he knew he was right.
Infuriated that she was the first,
She gave him her brother’s site.
Anger turned cold,
In sight of,
His sister’s mocking laugh.
In his head he knew,
Someone had to pay,
A pair of eyes for,
Giving him away.
“Love is in the rose bush.” he said.
“But she wont come out till,
You stab her to death.”
Devoid of thought Madness believed.
With a pitch fork he charged,
Yelling madly for Love.
Wildly he stabbed until,
White roses turned red.
In her piercing scream, he stopped.
As she crawled out of her hiding spot.
Blood dripped down her face.
Madness knew it was a mistake.
He begged for her forgiveness and
Apologized. “What can I do for you,
To make it up to you?” He asked.
“Be my guide,” she said.
“You can be my eyes.”
And ever since, it was said that,
Love was blind.
And Madness always had,
Guided Love.
-Vas Bismark
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
Shadows.
In all directions I look,
I am surrounded by shadows
that make it hard for me
to decipher the dissemblance
when my eyes are wide open
and when they are sealed shut.
Darkness hovers over me
like it is fused with the air I am breathing;
suffocating me and making me gasp
for the unseen
that is imperative to keep me subsisting.
It seems that my lungs
turn into two small plastic bags
that need to be refilled
every quarter of a second
regardless of how abysmal
I drag air into my system.
With each breath I take
paralleling each time that passes,
I drift farther and farther away into oblivion.
Maybe this is how it feels
to dispossess yourself
and let the phantom take over
what is left of you.
Maybe this is how it feels
to be lost and remain unsought.
Yet even with treacherous memory I now have,
there is still a fragment that fails to vanish.
It is the fragment that remembers
the glimmer that used to keep the darkness away.
The scintillation that awakened love, hope, and faith
that lounged within me.
The light.
My light.
You.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 4:42 AM UTC
This cafe is no Starbucks.
No tea leaf&coffee; bean here.
They don't even play music.
Instead of tables and stools,
I've found myself lounged on top
of a quaint, bohemian styled sofa.
I'm figuring the target atmosphere is comfort.
Its fitting, but not for me.
Old memories are sitting on the sofa across, staring right at me.
I have to remind myself not to wave.
*"Don't give in to nostalgia.
Forget us all. If you do and you come back, don't come see me."*
Be that the representation of everything I have to let go.
© 2014 Rhea Nadia
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
A shower of gold crossed the floor
And the reflections bounced and ran
And so the sunlight spilled into the room
To comfort a lesser man
The light and warmth seemed to cleanse
The worries from his mind
And it was not long before
He began to close his eyes
He began to dream
Of all his problems solved
But unfortunately, he opened his eyes
And his dream had quite dissolved
But as he lounged in his chair
The sunlight again returned
To wash him in it's light
And cleanse him of his concerns
The man gazed around
The gold that shone around the chamber
And he thought to himself:
"See how there's no danger?
*"For the sun has saved so much of me
And I don't know quite what to do
Because you've healed my soul so much
For now, I'll simply say thank you."*
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
If with chalices of fine wine you are drunk, be delightful!
If lounged with a glamorous moonfaced, be delightful!
Since the end, the intention of this universe is nonexistence;
Thus image your oblivion, and then while you are, be delightful!
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 6:59 AM UTC
He wears lots of light blue and close to gray
so young I wonder where does he come by
such tender knowledge with King Kong depth
I fantasize;
Here I am in his world
and my hands are on his shoulders as he writes
Stolen knowing
(must be lifetimes before, how could it be otherwise?)
I see the mist that circulates and falls like dust
dancing round the light
filling up the room we share
and I take the temperature from his body
as he makes love to me where inside his mind
already brewing
a becoming
of a thousand different ways to express
his heady stroke of my skin and darling wet flower
Books spewed (so many) about
are dog eared
all the greats are here
and a few I must purchase oneday
He is contained and unsure just because he is
young
but his heart beats like a grand scale of octave notes
who’s perfection between pitch
sirens those who want to feel his world
(like I do)
Lounged and laid back, surprising shapes of figs appear
In this… my own version of the best lover for me
Figs, pear shaped and small and dark purple
All ripe with my desire
I love his smile
It’s mine in this scenario
the parting of his mouth is like kings table
desserts
endless like his words; delectable, pungent, foreboding
far reaching
Sometimes un-intelligible for a less than writer like me.
But that’s why I wrote this,
It’s still delicious to find power in flesh and word.
I’ve simply fallen.
Linaji 2011
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 10:37 PM UTC
When it rains, it pours;
A downpour less frequently wet, sure
Dancing a shambling, ill-dressed manticore
Who has barely the strength to shake anymore
Find the only chagrin of the forecast is yours
But you bring some fine wine, a handle of Dewar’s
Your mind ascending from improbable sewers
Searing tomatoes, aged beef on skewers
Burned-off or absorbed during barhopping tours
With whom you lounged on Mediterranean shores
In your history head: Mongols, Turkmen, and Moors
It hits you again ‘til another drink floors you
Sleep on a sofa where bad weather ignores you
And somewhere inside a girl asks, “From who
Comes a voice (yours) at night ambling the halls?”
The friendliest ghost, not haunting at all
Who’ll likely come by if you give him the call
But leave in the morning before sunlight is tall
Out of fear of breaking some protocol
Despite this, you’ve certainly seen so
They keep you around as part of this scene, so
This is your life, just how it should be, so
Thank you my dears, my beloved Piso
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:33 PM UTC
In the middle of the night I went to Wakelee and the wind whipped at my face
like the way your thrashing words would wash up on the shore of my mouth
and I'd spit them back out at you just the same if not a bit more eloquently.
At Granada Street I remarked on the place in the road that our bodies would meet;
this is where we collapsed because the way we hugged goodbye admitted defeat.
I didn't make it to behind the school where the tree we lounged underneath grew
as we sat as a lioness and a lion completely content to bask in the shade,
but I know after the fall and the winter, that tree still stands the same.
There wasn't time to drive by the house where you traced the tops of my fingers
after inhaling two lungs full of smoke. Where you noticed the way I wrapped my hands
around yours like a knot that couldn't be undone while you were in that state of mind.
But I saw the water we saw when we were ready to duck and cover and the way
the tides of a reservoir can be stronger than any other.
I sent each word out on a separate paper boat lit with a candle as the
"I" floated further than the rocks we threw
and the longest word was sent out second while
"love" drifted towards the beach and
"you" swam away from me.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC
You go strains of mad when...
...Ambition becomes Eating Your Own Hunger Pains
With savaged pride you feel that all you need to achieve in life
Can be done faster with gold and good courtship
You croon apologies to your ideas and hope they stay.
They don't stay.
You go strains of mad when...
...Demonic intercession is hailed as miracle
You pay your division of a vast tithe into coffers you never see
and watch with shame and awe at a penetrative truth
working noisily behind curtains.
This polls well.
You go strains of mad when...
...Dust and diamonds are sold as combi-packs,
**** comes in boxes of strict six; for illustrative purposes, if you want four you've got to sell or discard two for your reputation.
There's no loyalty card or price-break on bulk.
I'm flat broke.
You go strains of mad when...
...A nobody sketches you with disarming accuracy
Their medium is a third hand snipe relayed with bitter remove
No more the taut nymphette lounged aground, on the rocks
The naked crystal uniform of your debtless regime, gone.
You're a shirt and name-tag girl now.
You go strains of mad when...
...Pockets burst outside the Church yard sale
The Ministry guilts you into buying all the furniture and music
moving it one piece at a time into your life until
suddenly you have a Church to burn
Just in time for winter.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 8:30 AM UTC
There was a stream of crystal gleam.
He sang the purest song to me.
I often pondered the scenery.
How true could the imagination really be?
I saw us both entwined in a shawl.
There was a special place for a girl and boy.
The chill from the creek sent others Bon voy...
He played the sweetest tune from his toy.
And___
Love kept us warm.
He gave me kisses as he hummed.
The sun hid as if it would storm.
We lounged and watched nature change its form.
There was a stream of crystal gleam.
He sang the purest song to me.
I often pondered the scenery.
How true could the imagination really be?
By Jessica Hughes
Jan 7, 2011
Jan 7, 2011 at 2:10 PM UTC
the night was quiet.
cold but sweet
rippled pools in a forest of pine.
i lounged on the couch
as you threaded round' and round' the trees
pinpricks of lights dripping from your arms.
as you carried christmas in your palms
and i watched
silently,
your grace unfolded
like a tear stained love letter
"desperate hearts belong together"
and it's true i could never find another angle like you
to perch at the top of my tree
and your eggnog lips move gently
over my mouth
eyelashes
brushing window panes
like fragile falling
snowflakes
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC
I dreamt a dream that a polar bear and its cub
entered a home.
A home that I was inhabiting with my mother and father.
At first, it only lounged around by the sliding glass door
(with its cub).
Very sleepy like, very casual.
But we were curious about its being around,
so we traipsed around the door, gazing at it.
Someone opened the door! ******
and I scrammed to some little-boy's bedroom,
locked all the doors, even the doors leading to the bathroom.
Sooner than later, my parents found a way into the bedroom where
I hid.
The polar bear was trying to get in,
to eat us we were assuming,
so we hid under the bed.
Then I said, "let's climb out the window!"
So we did. We sat outside by some bushes.
My dad called me at this moment (in real time),
said the fish weren't biting and he was going to go golfing.
I tried not to sound hung-over.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
Brody's mother
was quite the dame
she had this way
of inviting you in
after school
and offering things
to eat and drink
and hey boys
she said
why not try out
the outside pool?
Brody said
OK
and so you followed him
but what do I wear?
you asked
O nothing
he said
no need
it's only us
and well
the neighbours
can't see ****
and so you went
with him to his room
and undressed
and he gave you
a big white towel
and you went
downstairs with him
to the outside pool
his mother was there
and said
how about a drink of pop?
sure
Brody said
and you nodded
holding tight
to the towel
and off she went
in her red
two piece swimsuit
her **** quite neat
in the sack
of the suit
come on in John
Brody said
don't be shy
and so you dropped
the towel
and climbed in
the pool
and the water
was warm
and came up
to your chest
he swam around
but you just stood there
with arms folded
over your chest
after few moments
his mother came out
with a tray of pop drinks
in glasses with straws
gosh John
she said
looking at you
you sure are white
do you hide your body
from the sun?
Brody laughed
guess so
you said
she smiled then put
the tray on a small
white table
by the pool
and climbed in
the pool
her top piece floating
like pink piggies
you looked
then looked away
she talked
of Brody's father
how he liked to
just lounge
on the water
like a lily
Brody guffawed
some lily
he said
his mother smiled
as she looked at you
her eyes blue liquidy
as if they were
of water
she swam towards you
you afraid of the water John?
can't swim
you said
can't you
she said sexily
Brody you never said
John couldn't swim
didn't know
he said
swimming off
to the other end
of the pool
I’ll have to
show you how
she whispered
would you like me
to show you how?
she came nearer
her piggies seemed
pleased to see you
it's all a matter
of confidence
she said
trust in yourself
and the water
you looked at her
liquidy eyes
she put her arms
under the water
and held you
lift your feet
off the bottom
of the pool
she said
you tried but your feet
wouldn't move
here
she said
and she uprooted you
and you fell
into the water
and splashed
and flapped your arms
like a drowning bird
she held you tight
and said
relax your body
in my arms
you stiffened
then slowly relaxed
in her arms
holding you
to her
the piggies brushing
against you
her breath applely
and perfumery
right
she said
slowly flap
your legs
in the water
and move the water
with your hands
and arms
and so you did
slow but with a kind
of nervous pleasure
feeling her there
her hands and arms
holding you
and Brody up
the other end
flat on his back
looking at the sky
like some thin lily
as you lounged
with his mother
and her piggies near
getting to trust
the water
and the new acquired
skill she'd shown
and you wished Brody
was gone
and you had her
to yourself
all alone.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Jesus Christ I was made with a monster inside of me.
It’s an enemy.
An uninvited guest, closer than my shadow; a “scientist gone mad” concoction settling and putting roots into every inch of me.
It’s a home wrecking unkempt roommate who defaces your property, ***** your man, then shows up to fist fight at four in the morning.
It’s something that's created a bed in my chest and a toilet in my brain.
Lounged back in its moth-eaten recliner, flipping eagerly through all of my channels while sipping its drink; it is something that is always with me.
It shares what I touch and what I eat; speaking literally, it goes fifty-fifty on every diminutive measly thing.
Cheek by jowl in front of the mirror and dressed in the same outfit, my villainous lowdown twin sister, right there next to me.
It has earmarks of a mother who I am to take orders from or else I can't laugh with my friends or play Nintendo for six weeks, where she tells me to change my clothes three times before breakfast, where I am unable to act appropriately.
Awaken daily by that specific detrimental type of early morning sickness, where the cold-hearted ***** is always with me.
Able to hold a candle to a man that makes you cry and gazes at your best friends, where he makes you feel dejected and ever short.
Where he purloins your spirit and hawks on the fire in your belly; forcing you to allow him to make you feel that way and it's that specific muddy stain on a white T-shirt.
Wash after wash, he is always ******* with me.
It’s the fog that glazes over the roads and hides the trees at four o’clock in the morning during your drive through Pennsylvania.
Whenever the birds sleep until the woods are illuminated by sunlight.
It’s the reason for the high beams that are always on and always bright.
And they are always with me.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
What is it you would like to do she said?
Please listen close I returned…
I would like to ravish your body and mind,
submerging myself in their depths,
It would titillate me,
With fresh thoughts of you,
while I bask in your sharp intellect.
I would tickle your toes with my tongue,
And gaze on your face in the sun,
To feel your soft lips upon mine,
And laugh as my breath breaths you in,
Your sweet mouth would be so exquisite to me
As if flavored with berries and wine.
Is there more she said with a flush?
Oh much more I gasped in a rush!
I would give you a candlelight bath,
In water soft scented with spice,
I would sit next you,
Inhaling your dew,
All warm in your wonderful light.
I would taste the backs of your knees,
And all other spots that you please,
I would peacefully sleep,
wrapped up within you,
And wake with you wrapped up in me.
Well she exclaimed, please do continue.
My pleasure, my love, I replied.
I would whisper my longing desire,
while caressing your graceful neckline,
And with the softest of touch,
Enjoying it much,
I would kiss your most lovely behind.
I would wander the depths of your eyes,
While I gasp in continued surprise,
At the one thing I know
As I lounged in your glow
Is that I’ll love you for all of my life.
Well then she says,
What are we waiting for!
Let’s start the bath!
And me?
Well,
I’ll just be,
Her little rubber ducky!
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 11:48 PM UTC