"lubricate" poems
This Poetic Seduction
Will be fulfilling its function
Building up to an eruption
Pure ****** destruction
Lets play..All night and day
Wont be sleeping anyway
Exploring shades of grey
Rock and roll you in the hay
Dom to your Submission
Set up every position
Tie you up bring pleasure is my mission
Hair yank feel the spank
Pledge to respect and thank
Cheeks turn red
Ultimate pleasure in your head
Ease in just a tease
Pound you as I please
Have you on hands and knees
Show you the world of D/s
Lubricate your gate
Feel my tongue vibrate
Like a spell you levitate
Savor this moment we create
Room steaming..Bodies start creaming
Reality shifts wonder if you are dreaming
Theater of thought supplies the word production
Scenario set for this Poetic Seduction...
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
Feathers glimmer and shine
As though covered in fish oil
I lubricate the brain
As I slip through the sky
With a frictionless flicker
My lightening wings
Brain waves rapidly fluctuate
Perfect balance held
Between left and right
Each wing a hemisphere
As they beat and beat
Accelerating into hyper speed
80 to a hundred or more
Beats per second
As though injected
With a sonic speed
Synapses bursting and exploding
Exponentially connecting
Blistering wing speed
I become electric
My circuits exploring
Rippling and flickering through paper
My brain comes alive
Flashing multicolored lights
Like the cities nights
But still spaces collect around me
As I am buffered from the world
Perfectly still though standing
On an invisible ledge
I hold my mind in place
While I hum in space
Head down I drop my beak
Into a funnel of concentration
As I tunnel into trumpets
Penetrating deep I flower
In new knowledge
Polar aspects of mind
Released through coherent communication
Set free with coordination
I seek to marry chalk and cheese
As I hold the balance
Between two worlds
Flashing synapses firing
And combusting
Against pointed concentration
My mind juggles two *****
Expanding into their fullness
Expressing vibrant color
My slippery slender beak
Slips and slides in
As I flutter through pages
I discover new unexpected surprises
Problems solved, Startling adventures
And puzzles completed
I find the sugary syrup
The delicate delicious sweet spot
With the thrill of falling domino's
Spilling and cascading
Many ripples fanning out
Through my mind
I find freedom
Each ripple massaging my mind
I am catapulted into outer space
I dance from fact to golden fact
As I am propelled forward on stardust
My momentum shoots me forward
I bounce and bounce
My mind becoming unbounded
I enjoy this great Hummingbird delight
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
*Eyes..."the windows of the soul"
revealing all i am and are...
Layers of emotions
that show every battle scar.
With a phrase or harsh action
they may show such grief and pain.
Some often ignore the signs...
and just attack again.
They speak to you, succinctly
and can be an open book
If you would only take the time
to take a deeper look.
They soften when they fall in love
and sharpen to a lie
And tighten when duress is near
and narrow when they spy.
They widen when the wonders
of the world come into sight.
Then close when darkness falls
and just embrace the night.
They flinch when they are startled
and they smile when joy is near.
And lubricate themselves with tears
when losing someone dear.
If you should pay attention
to the billboard of the eyes.
They often tell the truth
and seldom falsely advertise.*
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
Too long this rot has run its course, too much the damage done
When men deflect acknowledged glance, they know that wrong has won.
Across this land and far afield the wrongness seeps within
And pride becomes a memory through distant halls of spin.
How can we bow to tyranny, how can we shy away
From that which causes eyes to slide.... and coaxes will to sway?
To tolerate the bombast, the bullying, the lies
Succumbing to a hopelessness, which, both we despise.
Division in the nation, uproar in between
A man and wife’s contention-ness beyond what should be seen
Brothers loathing brothers, silence in the room
Where a word uttered wrongly can erupt to screaming soon.
Allies left in tatters, trust is cut to shards
Tariffs injudiciously, imposed to **** the cards.
International uproar, industry in strife
Teetering disastrously when NATO flees the knife.
Putin sits and rubs his hands, hilarious the show
Disorder and disharmony to lubricate his glow.
Beijing sits inscrutably, always opportune
Manoeuvring judiciously, in place, to call the tune.
America, the isolate, sails away to sea
Blondini, at the helm, wears smirk indulgently.
M.
The White House
HAMILTON NZ
12th July 2018
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
This is what she looks like when she's sad:
The human condition effective immediately.
Winter shades shift side to side,
exploding out of each iris.
Skin falling off,
when lunging forward to kiss me.
Fingernail daggers dig into my pores.
I'll bleed under her fingernails,
if she'll drag them down my torso
until her knees click the floor.
This is her tongue inside of my mouth:
We taste each other before we waste each other.
Hip bones parallel and our eyes rubbing shoulders,
my hands surfing her rib cage
and it's all the rage because she moans.
And when she moans,
color tones orbit around her head.
Planetary tumors dancing around her skull;
jump roping with her hair,
eating morals and removing plurals.
Those are her lips around me.
Her head moves up and down
but her eyes focus on me.
She makes eye contact
and I empty my dreams
into her mouth.
We are a public forum.
I ache with alcohol poisoning
and liberal undertones.
The terrain that is my face
bleeds oils that would lubricate
the axle of the car that she drove
into the tree
that we carved our name into.
Come back to me.
I miss you so much.
I watched you die.
I watched you die
and there was nothing I could do.
They told me that she wouldn't make it.
They told me that she might make it.
My hand gripped at blood stained blanket.
I think she said my name under the air mask.
I could tell if she saw me;
her eyes rolled back into her head
after she gazed a thousand yards away
into the field of black
that sheltered the tall grass
that we would chase each other through
and get lost in
as we got lost in each other.
I love you! I ******* love you!
My back, a membrane coil
that rises my stiff neck
that cares my head full of memories.
I turn on the light and you're not there next to me.
I put my hand on your copy of The Thornbirds
and know that you've read it more than the notes
I leave in your inbox,
hoping that it'll say that you have seen it.
Walking to your grave,
I am a darkness that the abyss has swallowed
and I have followed myself into nothingness
that is such bliss
that I forget
your kiss.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Fought
One, Twenty-two skidoo.
Cantankerous mad filamous
She,
That of her,
Me.
Piñata, stretched balloon
Over my big fleshy
******
Tea and cakes,
Painted my nails
Painted my lips
Like candy.
Gold trinkets,
Pour like mercury out of my ear.
Ouch! I cried
My feet in hot sandy
Dreams.
Flying peacocks tickle
My *****
Oranges roll on chalk board tables
Over stale rye bread.
***** dribbles out like mucus
And a runny nose.
Toilet paper and rusty water.
********** on you.
Stocking lover.
Fetish cover.
Woman pusher.
Mellifluous ****
Look at my skin.
Pink, beige, peach, red
Porous, greasy, bacteria ridden hide.
**** me like seppuku,
Smother, suffocate me with
Red jelly jam.
Lubricate your finger with black
Cancerous ash.
Stick it in my naval,
Unravel my umbilical cord
Like so many filaments of my heart.
Tear your flesh
You auto *********
Rip your liver
And force feed it
Corn and maize
Hay and grass
Emory my nails against
Red barn walls
Until bare skin fundamentals
Kisses with salty lips
Inflame my ravishing
Pig stomach.
Kick my shin you
Everything,
Wake up you stupid
*****
Void can be blue skies,
Oceans call for suicide.
Kiss me with delight,
Raspberries tattooed
In my *****
Strawberry cream
Vanilla, milk,
Ponderous infinity,
Cotton, dough
Honey and sage.
Caustic gastric
You and not me.
Feel my legs,
Touch my thighs,
Lick my lips,
Give me anything
Not direct.
Tie me up in complexities.
**** my head up.
Put me in a dream,
Make me happy.
Blair Butterfield 2004
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
Those clear liquid drops of fluid that roll down your cheek when you cry. Crying defies the scientific explanation. Tears are only supposed to lubricate the eyes. When tear glands overproduce tears at the behest of emotion...I think it's our way of releasing those emotions; sadness, grief, desperation, anger, shock, happiness, etc. Emotions are weird things. As humans, we have hearts and brains. But emotion also defies scientific explanation. Hearts are only supposed to pump blood, not feel emotion. I guess, in a way, humans defy scientific explanation. We cry, we have feelings. But it's beautiful. Tears fill our eyes until they're blurry and we can hardly see. Tears roll down our cheeks, the sides of our noses, into our slightly open lips, down our chins, and even along our necks. When eyes are full of tears and they glint in the light, it's almost inhumanly beautiful. But tears can also be ugly things. When you cry, tears clog your throat, your nose. You have to breathe in gasping breaths and you can't see because your eyes are too blurry. All you feel is the damp marks your tears left. When you look in a mirror, your eyes are blotchy and your nose is bright red. Your eyeballs are glassy and water marks your skin. After a good long cry, you grow tired and fall asleep. When you wake, your face feels like it has been scrubbed raw, but really it's just the tear tracks. It isn't the tears that are ugly, but the crying. Humans are complex beings. Everything about them is also complex. Sometimes, those complex things are beautiful. Like...Teardrops.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
HaHA, I've done it! I've created a device
That can tap into my subconscious
and translate it for all to hear.
I will win the Nobel Prize!
I will be rich beyond my wildest dreams!
People will LIKE me!
So let's see here....I put on the cap, set the throttobombulator to 8.
Adjust for fuzzy dialation...set the circuit threshold to .79, make
sure the lucid translation synapses are firing...and yes. The next
words you hear will surely be written in History books one day,
much like Thomas Edison's first phonograph recording, or the
first telephone call!
Neural connection is active. Transmitting
**TRANSGENDERED KANGAROOS FORNICATE IN THE
PURPLE SHADE OF BETTE MIDLER'S THIGHS. PLEASE
PERFORM ******** AT THE BEHEST OF BUDDHIST
MONKS WITH LISPS. COUNT TO TEN AND BECOME
A BUXOM BLONDE ***** WITH BOUNCY *******
WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE, CINDARELLA IS
ON HER KNEES AND ELBOWS BECAUSE IT'S ******
HARD TO GET LOW ENOUGH TO PLEASURE A DWARF**
Oh dear. This can't be right....now where's that 'off' switch?
**JACK AND JILL WENT OFF THE PILL SO JACK COULD
BE A FATHER. JACK WENT DOWN TO LONDON TOWN
AND PUNCHED THE DALAI LAMA. EDIBLE *******
GIVE YOU INDIGESTION. DO YOU KISS YOUR MOTHER
WITH THAT MOUTH, BECAUSE YOU SHOULD. (AND USE
SOME TONGUE THIS TIME)**
Oh My...Ladies and Gentlemen, It's clear that my invention
is experiencing technical difficulties. If you would please be patient---
**SATIN BRAS DON'T CHAFE. NONE OF THE SMURFS
HAD BLUE ***** THANKS TO SMURFETTE. I WONDER
WHAT MARY MAGDELINE WAS LIKE IN THE SACK? **
STUPIDSmashPieceSmashof GARBAGESMASH
DoNT LikE iT? tucK iT bAcK!!
Connection Lost
I...erm...clearly have some more work to do before it is ready
for the pubic--er..public. I have run into some...translation
errors...and need to re lubricate--CALIBRATE a few things.
Please don't tell my mother.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 12:12 AM UTC
Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty *****
If it don't fit, don't force it
You can lubricate it, so you can appreciate it
Oops, did I say that out loud?
Wearing Dr Dre is a ***** when you make a glitch
**** this gun like a real cool chick
It's barrels aren’t that hot or that ******* thick
And when it comes, blow your brains, while you’re still in cuffs
Elvis offended nerds, while doing those pelvic thrusts
But, he was merely having fun and just being ******* futuristic
While your parents were secretly playing with ***** vibrating plastic
I used to call myself at that time, ‘The Magnificent One’
Hell, I don't call myself that now, but I still believe it to be true
At the time, the frigid white kids would only spectate from the lower balcony
While some ***** white kinds, were leaping over with jealousy, to get downstairs
Because, that's where the black dudes would occasionally perform, their ****** affairs
Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty *****
Protect yourself with a little soap bubble
If you want help, I can go pop, without getting into too much trouble
Oops, did I say that out loud?
Wearing Dr Dre can mean defeat when others hear your beat
How can I put the creeps down, when I've been creeping from afar?
I'm another mother fuckin' world wide pop star
They called me, ‘A Hip-Hop Bipolar Southpaw’
Always left swinging up and down like a friggin outlaw
They warned you that, I would drive all the the kiddies insane
So don't blame me for the way your kids now truly reign
Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty *****
Thank you for being so sweet and ever so cute
Next time remind me, to always switch the ****** to mute
Oops, did I say that out loud?
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 6:37 PM UTC
#
You are in there, I am certain of it--
Behind the gear's finely-honed,
precision fit gear..
in to gear
in to gear
into gear..
And I wonder.. do you want out?
The machine on the outside, self-repairs
Any attempt towards dismantle from
the external, is futile..
But the internal, beautiful girl..
"I don't know what you mean, about 'machine'"
She is apprehensive, those beautiful
brown eyes, looking up at me..
"Look down, sweet girl"
Her thighs, fully parted, as I slide
in to her.. those amazing hips,
moving so perfectly with mine, extracting..
Milking from me, my warm pulsing *****
a deeply-penetrating lubricant, pulsed
deeply into the machine
As if to lubricate its gears..
As if..
But penetrating so deeply, as to now
permeate the insides of the
mechanization's innerworkings--
turning from lubricant, to that
of a corrosive nature..
Fully coating now, the inner you..
as it turns back now, into that
of a healing balm
Bringing to you a moment of Light
and internal clarity--
long enough for you to see
That the machine is made vulnerable
by the ever-changing qualities of
Love that found its way through
As the awakened parts within you, for the
first time.. understand
the machine's love-blocking, nature
And you begin to choose, mid-orgasm
the machine's dismantle, from the inside--
*'Little by little..
Line, upon line..
Block, upon block..
Precept, upon precept..'*
Until we have the chance, once again..
to do it all again
#
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 11:38 AM UTC
as if pulling (on the tab)
prevents the continued closure
of the lunch box
oxen milling brunch
as it unfolds sinewed pasture
green purloining sunlight
oxen munching salami on Thursday morning
mourning the luncheon of Sunday
black black blackberries lugubrious
lubricate brioche freshness
pile of white pile of brown pile of pylons
pile (on the tab)
shots are on me
shots fired no casualties
oxen bagged lunches aren't as fun as pulling punches
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
I am the warm lips of sun, that kiss your dew drenched petals,
when you in self oblivion try to embrace, I've gone faraway,
playing with love struck clouds, dancing, their slips flying,
I am the fire making your body burn with desire,slyly planted
I am the wind, licking pollen off your stamen softly, making you
want me to do that more, sowing goosebumps all over
I am the movement of desire, moving through that time of the day
languid in mornings,spreading fervor at noons and in darkness
coils like a serpent that searches for burrow to snuggle in til dawn
Flow of water am I, that carries you along easily throughout,
you could ease in to me, I am the bed and the fingers caressing,
in my dreams you are the sneaking fingers of my naughty lover,
in you are my ablutions, my fire is quenched by your flows.
I ooze,fluids of many scents sometimes a sprouting spring.
I trickle with pleasure, lubricate,cross one level to the other.
(C)
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
convince yourself that I'm nothing
camouflage like the coward you've become
if you're not afraid of anything,
than what are you running from?
pound on your chest and roar
make yourself seem begger than you are
if you don't want me anymore,
what do you mark your territory for?
I've got your number
I've got your sign
no I'm not yours
but you were never mine
One more excuse, for the road
You can't tell me, I already know
A few more tears, to lubricate
One more kiss, to seal my fate
convince yourself that I'm to blame
live a lie for another seven years
if you're so happy without me,
than why are you drunk all the time?
watch me like a predator stalking prey
please get your claws out of me
if you're not out for blood,
than why are you always cutting me?
I've got your number
I've got your sign
no I'm not yours
but you were never mine
One more excuse, for the road
You can't tell me, I already know
A few more tears, to lubricate
One more kiss, to seal my fate
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
I am a writer who hates whiskey.
I feel that I should love it like a writer's only friend,
Like I should sip it from a glass while I scribe with broken pens,
Like I should clink the ice against the sides and swirl it, deep in thought,
And take it neat and raw, in admiration of its steely course.
It should lubricate the mind and guide the flow of words to page,
And since a nervous age I've yearned to say I love the way it burns and maims,
And maybe on a certain day, I'll glug it without choking, breathless,
But for now it hurts my brain to even think about its... smokey wetness.
I've idolized an archetype, a writer with a harmful life,
Sit alone in bars at night, lament the fact that art is strife,
But recently I'm thinking more, and honestly, this can't be right,
I love the pen and paper, and I love the fact it's hard to write.
It's the way that I've romanticized it, fantasized and glamorized it,
Like I could just forget about a novel, let Jack Daniel's write it,
While I sat and focused on my magnum opus, penning parts of it in prose,
I viewed my present like it's hindsight, through glasses tinted rose.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 5:38 PM UTC
If poetry is a vehicle
I turn on the engine
Move through to high gear
And take myself away
If poetry is a vehicle
I lubricate the hinges
Wash off the dirt
And chase a sunny day
If poetry is a vehicle
I exhale the toxic emissions
Put away the sat nav
And find my own way
If poetry is a vehicle
It will take me to my destination
But will teach me on my journey
To better days
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
By nine, trucks old and new
line the street, spilling into the yard.
Jim Beam and George Dickel
lubricate the chord progression.
Drinks go down, volume goes up.
I’ll be reading in the backroom
as Pap raises a glass to Hank Sr.
When the last burning drop of homage
trickles down his chin,
he gyrates across the floor,
flat-top in hand, looking for Jim.
Some other picker takes his spot
by the fireplace and bellows
about a cheatin’ heart.
One Saturday, I rescue Huck Finn
from under the pale, bearded face
of a picker who stumbles into my room,
collapsing across the bed.
His dreams of Ryman Auditorium
go without interruption.
I slip to the floor,
settling down on the raft.
A slow, steady current carries
us downstream to another shaded
swimming hole.
© 2011 C.T. Bailey
Apr 9, 2011
Apr 9, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Their eyes meet, for the first time.
Eons of memories flash.
Ancient keys open past love and lust.
How now, why now?
Star crossed? Chance meeting?
Fates in play?
Broken hearts so in need of mending?
Then the awkwardness.
When she looks at me, who does she see?
Am I what he'd imagined?
More, or less?
And then, an embrace.
Finally, flesh upon flesh and another key unlocks a door.
Her scent, his scent,
small talk to lubricate the moment.
Unaware, she looks for a sign,
a subtle grin or tilt of the head,
a gesture, or a reaction.
He waits for the moment, the space in the nervous conversation to steal a kiss.
A kiss that will change everything.
A kiss that says, I love you, you are wonderful.
You are more than I could ever have imagined.
And then it happens, in the kiss,
the hormonal attraction, the innate key to the next door.
He takes her in with a breath, and the sanity begins.
It is as if they've plugged into each other, completing an electrical circuit.
Sparks fly, traveling down her body.
Here and now in this dream-state
one looses all reasoning,
decisions are not made.
Plans are not executed.
Outcomes are abandoned.
Do you want to go somewhere, so we can be alone?
You don't remember answering yes.
Holding hands,
pure adrenaline takes you up the stairs to a new room,
with new keys..............
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
My summer sweats bloom from a grass rag,
Scratch another hardly blasting out a calibrate,
Can I break, strap out hacker doozy bluemoors,
Caught from an out sound, an out frowned
Blackening the coffin sweet cough lubricate,
Shackle high tops on pipe dream loft shakers,
Clover feelers, four hitter on lucky seven collar,
Depth sin protector, **** I ain't wrath looter,
Nor do poppa sizes on some puke lips locker,
Key switch for gates hellish donor, back loner,
Course you see, I seek seep suckled *****
Not some subtle soul (gap in skirt) poker,
Forever reaching lines, bust knuckle lifters,
Cracked rage like Nile is flooding wealths curlers,
Jewel duplicate for ruby cuts on roofless lust,
Symbolise another and I'll grabble force an honour,
Sober up soppy crotch rummage coper,
Scan cell prison ament Scholar's "repent!"
Mace battle X axel swop blunt round passel,
Cost more on pepper rubber rock relation,
Patient prep operation, cramp dilation,
Dial engage **** sudden blocked injection.
Cast nocturnals ominous above monuments,
Men fall like weak's race for joy's division,
Attend pro's vision, pure as skies probations,
Pack pampers protection tracks premonition,
Flat lines before lap times, clenching half rhymes,
Hop hotter than blues croft in dusks knots,
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
There's no rest for the wicked. The plot thickens. The blood thins, then bleeds out onto the thorny thickets biting at bare shins, which sickens you to death times ten. Now you're feeling like a tiger in human skin. You begin setting off on the prowl for substance and the meaning of your life akin to the World's splendor. It's sustenance revealed to your awoken third eye of insight. The mind's eye of you and me, sees bountiful trees breathing and leaning towards your sweeping winds of change. Swaying towards every gaze, starstruck and amazed, chasing the dreams of completing this crazy maze of madness. Tears of joy, tears of sadness, tears that lubricate the gears that moves giant machines for years to come. May they be for peace, safety, and fun. Genes of the spirals behind our tattered, denim jeans holds molecular machines within us. Tiny gears set into motion, creating particular love potions, pouring out into vast oceans of debris floating in currents aligned. Strive for hopes and meanings sublime. Finely layered lines of poetry shine out from the beating hearts of timely martyrs chiming, rhyming, and climbing up the never-ending step ladder of the divinely. Ascension from the tension of the rotting vine of hatred, did I mention the sign of sacred love, which swoops down from above? The dove from it's perch of light, stares directly into your sight. Bright, dazzling displays amaze you more by the day.
Chasing and facing the challenges of anxiety, stress, and worry, obstructions of a 10 story building crumbling down all around you. Dust-bellowing clouds to choke and blindly block your steps around the destruction. Using torn limbs as ****** crutches, stumbling amongst dozens of slain wretches. Bets are placed for survival of the quickest and fittest. The wittiest guy you know is fastidious as the insidious destroyers of tomorrow.
This poem I borrowed from my soul and mind. The lines have spilled out onto shining paper reflecting the light from the mind's eye. All these meaningless rhymes will move tides that waves to you goodbye.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
I walked in ready to take you and the moment you looked me in the eyes you new it.
I walked to you grabbed your neck and stood you up. I kissed you biting your lip as my grip tighten.
I undressed you as my hands traced every inch of your body.
Tracking over every detail.
Soon naked I pushed you down on your belly and I lifted your hips your *** sticking up for me i grabbed it as I spread you for me see that beautiful bush and all, I bit down on your *** and my teeth follow down your thighs .Your already wet? I haven't had a taste yet. As I sink my tongue down and into you getting a full taste of you. Licking my way to your **** as i continue to lick and **** I flip you on your back and continued until you *** for me.
But I can't stop I've had a taste and now I want more my lips and tongue twist a new language across your **** made just for you and your body.
I continue as your moan grows lowder encouraging me to do more licking and ******* as you continue to *** again and again for me dripping down my chin as I lick it off your body. Licking your **** and ***** following around to your cute ***
After you've *** for me a few times I stood above you kissing you as your hands reach out for my belt. I can feel my hands already found how wet you are.
My fingers twist a tale as the find there way inside you I can feel you *** again as I rub for the right spot feeling you dripping as your hands already done away with belt button and zipper. Grabbing my **** as you *** again. I sit up as you begin to take me into your mouth. I feel your beautiful lips and tongue my body freezing up Asif forcing me to let you continue.
Soon I'm throbbing and dripping with your saliva.
I kiss you as I grab you lifting you into my lap as you grind down on me. Feeling me push deep ,your hips turn n twist.
We continue more n more until you feel me swelling inside you I grab your hips and push you down hard as you feel me now throbbing inside you, you *** for me again as I pull you up and throw you down on your back. Grabbing my **** as your *** still dripping down my shaft n ***** helps lubricate my final stroke as I *** on your chest belly n ****
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 2:13 AM UTC
Set this in motion
In this mind matter ocean
Your words are brain lotion
To lubricate my emotion
With this potion
With a notion
Of devotion
A heart in locomotion
Physical commotion
So glad to have choosen
So glad to have woven
Woven and weave
Like ivy leave
Entwine a maple tree
Under which you rest with me
Like pedals and stem
Fabrics set in hem
Gold in mold with gem
You wrap my brain stem
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
Rattlesnake
Boom is the gangly
Doberman at the door
When it opened I froze
And she did as well
One too many fingers
Bashful stew of gashy meats
Pulsating, squirting, blood spurting and flowing back
I take a deep breath
And my joints lubricate as if by magic
Doom rakes a killing
And yet grave is my slumber
Low, humbling, thundering
I push too hard and it collapses
In is where I belonged, now I wept thrice
Buttoned up tight
You tilt as a broken table
It was so and it creaked longingly
Crept up from under somewhere
And never looked back
Mal was indeed
Trickling once and twice and thrice borne
Diurnal my beloved
Of once and twice and thrice borne kind
Of seaweed and ***
Out of a split dome
A gashed most dastardly
One of the cloaks covered me well
Under a lock with no keyhole
Filed my nail that files the chain that files my nail that files the chain that files my nail that files the chain that files my nail that files the chain that files my nail that files
One too many mirrors in this madhouse
For all the blind to see
Conjuring spells with a swollen tongue
Heard the pacing and followed through
The left after the left and the right after the right, hi-ho
I take from myself
And be no thing
A rumble creeps and wakes when not tended
Forlorn sensitivity
Starving tumbles a hoom, a waan, a rushed impregnate
Words birthed in barren plains
Some one thing creaks and hums and cracks
A dwarf dances in by a jazz darkly
Limbless jig in two movements
Jeaned out weens and them spurts one big black whale up up upward
Time is a flat **** stain
El amor de mi vida
A misery of cheese
One of loves, one of lives
Gargles reflowed uncivil
Leave white and follow through
Break my bones pulling in
Kicked inwards nervous gaseous porous
Corked out flesh see one lick two
Rumbarumbarumba
Off a wonder land
Bane is my juice
Soon follows rot
Tender, sweet rut
Shadow tongued drips and wets
I don’t need to recall the melody
It left a map so large it became the land
By the name alone I find a way
Of a one off beat and two rushing in, tu-pah!
Drum the ear and work a sweat
Oct 15, 2024
Oct 15, 2024 at 7:23 PM UTC
I am deceased with love
For poetry's sake You are my Medusa
And I your ******
Your piercing eyes solidify my heart
And turn my love for you into stone
Suffocate me with affection in our little gas chamber
The Gestapo will keep intruders at bay
Set me ablaze with madness
Let my schizophrenia watch from behind with awe
De-exorcise me from this angelic daemon LOVE
Medusa lubricate our union with your venom
I shall see to it that the Wehrmacht safeguard this treaty
African queen of infinite tantrums
***** love and hair
Ovid has already said that you are the jealous aspiration of many a suitor
What more shall I want
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 10:56 PM UTC
Sweat drips down her face. Down her chin. Down her *******
Its getting in the way
So she gets reckless
So she heaves it over her head
And runs
The shutter slams behind her
But she doesn’t look back
Only forward
Only forward
Only forward
Wayward warrior stuck in motion
Sweat and tears lubricate her body
And though her mind is getting wobbly
She stays up
Even when she hears the gun
Even when she sees her blood
Even when his voice erupts
But it’s getting bleaker by the second
For her run is now a crawl
And in no time at all
She’s been dragged back to that bathroom stall
Now her liquids work against her
Before they were just in the way
But now
They augment her pain
The Blood
The Sweat
The Tears
They Drip
He smears them on her lips
Then he shoves it in
Shame fills her up again
But all the while she breathes
With a gasping open mouth
She’s not broken yet she thinks
But give me more is what she pleads
Which makes him get more into it
But she’s not lookin to be intimate
So she takes the stall and slams him into it
He thinks she thinks he’s dumb
So he then just calls her bluff
But he doesn’t notice how much she’s losing blood
But she hears it trickle on the floor
And before he can defile her anymore
She uses the blood as leverage
To slip
and Bring him to the floor
Then there is a crash
The toilet is smashed
And the only thing broken is the porcelain
And his skull
She’s alive
She on top
So she gets off
And takes him out
She looks down
And pulls up her pants
Then she winces
At the sudden realization
That she once admired this tyrant
In another time she would have liked it
But once she admitted her potential desire
She knew it had given her the will to be the survivor
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
Http://www.Merriam-Webster.com/Dictionary/Quadriplegic
Quadriplegic: one affected with paralysis of both arms and both legs
Or... BEAST!
**When moonlight isn't enough to lubricate the darkest corners
of a hopeless heart...
When the air is heavy
and still
and a lonely heart is crying out
IMUPDREAMIN'
When another bottle won't do... or medicine cabinet remedies
Poetry is a righteous intoxicant
Love is still a filthy word lying around in the condition I'm in
Your lungs will get the best of you
The air is thin
Too noisy to breathe
There isn't enough oxygen in a pointless relationship
for a weak heart to respire;
I've got an incurable condition
on so many levels
Love's bubble boy
I may suffocate if exposed to what would be considered
a fair amount, or any joy whatsoever
Something about my cells. Consequently this is my cell in here;
I'm a prisoner in my thick skin
When moonlight is a memory
and the sun has risen for the good of a concrete rose...
When the air is toxic
and stings
and an infected heart is dying out
IMUPDREAMIN'
When I've burned through the bag ...
when I'd already reached my ceiling
I write poems about the feeling
reaching out to love again
Bubble be ******
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC