Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell, 
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair 
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears, 
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing 
To his huntress.

Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then 
Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely 
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.

In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still, 
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved 
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent 
Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle 
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on 
The human hunters did not speak.

Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing 
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.

In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves 
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath, 
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings 
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.

Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.

1969 Hartford art school is magnet for exceedingly intelligent over-sensitive under-achievers alluring freaks congenital creeps and anyone who cannot cut it in straight world it is about loners dreamers stoners clowns cliques of posers competing to dress draw act most outrageous weird wonderful classrooms clash in diversity of needs some students get it right off while others require so much individual attention one girl constantly raises her hand calls for everything to be repeated explained creativity is treated as trouble and compliance to instruction rewarded most of faculty are of opinion kids are not capable of making original artwork teachers discourage students from dream of becoming well-known until they are older more experienced only practiced skilled artists are competent to create ‘real art’ defined by how much struggle or multiple meanings weave through the work Odysseus wants to make magic boxes without knowing or being informed of Joseph Cornell one teacher tells him you think you’re going to invent some new color the world has never seen? you’re just some rowdy brat from the midwest with a lot of crazy ideas and no evidence of authenticity another teacher warns you’re nothing more than a bricoleur! Odysseus questions what’s a bricoleur teacher informs a rogue handyman who haphazardly constructs from whatever is immediately available Odysseus questions what’s wrong with that? teacher answers it’s low-class folk junk  possessing no real intellectual value independently he reads Marshall McLuhan’s “The Medium Is The Message” and “The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci” he memorizes introductory remark of Leonardo’s “i must do like one who comes last to the fair and can find no other way of providing for himself than by taking all the things already seen by others and not taken by reason of their lesser value” Odysseus dreams of becoming accomplished important artist like Robert Rauschenberg Jasper Johns Andy Warhol he dreams of being in eye of hurricane New York art scene he works for university newspaper and is nicknamed crashkiss the newspaper editor is leader in student movement and folk singer who croons “45 caliber man, you’re so much more than our 22, but there’s so many more of us than you” Odysseus grows mustache wears flower printed pants vintage 1940’s leather jacket g.i. surplus clothes he makes many friends his gift for hooking up with girls is uncanny he is long haired drug-crazed hippie enjoying popularity previously unknown to him rock bands play at art openings everyone flirts dances gets ****** lots of activism on campus New York Times dubs university of Hartford “Berkeley of the east coast” holding up ******* in peace sign is subversive in 1969 symbol of rebellion youth solidarity gesture against war hawks rednecks corporate America acknowledgment of potential beyond materialistic self-righteous values of status quo sign of what could be in universe filled with incredible possibilities he moves in with  painting student one year advanced named Todd Whitman Todd has curly blond hair sturdy build wire rimmed glasses impish smile gemini superb draftsman amazing artist Todd emulates Francisco de Goya and Albrecht Durer Todd’s talent overshadows Odysseus’s Todd’s dad is accomplished professor at distinguished college in Massachusetts to celebrate Odysseus’s arrival Todd cooks all day preparing spaghetti dinner when Odysseus arrives home tripping on acid without appetite Todd is disappointed Odysseus runs down to corner store buys large bottle of wine returns to house Todd is eating spaghetti alone they get drunk together then pierce each other’s ears with needles ice wine cork pierced ears are outlaw style of bad *** bikers like Hell’s Angels Todd says you are a real original Odys and funny too Odysseus asks funny, how? Todd answers you are one crazy ******* drop acid whenever you want smoke **** then go to class this is fun tonight Odys getting drunk and piercing our ears Odysseus says yup i’m having a good time too Todd and Odysseus become best friends Odysseus turns Todd on to Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” and “Ariel” then they both read Ted Hughes “Crow” illustrated with Leonard Baskin prints Todd turns Odysseus on to German Expressionist painting art movement of garish colors emotionally violent imagery from 1905-1925 later infuriating Third ***** who deemed the work “degenerate” Odysseus dives into works of Max Beckmann Otto Dix Conrad Felixmulller Barthel Gilles George Grosz Erich Heckel Ernst Ludwig Kirchner Felix Nussbaum Karl *******Rottluff Carl Hofer August Macke Max Peckstein Elfriede Lohse-Wachtler Egon Shiele list goes on in 1969 most parents don’t have money to buy their children cars most kids living off campus either ride bikes or hitchhike to school then back home on weekends often without a penny in their pockets Odysseus and Todd randomly select a highway and hitch rides to Putney Vermont Brattleboro Boston Cape Cod New York City or D.C. in search of adventure there is always trouble to be found curious girls to assist in Georgetown Odysseus sleeps with skinny girl with webbed toes who believes he is Jesus he tries to dissuade her but she is convinced

Toby Mantis is visiting New York City artist at Hartford art school he looks like huskier handsomer version of Ringo Starr and women dig him he builds stretchers and stretches canvases for Warhol lives in huge loft in Soho on Broadway and Bleeker invites Odysseus to come down on weekends hang out Toby takes him to Max’s Kansas City Warhol’s Electric Circus they wander all night into morning there are printing companies longshoremen gays in Chelsea Italians in West Village hippies playing guitars protesting the war in Washington Square all kinds of hollering crazies passing out fliers pins in Union Square Toby is hard drinker Odysseus has trouble keeping up  he pukes his guts out number of times Odysseus is *** head not drinker he explores 42nd Street stumbles across strange exotic place named Peep Show World upstairs is large with many **** cubicles creepy dudes hanging around downstairs is astonishing there are many clusters of booths with live **** girls inside girls shout out hey boys come on now pick me come on boys there are hundreds of girls from all over the world in every conceivable size shape race he enters dark stall  puts fifty cents in coin box window screen lifts inside each cluster are 6 to 10 girls either parading or glued to a window for $1 he is allowed to caress kiss their ******* for $2 he is permitted to probe their ****** or *** for $10 girl reaches hand into darkened stall jerks him off tall slender British girl thrills him the most she says let me have another go at your dickey Odysseus spends all his money ******* 5 times departing he notices men from every walk of life passing through wall street stockbrokers executives rednecks mobsters frat boys tourists fat old bald guys smoking thick smelly cigars Toby Mantis has good-looking girlfriend named Lorraine with long brown hair Toby Lorraine and Odysseus sit around kitchen table Odysseus doodles with pencil on paper Toby spreads open Lorraine’s thighs exposing her ****** to Odysseus Lorraine blushes yet permits Toby to finger her Odysseus thinks she has the most beautiful ****** he has ever seen bulging pelvic bone brown distinctive bush symmetric lips Toby and Lorraine watch in amusement as Odysseus gazes intently Tony mischievously remarks you like looking at that ***** don’t you? Odysseus stares silently begins pencil drawing Lorraine’s ****** his eyes darting back and forth following day Lorraine seduces Odysseus while Toby is away walks out **** from shower she is few years older her body lean with high ******* she directs his hands mouth while she talks with someone on telephone it is strange yet quite exciting Odysseus is in awe of New York City every culture in the world intermingling democracy functioning in an uncontrollable managed breath millions of people in motion stories unraveling on every street 24 hour spectacle with no limits every conceivable variety of humanity ******* in same air Odysseus is bedazzled yet intimidated

Odysseus spends summer of 1970 at art colony in Cummington Massachusetts it is magical time extraordinary place many talented eccentric characters all kinds of happenings stage plays poetry readings community meals volleyball after dinner volleyball games are hilarious fun he lives alone in isolated studio amidst wild raspberries in woods shares toilet with field mouse no shower he reads Jerzy Kosinski’s “Painted Bird” then “Being There” then “Steps” attractive long haired girl named Pam visits community for weekend meets Odysseus they talk realize they were in first grade together at Harper amazing coincidence automatic ground for “we need to have *** because neither of us has seen each other since first grade” she inquires where do you sleep? Todd hitches up from Hartford to satisfy curiosity everyone sleeps around good-looking blue-eyed poet named Shannon Banks from South Boston tells Odysseus his ******* is not big enough for kind of ******* she wants but she will **** him off that’s fine with him 32 year old poet named Ellen Morrissey from Massachusetts reassures him ******* is fine Ellen is beginning to find her way out from suffocating marriage she has little daughter named Nina Ellen admires Odysseus’s free spirit sees both his possibilities and naïveté she realizes he has crippling family baggage he has no idea he is carrying thing about trauma is as it is occurring victim shrugs laughs to repel shock yet years later pain horror sink in turned-on with new ideas he returns to Hartford art school classes are fun yet confusing he strives to be best drawer most innovative competition sidetracks him Odysseus uses power drill to carve pumpkin on Halloween teachers warn him to stick to fundamentals too much creativity is suspect Todd and he are invited to holiday party Odysseus shows up with Ellen Morrissey driving in her father’s station wagon 2 exceptionally pretty girls flirt with him he is live wire they sneak upstairs he fingers both at same time while they laugh to each other one of the girls Laura invites him outside to do more he follows they walk through falling snow until they find hidden area near some trees Laura lies down lifts her skirt she spreads her legs dense ***** mound he is about to explore her there when Laura looks up sees figure with flashlight following their tracks in snow she warns it’s Bill my husband run for your life! Odysseus runs around long way back inside party grabs a beer pretending he has been there next to Ellen all night few minutes later he sees Laura and Bill return through front door Bill has dark mustache angry eyes Odysseus tells Ellen it is late maybe they should leave soon suddenly Bill walks up to him with beer in hand cracks bottle over his head glass and beer splatter Odysseus jumps up runs out to station wagon Ellen hurriedly follows snow coming down hard car is wedged among many guest vehicles he starts engine locks doors maneuvers vehicle back and forth trying to inch way out of spot Bill appears from party walks to his van disappears from out of darkness swirling snow Bill comes at them wielding large crowbar smashes car’s headlights taillights side mirrors windshield covered in broken glass Ellen ducks on floor beneath glove compartment sobs cries he’s going to **** us! we’re going to die! Odysseus steers station wagon free floors gas pedal drives on back country roads through furious snowstorm in dark of night no lights Odysseus contorts crouches forward in order to see through hole in shattered windshield Ellen sees headlights behind them coming up fast it is Bill in van Bill banging their bumper follows them all the way back to Hartford to Odysseus’s place they run inside call police Bill sits parked van outside across street as police arrive half hour later Bill pulls away next day Odysseus and Ellen drive to Boston to explain to Ellen’s dad what has happened to his station wagon Odysseus stays with Ellen in Brookline for several nights another holiday party she wants to take him along to meet her friends her social circles are older he thinks to challenge their values be outrageous paints face Ellen is horrified cries you can’t possibly do this to me these are my close friends what will they think? he defiantly answers my face is a mask who cares what i look like? man woman creature what does it matter? if your friends really want to know me they’ll need to look beyond the make-up tonight i am your sluttish girlfriend! sometimes Odysseus can be a thoughtless fool

Laura Rousseau Shane files for divorce from Bill she is exceptionally lovely models at art school she is of French descent her figure possessing exotic traits she stands like ballerina with thick pointed ******* copious ***** hair Odysseus is infatuated she frequently dances pursues him Laura says i had the opportunity to meet Bob Dylan once amazed Odysseus questions what did you do? she replies what could i possibly have in common with Bob Dylan? Laura teases Odysseus about being a preppy then lustfully gropes him grabs holds his ***** they devote many hours to ****** intimacy during ******* she routinely reaches her hand from under her buns grasps his testicles squeezing as he pumps he likes that Laura is quite eccentric fetishes over Odysseus she even thrills to pick zits on his back he is not sure if it is truly a desire of hers proof of earthiness or simply expression of mothering Laura has two daughters by Bill Odysseus is in over his head Laura tells Odysseus myth of Medea smitten with love for Jason Jason needs Medea’s help to find Golden Fleece Medea agrees with promise of marriage murders her brother arranges ****** of king who has deprived Jason his inheritance couple is forced into exile Medea bears Jason 2 sons then Jason falls in love with King Creon’s daughter deserts Medea is furious she makes shawl for King Creon’s daughter to wear at her wedding to Jason  shawl turns to flames killing bride Medea murders her own sons by Jason Odysseus goes along with story for a while but Laura wants husband Odysseus is merely scruffy boy with roving eyes Laura becomes galled by Odysseus leaves him for one of his roommates whom she marries then several years later divorces there is scene when Laura tells Odysseus she is dropping him for his roommate he is standing in living room of her house space is painted deep renaissance burgundy there are framed photographs on walls in one photo he is hugging Laura and her daughters under big oak tree in room Laura’s friend Bettina other girl he fingered first night he met Laura at party is watching with arms crossed he drops to floor curls body sobs i miss you so much Laura turns to Bettina remarks look at him men are such big babies he’s pitiful Bettina nods

following summer he works installing displays at G. Fox Department Store besides one woman gay men staff display department for as long as he can remember homosexuals have always been attracted to him this misconception is probably how he got job his tenor voice suggesting not entirely mature man instead more like tentative young boy this ambiguous manifestation sometimes also evidences gestures thoroughly misleading after sidestepping several ****** advances one of his co-workers bewilderingly remarks you really are straight manager staff are fussy chirpy catty group consequently certain he is not gay they discriminate against him stick him with break down clean up slop jobs at outdoor weekend rock concert in Constitution Plaza he meets 2 younger blond girls who consent to go back to his place mess around both girls are quite dazzling yet one is somewhat physically undeveloped they undress and model for Odysseus radio plays Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly With His Song” both girls move to rhythm sing along he thinks to orchestrate direct decides instead to let them lead lies on bed while curvaceous girl rides his ******* slender girl sits on his face they switch all 3 alternate giggle laughter each girl reaches ****** on his stiffness later both assist with hands mouths his ****** is so intense it leaves him paralyzed for a moment

in fall he is cast as Claudius in production of Hamlet Odysseus rehearses diligently on nights o

I was deep in lucid sleep.
You fed me food doctor told me not to eat.
I didn't question,
but your motives to myself.
A landfill of poison,
and you mean it all for me.
Each rose another thorn,
each bite another death.
I was deep in lucid sleep.
My innocence I must keep,
is led astray for just on night.
Here I, to live, must fight.

here I go lustfully again, no matter how much I try to restrain, my body acts up and forms a team with my brain, she was bodacious I fell in admiration, next morning during breakfast I formed this intention, that maybe she's as beautiful on the inside, and maybe we can put religion beside, or maybe make a decision on the safe side and not act upon my intention and stay tongue tied.
she was reserved, composed and did things with no rush, yes it's ramadhan so her head was covered with a scarf, but she left out her face which I found tempting to touch, as of that night I found nothing else beautiful as such. Her eyes sparkled in the dim night streetlights, my mind rattled with her clothes that were skin tight, her voice so soothing and moving can make a bad word seem right, but in the end I come to my senses and leave all the inventions and come to a realization that it was all just lust at first sight.

Note:  This was not written by me.  It was written by my Dom Scruffy Lobo.

you come before Me,
Kneeling at My feet.
So many things to show you,
you just wait and see.

Worshiping My body;
Singing praises to My name.
I'll take you to new depths,
My pleasure is your pain.

I'm your Alpha, your King.
your place is here with Me!
Show Me how you'll serve.
your full loyalty I deserve.

I'm your Alpha, your Beast.
you're Mine for eternity!
Lustfully desiring.
And forever admiring.

By My side you pledge your life,
Come submit to Me!
I'll be blunt, it's all you want
Come submit to Me!

Note:  This was my response to my Dom Scruffy Lobo

i close my eyes and i dream
of moan and cry and sensual scream

Brutal hands and gently love
You are the one that i dream of

Your gentle kiss and savage bite
i am Yours in the dark and the light

my soul, my heart, my body and mind
Rejoice in what W/we did find

You are Beauty of Heart and Mind and Soul
my Beast, my Wolf, You make me whole

Love has blossomed from deep within
Which a love for me has never been

i give You my love and all of me
Growing together to become a W/we

To You i submit, i fall and bow
Yours i shall be forever and now.

I don't consider various eye colors "beautiful" nor "enchanting".
In all honesty; I've never really understood the incorrigible obsession with iris pigmentation that is genetically inherited and beyond the control of the possessor of the same pair of eyes you deem "beautiful".

But in contradiction to the callous statement I've opened with;
I've found a pair of eyes that I can unhesitantly call beautiful.

It should be noted that I only fell in love with the eyes after I'd seen them roll back with pleasure
(a memory that still makes me shiver)

And from that night on; I started to notice every single beautiful thing the eyes did.

The way they lit up with frenzied excitement,
The way they burned with raging desire,
The way they filled up with salty achromatic tears.

I've loved the eyes for as long as I can remember.

But I don't consider myself lucky just because those same eyes look at me lustfully midweek; but because in a seemingly redundant life, those eyes became something to look forward to seeing; or feeling pierce through your skin on a warm Saturday night

With my face over her hair fallen neck
sending through my lips
what I’ve dreamed of compiled tastes

One arm wrapped her waist
The spinal curve of her back
Give-way my others embrace

In my palm falling slowly
with surrendered hold
Her reclining body takes plunge

A body wondrously dreamt by the Gods
but never to beholden
For that vessel has since long belonged
And in a quiet covet,
the Gods continue to sin

Over and across the bed
Released from my grip

Upwards into her hairline
a sweat spreading mist

Grabbing a fistful of mane
I’d lay down on the runway to attain
this flowing coat between my fingers

For the length of time
her hair has entwined me in cuffs

Pulling harder
I gladly yield in acceptance
this braid given stain
a permanent scar

Slow let go of her feathers tangled

In her neck I’m keeping
a burrow in repose

Seeing buttons undone in sync
to expose

The destination of my lips next imprint
like advanced shadowing hints

In a mechanical motion

Hair pulling emotion

Triggers upward
her chest and chin

Two spotlights on the ceiling what her ******* up send
Shaping her back an arc
like a half moons descent  

When she finishes her unbuttoning
Next for my belt she reaches
then the unzip I’ll never forget

She takes me in invest

I take her in continuous shooting

All the unfastened
unclothed

Now Firm
Quake
Earned
And Shake
The peak is reached from this encounter
defined by a collection of far to many lustfully seductive
mental hive of trapped aches
Then I kiss her lips in return she kisses me back, felt...

My body's running off the deep end
Trying to get closer to you
My body it wants you
We're lustful teens
But we're also in love
Your uncontrollable shiver
Turns me on
I have fight back urges
When your away
Images and thoughts
Of making love with you
Rot my mind
No one will ever touch me
Like you do
I get nervous when
The chance arises
But even though I retreat
I want to march forth
And let our bodies be one
But every teen girl fears
This is all you want
Even though I know its not
My past has traumatized me
And my body's begging I let go
I need to
Because my body wants to be with you.

As you progress through life and spend your days lustfully longing at the life of the strong and steady sunflower you come to realize that you - the clean and quiet wallflower, crawling around the corners - will always dull in comparison to the shining petals of a rare seasonal plant.

You will never know for certain if this is just the way things are - for you receive fleeting moments of worth when you are watered. You will never know for certain if the water truly loved you, if the rain that rejuvenated your purple skin and awakened you even in the most hidden of places really ever cared.

You will never know for certain if the water truly wanted you to blossom, or if the water was just lightly sprinkling you with enough life so that, when the spring came again, you could resume your dutiful place as the backdrop against which the sunflowers shine.

Nobody doubts that all flowers are beautiful, but nobody regards all flowers as equal. You will never be a sunflower, for that is just not the type of seed that you are. Whilst there is nothing outwardly wrong with not being a sunflower, their warm open leaves and their throne in the centre of the flowerbed seem to leave little room or sunlight for others to flourish.

You don't doubt that the water would miss you terribly if you disappeared into the ground, but you spend your shaded days wondering whether this is because you truly are important, or because their sunflower would not look so regal were it not for your purple misfortune.

As all the purple plants disappeared last winter, as the first frost drained their final ounces of water induced hope, I felt my heart dip in the knowledge that they'd be back again in spring, valiantly pushing themselves from the deep dark soil in vain and desperate hope. I chewed my lip on the thought that their frugal and consistent efforts would never be appreciated, for no matter how long they deigned to stay in the dark, there would never come a spring where they would transform into the sunflower.

And as I turned from the five by four foot flowerbed, I thought about all of the sunflowers I had met in my life, and all of the backdrops I had provided for them. I thought about how sore it was to be the sibling that made the other sibling shine brighter, the student that made the other students seem smarter, the girlfriend that made the other girls seem... yellow.

And I looked at myself, and I thought about how nobody's favourite colour is purple.

Penned on watermarked cotton paper
Cursive letters script the words
of a surrendering rhythmic rhyme.
The ardent sonata was written
by the light of a Blue Moon’s shine.

The blood red ink bled through
the white wrinkled cotton pages;
musical notes dried by the warmth
of glowing Moon Beams radiance
in the subtle pollination breeze...

The maestro Coyote’s howl cried out!

Instinctively rousing the stillness of the night;
       a feral essence echoed
       through the eerie silence
       of the distant horizon,
bringing helpless lovers to their knees.

The words to the Cabernet Sauvignon
       stained midnight  lullaby,
       were emotions quilled,
       blending an aura accenting
       organic warmth of tones...

       The native maple trees'
flowering canopies of Spring
released a dusty yellow pollen
onto the watermarked cotton sheets.

In a moment of rapturous intimacy,
       an elixir of intoxicating bliss
illumined the achingly euphoric moments.
A natural untamed wildness was exhaled;
       savored ecstasy released
       into a passionate song of love …

That poignant melody forever lingers,
       like hieroglyphics on the walls
of some long lost abandoned cave.

Engraved, etched, brushed and stroked
       onto the brattice canvas
       of a musical Minstrel’s
            melodic montage ...

       Watch the artiste’s fingers
       prancing graceful ballet
       Worn down catgut strings

                                *moan
          
     ­                  weep

              purr**

       crying out lustfully.
     as if it were
    enraptured lovers'
  breathless sighs

  the rhythm’s cadence
whispers a masterpiece
       in an infinite
       harmonious time...

       The tempo’s lines
                Phrasing…

                 ...hush...!

             ♪♫♪ ~ ♫  ♪♪

        Listen to the pictures flow...
Listen to the weeping guitar strings
      of the passionate troubadour
stroking the metaphorical canvas scene.

       The ebb and flow
       of the musical rhythm's throb
arouse the Blue Moon’s hypnotic  allure,
    throwing incandescent shadows
    that dance around Moonbeams.

Joyfully twirling, blissfully embracing
in the blossoming Forget-me-not fields;
            Bluebonnet Lupine
               swirl and tango
       with the moonlit breeze.

       Lilacs fragrant aroma drifts
with spring’s churning romantic haze;
rekindling this fleeting memories recital.
The Minstrel and the Minstrel’s song
         now yearn to be set free ~

      Timbre without reverberation …
The twilight serenade was never penned
  to be hidden from the Nightingale

A romantic moment’s sorrowful lament
to be abandoned like a broken dream;
   fading unnoticed into forevermore ―
      Unsung,  unsaid, unreleased,
                     unrequited
                through eternity…

              The maestro Coyote
       is a wilderness troubadour
       illumined under the gloaming
               full moon’s spell.

                Howling soulfully...
               wailing impulsively ~
              ... crying hopefully
             pleading mournfully
                     lamenting
the Minstrel’s breathless cadenza ...

A bitter sweet musical embryo of love
                 found and lost
                       below
           the full Blue Moon’s
               glistening light…



©  H.  Rivers ... 2012, 2013
           all rights reserved

.
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.

Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.

In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.

Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.

In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.

Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.
.

what's crazy
is that when you look at me
my mind goes into overdrive
and I imagine every single fantasy

us on the beach together,
Me and you laid out on the sand
I grab your waist and kiss you
while you guide my wandering hand

I slowly kiss and caress your neck
biting softly and holding you close
I feel you running your hands up my back
assisting me in getting out of my clothes

the bonfire we had has long since died out
but another one starts within
our passion and lust blazing bright
as you command me inside, within.

We both ****** simultaneously
almost as if instantaneously
we knew when our bodies could take no more
it's like my mind is an open door
when you look at me with those deep eyes
I become lustfully hypnotized

You see her there

Right in the middle
Between innocent youth
And tired old age
The redhead
The harlot

Open
Welcoming
Eternal

You see your fantasies
In her mysterious gaze
Your carnal longings
In the fire of her hair

Open
Alluring
Mature

You see her confidence
In her ***
Her experience
Her empowerment

Open
Provocative
Determined

You see what she'll do
To you
You see her
Touching
Lustfully luring you in



You see her
The redhead
The harlot
Your mistress
She is there
In the middle
Between youth
And old age
Always

I am her

I am here

I am eternal

Leashed by loves lynch till I’m dropped by my lack of respect for the beauty’s presence
Thank god she wasn’t curbside taking tips with perked lips for a stranger’s ****** fix,
But I needed to feel the evidence that the pieces fit,
That’s why this is about me and a barstool princess

Getting close enough to taste the moans of *****’s venom
Get close enough so I can know my needs can be fulfilled

Like a lunar eclipse this species keeps grinding its teeth when teased
Time and time again we’ve been taunted by,
The mistress our ancestors once described as the serpent of Eve,  
When procreation was preached as an STD

Yet we’ve been perpetually pivoting,
To defy the chastity of a species

Grandfathered misconceptions relating to why you and I exist  
As wickedness warms in the covers of the lustfully parallel
So let’s drown in this bliss,

From head to toe, eye caught, grazes at the nose,
From the bar stool to a lonely man’s home,
From one dollar tips for two *** and cokes
To the bedroom of this writing,
The nights like this, that remind me I am alone

But this isn’t about me loathing the fact that I won’t hear her whispering for more body warmth,
Nor am I looking for you to pity me because I’ll be sleeping solo
Enough is enough since we are humans seeking ****** catacombs

I’ll try to be an adult about how the human molds but it started me at childhood,
When those that conceptualized love gave me this world,
And now I no longer have to listen to what I’ve been told

This is about how to perceive something we can never truly control,
Lucky enough to avoid a contraceptive despite unable to remember the doctor’s pull,
Its night’s like this I get to question,
When will my sheets meet the perfect fit?
When will this be more than just a humanizing fix?

Lustfully creating chemistry in the bedroom,
Day dreams to wet dreams,
May I play out my sinful thoughts on you?

Your body—my favorite leisure.
Cravings unbearable,
The flavor of your lips forever engraved in my memory.

Will the next be better than the first?
Again a chance to savor your sweetness,
—To hear your moans escape.

Your body against my body, rhythmically our hips gyrates.
Desire for your passion—longing for your embrace.
The ******* of my neck—bites I cannot take.

Excitement, I cringe at the presence of you.
Fingers tactically stroking—smear my wetness.
Low gasps when you penetrate.

****** after ******, now allow me to stimulate.
Exposing all of my weaknesses,
I want you—intimately; the best way.

Weaknesses
My weakness is sweets, but don’t get it twisted, no food is found to weaken me. But a sweet personality can, so can a sweet smile, or a sweet touch. Basically sweet people are like sweet candies  of different cultures, and I shall be a proud cultural culinary taste-tester, moving races like NASCAR in motion.
My weakness is money. The all mighty dollar isn’t so almighty to me, but what it can do is. I long for the materialistics of life that money can bring, and the attention it can get you from supermodel brides or low-key bed warmers. I like the feeling of being wanted and tolerated regardless of what I’d do and how I’d do it.
My weakness is power, for, if I held the power of a man’s life and spared him, he’d be loyal indefinitely, and that would be enough to satisfy my needs to feel loved. I’d have a friend who felt indebt to me, and that feeling of needing to accommodate would change my view on what was real and what wasn’t.
My weakness is attire, for you see, when I walk into a room, I want to draw the eyes of those watching, hateration rising in their veins and jealousy shown on there face. I want the Black haired beauty with the short red skirt and open-toed stilettoes with the dark purple toe nails and thick hips to come my way and think lustfully of me, is it a crime to desire such reactions?
My weakness is body, for I love a girl who can take care of herself. Long hair, manicured nails, teeth that aren’t begging to be drilled, it’s a weakness I have and can’t seem to fix. But then again, why would I desire to fix it? I’m not asking for perfect like a conceited rejectionist, or wanting more than what I can give like I was lying to myself, I want someone who can keep up with themselves before even attempting to keep up with someone else.
My weakness is *** appeal, because whenever she bites her lip and looks in my eyes, I can see rockets shooting through her glass lenses and aiming at me. But once I smile back, determined face, cute features and as much appeal as I can muster, explosions happen in her body that causes goosebumps to pepper her flesh like shrapnel in a war-zone.
My weakness is skin to skin, after all, it’s my right to want to be loved, why not demonstrate it by holding hands? Why not live past the edge and on the tip of existence like birds on a powerline? I am careful enough and she’d be loving enough that no vibes of failing would even cross our way.

Too much synchronicity...
I feel you.
Your touch, your taste, your kiss, your skin.
Knocking me is the way to go, just put our lips together, and blow.
Baby, just breathe on me.
Blow on my soft flesh and kiss.
Lubriciously, lusciously, lustfully.
Breathe on my taste, my touch, my sin.
We don't even need to be physical, tonight, my senses don't make sense at all.
Our imaginations...
Take it in, let it out...
Baby, just breath on me.
Seductively, sensually, sexually.
We don't even need to touch, just breathe.
Baby.... **** yeah.
(Moans)
Feel my sin as it's desire that I unleash.
Magnitude, corresponding with your aching thought of impure lustful intention.
Intention, feel me grasp onto your every nerve with my non-physical touch.
Caress me, hold me, baby, don't even **** me, just breathe onto my neck, my shoulder, my breast, my stomach, my *****, my thigh, my legs, my ***.
Can you feel it?
As I mind *******, it's that tingling sensation I release.
Aaaaaaah, baby, stop, and just breathe.

Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.

Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.

In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.

Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.

In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.

Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.

Lust is such a word describing love while takes away the sappy romance story and straight down to the *******.

.
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.

Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.

In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.

Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.

In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.

Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.

For days I've been unable to write poetry and someone told me I should just write something...

This is me writing 'something'.
I hate writing about this situation but I'm purging.

Lol, all I wanted was mutuality but even in the brightest of times, it was mission impossible. Seems a bit foolish of me to have invested basically my all into someone so ...transparent. The lies and deception dripping like wet paint off of her giving the reflection of a colored person was visible to everyone but me ...to me she was still transparent. From the start, I made a promise to myself never to succumb to any negative forces interfering with what was supposed to be a 'Nirvana'. I still remember the tedious efforts of sneaking to her window. I still remember everything we did and her lips still feel close to mine ...for now. My retrogression occurs once again. Tomorrow, her name will no longer be locked onto my tongue, no longer stitched onto my heart. Instead, her name will do nothing but damage what was once whole but it's fine because tomorrow there'll be another. Tomorrow your name will be '****** from my lips ensuring it never comes back up'. Tomorrow, what was once so sacred between us won't be so sacred. Tomorrow it begins; tomorrow I regress.

You see,  I'm no dummy. Somewhere between the lines of
loving me too little
and
not loving me at all,
you found a bucket of lies with my name on it and you fed em to me until  even you succumbed to the deception. Luckily, you caught yourself so can I really blame you for what you did?
You say I play the 'victim'? I am a 'victim'.
a victim of being cheated on, lied to, played and rode like the donkey jesus sat on lol ...just a little humor to ease the level of despondency.
im a victim of tragedy.

Do you even know how it feels to be so happily in love with someone? so confident that someone is yours just yours and then watch that person willingly get swept off their feet and out of your life? never have i ever felt so confident that someone was mine and all mine, someone i could love and trust...
You won't ever understand how I felt that night.
...sitting there with the biggest smile on my face and the warmest heart ...then your neck.
I didn't just see a 'purple bloom' my dearest love. I saw my life flash before my eyes, I knew you were no longer mine for on your neck you were branded and you walked proudly with it. With your branded neck you stood there proudly and confident in yourself. ****, i hate you. you stood there smiling a smile that was no longer just for me. You stood there and kissed my cheek...if only I had known the devaluation of that kiss. You held my hands but if only I knew that those hands were not too long ago wrapped around and lustfully attached to another.

Although my way of getting over you isn't right, I'm **** sure it'll work. You want me to share you. That's what you want and I should've expected it from the 'first occurrence'. You want to be in the middle and who am I to judge? I'm just stuck, maybe? I'm no fool. I've done my wrongs and I've kept my secrets from you but in no way have I came remotely close to doing this to you. I stood by you through every hurricane, sheltering you. How is it that it's so easy for you to be apart from me? All I wanted was to be secure but you're so immature and can't even secure yourself, check your wrists.

I sincerely wish you the best. Disregarding all my bitter thoughts, I do hope you're happy.

She laughs;
Mocking his fear.
Smiling lustfully, she dances around the prey
in a game of cat and mouse.
Hungrily she stalks him.
Lunging now in madness,
she claws at his skin.
She sinks her teeth into raw, cut flesh.
Blood pours from the wounds by the bucket.
She bathes her tongue in the rich, red liquid
like a savage dog.
Agonizing cries echo in the dark abyss of hell.
Then a sigh of satisfaction follows.
She carelessly tosses the fresh corpse aside.
She wipes her dripping chin with her
blood-and-dirt clogged nails.
Her eyes reflect the insanity she holds
and then with blood-stained lips,
she smiles.
A new prey is soon to come.

I do not fit
between straight lines
and words that twinge
metallic and cold
as they strike notes
upon my open mind
and upturned palms.

I do not fit between
cities that shriek,
burning inexplicably
and wide open spaces
that stretch repetitively
on past your periphery.

I do not fit between
envelope folds
and crisp little notes,
crying at all the indecisiveness
of my worn edges.

I do not fit between
blue skies that mean nothing,
and a white hot sun
burning holes in it,
overexposing this bleached
and silent landscape.

I do not fit between
tightly packed cubicles
and hungry eyes.

My body moves about
with marionette precision
as the mind screams
with contempt
cool and sharp as glass,
white hot and fleeting,
lustfully arcing
into a shadow of identity.

My heels bite the pavement,
the cadence of Monday through Friday;
My shoulders are stressed
In spite of ergonomics.
The strangers who pass me,
eyes glossed with similar fatigue,
beat a shuffling rhythm:
the melody hypnotizes.

That's why I don't notice.
Walking just the same,
a pace not unlike the teller
or the lawyer in front of me.
They speak of a repast,
old haunts, new places,
television and sports.
Another measure, no sign of caesura.

When I find myself unsure,
uncertain of the cool ground beneath,
of the muffled grumblings
and the scrapes on my knees,
it feels like a dream.
“I'll wake up soon, I'm at home.
I've fallen asleep to the T.V.,
a wacky dream bred from the same.”
The breath on my neck is so hot.

Once my head straightens up,
the world once again standing still before me,
the weight against my body multiplies.
The floating sensation of sleep,
The feeling of a shell within a shell,
It dissipates and my insides are knots,
molten lava, churning against its crust
and my skin screams in tune.

The grunting and the pawing,
brusque lips are sinking ships.
There's not enough sandpaper
in the world to compare.
Those heels are dust,
their teeth broken and rotted;
Percussion takes a rest.

I am trapped inside my clothes.
Twisted like a snake around my body,
I want only to be free of them--
in any other situation but.
“Here let me help you with that.”
The words slither, covered in mold.
My every wish in that single moment
Answered, a betrayal; trite axioms abound.

Suddenly the weight lifts, is suspended,
a chance accorded to a plain old girl.
But my limbs are heavy, fear looms,
Justifications swarm my panicked mind.
“Don't be stupid. Give them what they want;
They'll leave you alone. Go to another place.
Return with some piece of mind:
no matter how fractured your body, you heal.”

But there's a light on overhead.
The unmasked man stares lustfully at my lips.
His uncharted groping is fervent, fearless--
his desire to be soon bestowed upon him.
Consequences do not glaze his feverish eyes,
and worry lies dormant, sets off no warnings.
The cage was set, the trap precisely executed
and there's no spoon to help me out of here.