"meshing" poems
Her nails digging into the tree,
her legs opened wide.
He sunk deep within,
filling ever inch inside.
Mating calls meshing,
moans and grunts rent the air.
He begins to move faster,
while pulling on her hair.
*I can't believe he's this deep inside me,
It's so **** heavenly,
I burst out with a primal scream.
It's like a fantasy, I'm living out my dream,
All those ****** novels I read,
Pictured through my mind,
He pulled my hair even harder,
I came almost instantaneously*
Her essence flowed freely,
Surrounding him in liquid heat.
His thrusting became faster,
and the pleasure was Oh so sweet.
Hard as a rock,
one more pounding ******
He sank into her deeply,
and explodes in a rush.
*I could feel his hot seed,
Filling up inside me.
The exquisite pleasure almost
made me come once more,
He leaned his entire weight into me,
His breath on my neck
was felt to my core,
I realized I never asked his name
Yet, he'd pleasured me like never before.*
"I have seen you from afar, to shy to say a word.
Still, I know your name not and feel kind of absurd."
"I have seen you looking
and have noticed you too,
I wanted you for awhile,
and didn't know what to do."
He kissed her then,
softly upon her lips.
Holding her against the tree,
still joined at the hips.
**I drip as I grip onto your hips,
while I nurture your nectar and sip
Your ****** has me going crazy,
'cause I'm craving to be lazy
and lay on my back while you ride
me, but I think I might have died
This pleasure makes me feel like Heaven,
and I won the jackpot like 7-7-7
Your depths are coming down upon me,
while I sew some of my sticky seed
right into your box, with me begging,
"Baby, I swear I'm gonna make you mine,
'cause you have me feeling so sublime."**
~To Be Continued~
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
She was always a chameleon soul
Black Orchid
Eyes, shadows, vulnerabilities
Of heroine chic,
Juxtaposed with an embracing
Self
Of mutual
weirdness
Meshing voices from
The past
Nostalgic memories for
Behind the camera
A lady photographed
A younger self,
Mirrored reflections of
The lady she had graced
Into through the
Ages,
Where contemplative deliberations
Iconic wonders, flashed through
Her mind
With each click the metamorphosis
Click;
one
two
three
Twiggy, Edie, Kate
Transformations; a sorcerers magic,
Contradictions;
body
mind
soul
Mirages amidst reincarnations
Never a remnant of the same
For, the lady behind the lens
Unseen
A ghost veiled in black;
The Black Orchid.
© Sia Jane
Dedicated & written for my darling friend Cara <3
For she shall know love <3
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
You are the pure soul of 5 year old girl
awed by the infinity of the starry sky.
You are the poetry that I humbly try to translate into words.
The scent of your neck intoxicating my senses,
The bad girl tempting one to sin the sweetest sin of all.
The magic number of our passion, old Chinese symbol that finally
reveals its truth.
Sweet flirt and ***** thoughts,
Eyes and eyelashes,
The fear of my fears.
A forest baby doe scared and confused
in the jungle noise of animal screams,
The idol in my dreams
My thoughts are like butterflies landing on your ******* your neck, your back, fluttering up and settling on the bottom of your tattoo, crawling below…
the texture of your soft skin and the hairs on your legs standing on their end.
You are the Flamenco music that I can’t listen to anymore, the guttural songs linking us to our primal ancestors, drums and clapping like the whole world applauding for you and me.
The love chart that tells it all.
The day you held my hand, in front of fifteen hundred people,
And the most beautiful scene,
alone in the cinema stall, touching an irresistible image imprinted in your mind.
Transparent lies that make me smile,
temptations away, the love that we seek where we can’t find it – sweet irony of life.
You are the punishment you beg for being a bad girl,
Your risks, masochistic game that makes you feel alive,
a life feeling like running fingers through hot coals.
Your unrestrained dialogue with your sub-conscious,
painful and rich,
open window into your soul for the magician to read it.
The power outside me and you that has connected loose threads of our hearts, the Yin and Yang clashing and meshing like two birds becoming one.
You, wild beast unafraid to devour yourself and your pray at the same time, fearless, insane, addictive.
The dream of holding hands.
February 2, 2013
Aug 26, 2023
Aug 26, 2023 at 11:15 AM UTC
When most people think addiction,
They think cigarettes and nicotine,
They think Alcoholics Anonymous and pain killers gone wrong,
They think gambling, *** and ****
They think addiction and they think of use versus abuse
After all the dictionary definition of addiction is:
"a strong and harmful need to regularly have or do something"
Something
Maybe that's why it's so hard for people to see that my lack of use is just as much abuse as the overuse of something.
They don't know that it is just as addicting to keep refusing food, as it is to keep drinking alcohol.
They don't know that keeping too small clothes in the back of the closet,
Hoping that one day your body will mold into them again,
Is just as dangerous as meshing oneself into someone else just for the night, but someone else the next.
They don't understand that counting the calories is just as consuming as counting the grams.
So don't tell me that my eating disorder is not as addicting as drugs, because cravings to be thin can be just as strong as someone's cravings to be high.
The feeling of an empty stomach, can be just as great as the feeling others get while watching ****
Don't say that my eating disorder is just for attention, because just like addiction it could very well **** me.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
lit by the sunlight is none other than your skin, intertwining with that of my own,
meshing in the air is our thoughts and beliefs, and our future being carefully devised before us,
it's not hard to think ahead, or at least dream ahead that perhaps just like right now,
our skin will still be touching as you lay softly next to me in five years time,
it's nice to think I will be happy for more than this moment can last
and perhaps you hold that key, its just up to you to use it
I know you more than I know myself, despite you thinking differently,
your smile glows brighter in my thoughts than it does in the sunlight
overwhelming would be a word to describe you,
you've seen me in light, whereas others have only seen me in the dark
thinking realistically maybe this won't last forever, nothing does
but I can dream
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
porcupine, devil's receptionist,
your splinters are aching again.
manifested figure, you are alien.
more so are your actions.
I am thoroughly impressed
by the displays of your affections
boldly handing them to me,
so rudely beautiful, and my limbs
are too shocked for movement.
each layer within me shifts,
black goes grey, blue goes green,
brown goes red and gold, weeds
become sunflowers, the ground below
us begins to heave, volcanoes splinter
and split down their middles, ridges
of lava gasping for air, bubbling, black to grey to white
to blue and purple fire. sweat, we sweat but we don't catch flame.
sweat, and I am liquid at last.
sweet,
considering possibilities,
shuffling my vocabulary like cards in a deck,
preparing myself for the most difficult game life could offer,
preparing myself in tender fragments of flaky crystal.
words become thin glass in my mind, and I
begin to feel the cuts in my throat,
climbing up my tongue trying to create some movement,
even if that movement is pain.
movement has suddenly shook my bones out of their choke hold.
I gasp for air, grasp on to what you hold out.
your outline against my insides at last, your third eye cracked open
and I see behind and through the meshing that takes place. I see so
much that I am blind, torn with black and white.
I close my eyes with good intention:
I am black.
more dark than thorn roofed ships,
smashing against waves made of shadow.
I open my eyes with impression and find you white.
more white than the ghosts in my bones,
winter shivers back with thoughts of you.
I close my eyes with good intention.
I tire more and more
my head weighs down
with all the color.
I want no more black or white.
you tire more and more
your head weighed down
by holding your colors in.
we become tectonic
and all goes grey.
ashes of what we felt that day
aches of what we did
morning reaches my empty lids,
you've taken all I could say with
your silence. a plague. a bartenders keep.
I saw you again before the moon,
I even saw you standing beneath it's reflection,
staring.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
What is hoped trickling between
splintered crags of hard matter
as between slabs of sliced I
like water through the desert crust
the beginning-end fusioned whole?
it resplendent through the cracks?
What might be enough
for its time being
might be the first loosening
a knot’s dissolution
beginning
unwrapping light and breath
deep underground
after prying like suffocation
the thing loose, never budged,
still you yanked, pulled,
screamed, spumed, more than
frustration through your fingertips.
For the brain, don’t be fooled,
s’more the psychedelic fruit
than just saying apple computer
the pulpous embryo of imagination
feeding
what seed, sprouting tendrils,
protracts without desire
(but causing desire)
ever outward, growing, clasping,
(hinging on unhinging) meshing
an electric net
and collapsing a shock they say
until the taste of its taste
is so succulently pungent
that after hours of dull mumbling
its projection upon the mirrors
it bursts in puffs of screams
short tense contractions
[image fizzing, over-heating].
Like a cracked computer reading
an animal program: *Alpha Beast
of the Ill-Illusioned*. Or: *Runt Wolf
of Gaia, the Undarwinian Survivor*.
Software ones and zeros digitizing
the command:
Must do the act cannot be done.
Till it breaks. Unimagined.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
Gears turn
The unnoticeable increments
Cogs meshing with cogs
Under the surface
Unseen
But felt
For too long
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
in a meadow on the bluffs
little stars clutch clinging
to earth and sky all for us
the eye. petals are rolling
in on misty winds surprise
more for the eyes, and all
of meadow so live above
is tapestry higher than sea
colours meshing with leaves
birds, bees, faces of flower
scents of sweetness in air
a patch of ground bursting
for you and me with poetry
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 3:29 AM UTC
I went to this funeral the other day
and had a blast, the black suits
contrasting the pale faces of those shocked
by death, meshing with the warm
red of crying eyes. Hot sun flashed
through the stained glass
illuminating the carefully chosen
mahogany bed where the lucky one
slept. I cannot picture
a more beautiful scene.
And it only gets better! Family
coming together, joined with emotion,
seeing old friends and meeting new ones
The young and the old
both dressed in Sunday’s best
captures a timeless cycle.
What is there not to love?
My funeral is going to be
the best. Come one, come all –
everyone’s invited! The low hum
of the cellos creates an ominous
tone overpowering the occasional
sad sniff, thankfully.
Stop crying you pathetic things
and come laugh with me.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
Not merely soulmates, matched and equal, but two halves of the same soul incomplete without the other.
Intricately woven links, platinum meshing with layered silver.
Breath-stealing, life exuding, divine.
'Oh, the tales that will be told of this love.'
Hesitant, wondrous and cheerful, the strings of unstructured consciousness circle. Living, imagining and eternal.
Revelling. Crisp, pure and untainted joy.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
You drew me in, in that special way you do
Pulled into your space without resistance
A deer in headlights in total awe of you
Frozen and nervous, between us there is zero distance
Crashed into each other slowly like waves in the ocean
Beautiful and harsh, full of passion
Water to sand, meshing together in slow motion
Fierce with lust, and an undeniable connection
The sweet taste of your lips on mine
Makes butterflies swarm my whole body
Hidden nerves, corner kisses, crossing the line
We don’t mind, and it’s fun being naughty
So to you I raise my glass
Cheers for bringing me intoxication
A toast for every slap of my ***
A smile, for every bit of our infatuation
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
I should....
no, can't
can't can't
won't.
refuse actually. do I like hurting? is there a reason I don't just
move on
normally when goodbye is said, twice, it means you leave
as in put one foot out into space and
pull
down
see what happens, see what passes. well, I really wasn't ever normal
knew that from the start
but this?
I'm on an edge. this thinned pathetic rim
that looks to me a bit
u
n
sta b l e
clearly
[not clearly]
there is a problem
or something broken
I'm dealing with it, but let's be honest
sometimes it feels like I'm
meshing with it
blendingintothisbigmess
that's so hard [for me only] to separate
forgot about that- have to be more specific
[for me only] is this still more than a bad taste in my mouth
[for me only] it stripped me of common sense
[for me only] I can't sleep at night
All I want to do is
be free
free to either walk through a day and not think your name
name name
name name name
or free to fall into your arms at the end of the day
every day
whatever
I know I talk to a wall
wall
and I'm here wall and you're there
wall
wall
and I swear I'm putting all I have into
[insert "letting go" here]
but instead-
trying to understand why I can't
leave you behind
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 1:36 AM UTC
T-Together they'll create a lovely moon
W-Wonderful is their adoration's boon
O-Oneness of love this pair shall festoon
H-Harmonic shall they be together
E-Exquisite of a meshing love tether
A-Abiding in all kinds of weather
R- Resplendently matching with other
T-Tenderness their eternal soft feather
S-Special the song of amity's heather
B-Bounty and plenty e'er they'll possess
E-Elated this pair in joyous congress
A-Always to be in the realms of fullness
T-Twined by braids to true loveliness
I-Infinite the land of affection's prettiness
N-Naught shall blight their gleefulness
G-Glories shared in a bower of sweetness
A-Aligned in all that they say and do
S-Sublime the narrative of these two
O-Of love's serenade they'll endlessly play
N-Nicely coalescing in each and every way
E-Ecstatic this their devotional interplay
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
The flame
In his chest
The same
To the rest
But twisted
As he was
Blessed
But gifted
With inferiority
And was horribly
Conflicted
Of the message
He was meshing
With the decrepit
Feeling
Of his fleeting
Half stepping
To the
Recollections
Of his blessings
That he was tempted
To dissect
From the crowd
Inflicted
Despite the
Shroud
Of clouded
Bouts
Torn from
The panicked ****
Of the phobias
He knew they were scared of
And glared
Right through them
Before he opened up
His coat
And started shooting
Proving
Others wise
In the silent
Reprise
Of 45's
And nines
He smiled
In the exile
Of fear
Escaping
Through
The fading
Lights
Of dying eyes
In the wild
Surmise
That with each
Trigger squeeze
Eased him
Into shame
As he
Aimed
To please
For the release
Of lives
Crawling
For the
Finished
Lines
And in gorgazmic
Slitherings
He delivered
The final blows
With power ups
And scores
Progressing
The killing
As he reloads
With shrilling
Grins
And stints
Of compassion
Fashioning
The rationed
Satisfaction
He received
From the screaming
Mothers and babies
Brothers and maybes
Splattering
On the plastic trees
Of escalators
And skeezes
That laid shuttering
Headless
Upon the exits
Of his
Insurrected mind
And he was just fine
With dying
In kind
And he was just fine
Shining from
The shrine
Of Santa
In a sonata
Of solidarity
To the led
Soldering morals
In a story
Of victory
And of
Personal glory
For the lords
Of defeat
Seething
In the completeness
Of a defeatist
As he stuck
The heaters
In his mouth
And was out
Without
One doubt
As to what
Nothing
Means
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
Mellow,/
good riddance,/
no lyrical sides/
their call, heaven/
fall,/
with cigarette word-
lapping,/
boat too close to the wall/
circumcising by verbals done/
up dying,/
Child us a sandbox of sense/
stretching holding/
out on a ghostly hand/
We are the walls/
place Poetry finds acute vivid lining/
verses, our eyes meshing/
hole unclenching/
Killing lectures about it, how dictionarising/
And Le Clézio’s wing alive/
abide/
Taking flight/
~
Sep 1, 2020
Sep 1, 2020 at 7:11 AM UTC
*At one moment in time
she was poetry in motion,
'til she pirouetted herself
unto dusty shelves
midst old clouded rhymes
& recollected love notes
yet, there were echoes
glistening 'tween strands
of web's interlacing design,
meshing her finessed
past within gossamer's
complex entanglements
amid labyrinths of
ancient symphonies
she dances, still ~
silently in her head
flirting with destiny
albeit, not as grand*
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
I’m in a limbo. A state of equivocality. Everything hangs in the air, but I try to chart my daily course as I normally do. Times are tough. Uncertain, too. Notwithstanding, I’ve taken more than I can chew.
I’m in too deep. I’m in a dark place.
You see, I was the golden child. A beacon of light. Envy was nothing new to me. I rarely espoused it, but was the oft object of it. Little Miss Perfect – always so put together. Always has her things together. I have Midas Touch, they say. I’m on a plane higher than my peers – on a dais atop the average twenty-two year-old. I can do no wrong. Only upwards from here.
So they say.
So I thought.
Today, my days bleed into one another. Sunday? Monday? What difference does a name make? I run on two hours of sleep and three thirty-minute naps a day. I don’t wake up to my 5 AM alarm. Nor sleep through it. It throttles to life as I hurriedly read tomorrow’s later’s assigned readings. I might get some sleep in. I rarely do. Finish your readings. Finish your work. Finish your classes. Eat in between.
Objectively, I’m in a good place. Roof over my head. Food on my plate. More importantly, safe. No 40-degree thermometers and sputum litter around. This makes me feel worse. Ungrateful ***** Little Miss Drama Queen. A million would **** to be in your shoes.
I’m in a limbo – my brain encased in a cloud of humdrum trepidation. Filled to the brim with silent thumps of dread. Thump. Thump. Thump. It’s not as if I did not try to do better to feel better. I do – I always do. My lists abound. #SelfCare’s always on top. Thump. Thump. Thump. They do little to quell my panic room of a mind.
Sometimes I wonder if this is how watercolor pigments feel. They are always so vivacious off of the manufacturing press. The reds are constantly vibrant and the blues are consistently resonant. But they fade when water comes into contact – even meshing into an ugly grey on the canvas when they touch the other diluted hues.
I’m in a limbo – no sense of past, present, and future. Everyday is a low frequency static hissing at my ears. Wonder child soddened by the somber. I’d build a rocket, they say. I’d own the world, they say.
All I am is tired nowadays.
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 5:25 AM UTC
They don’t make cards for us
Pre-made poems with cartoon animals
Telling jokes that aren’t actually funny
But we still laugh, because, yeah, that’s just like us
Candy hearts never say ‘we love you’
Or ‘I love you both’ or ‘be ours’
Matching rings aren’t sold in threes
Puzzle-heart necklaces are split down the middle
For him and her and
What about me?
Ours is not a Hallmark love
With two hands clasped and fingers meshing
But we still walk together
Hand in hand in hand
And I hold hers behind your back
And we lie together
Like a row of knocked over dominoes
Three people no longer bothered
By the strange stares and confused glances
Because what we have is better than that
So who cares if they don’t make cards for us
I’ll make one myself
With a puzzle heart on the front
Broken into three
Drawn in three strange colors
That people wouldn’t normally put together
But that, when combined, become something beautiful
And I’ll laugh, because, yeah, that’s just like us.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
Lust lines crease
Your serpentine eyes
Slits of desire
Smooth and quiet
Not quite
Brash and rough and wet and messy
Thrown together in a backseat
Lust lines crease
My face
From falling asleep on the
Seatbelt
Red and puckered
An echo of other images
Remnants of the meshing
Lust lines crease
Your tousled limbs
Form fitting cloth
Whoops. Not yours
Trade and cover the lust lines
Make up on both of us.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
Waterfalls precipitate upon cinnamon film
Meshing with legions of tales
Forth sways a vibe only I can feel
Waterfalls precipitate upon cinnamon film
As to the mountains I flee to heal
A sign I was unwell
Waterfalls precipitate upon cinnamon film
Meshing with legions of tales
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 4:16 PM UTC
It can transcend the physical world.
It resonates and vibrates,
echoing between souls.
But it's more than chemistry,
it's alchemy.
A meshing of being,
the combination of two disparate elements
in creation of something new.
Something different that makes everything around it different as well.
A light in oppressive darkness
and a shade in harsh light.
We both know of it's existence,
we're not strangers to it's presence.
The very opposite,
we know it down to it's atomic makeup.
Like I know her,
like she knows me.
What every touch does,
what every look means.
We know the name of this thing,
like we know each other.
And yet we just stand and enjoy,
too breathless to name anything.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 10:37 PM UTC
Ready treading.
Banking Heaven.
Higher heading onto Seven.
Connections are blending.
Rapture sure to capture all
turns to mending.
Free for all
beach sand meshing.
Flesh is blessing
Love Living.
Respect creatures.
Beings less than or equal.
Keep on giving people
brother sister
love her miss her sweet
swisher on my lips.
Ears open.
HEARD
Meditation
key to worlds of blankness,
tranquility.
Are you feeling?
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC