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"moistening" poems
The sky above me, closed in as the dark, ominous yet fascinating rainclouds have driven near, gathering together in a council. As it begins to drizzle, soft, warm and little raindrops, fall in line, gently, carelessly hitting the earth, moistening it in their line. Once in a while, as the rain gains its strengh, hitting the ground below with more speed and roughlessness in their action, Rays of the purest light, sent by the sun as it shines above the darkening sky, a sensation for ones optic nerv, a sensation for the eye, make it through and let this scene shine further more. Graceful drops, carrried and distorted by the majestic wind, Create a lovely melody on my window, as they one by one fly into it. Now as the soil is fertilised, life will surely grow from the sunlight. Alike the raindrops are carried by the wind, my mind engages with this scene, lets me fall in love with this beautiful earth. A little rain shall not be the cause of sadness, as it truly is a reminder of the moments of love wich it makes easier to determine. So I keep my gaze out of the window and enjoy the weather Until then, the sky clears up and the sun shines again. ~ Umi
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Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
The Rain
Dear life, what is it that makes you take on a journey which always leads towards an unavoidable, devestating yet resenting death ? Since I cannot understand it fully I wander upon this world without finding any clear answers to satisfy the curiousity my heart bears. In the realm of dreams I find rest, as my mind engages into this illusion and frees me from this reality for as long as my body pleases. Awakened by loitering darkness, these questions are repeating themselves on a path of recurrance, without decreasing in strengh. As my breath dies while feeling the agony, flames of hatred are seeping through my fragile, delicate existence, giving energy. Rumbling, boiling in sadness I tell myself that anyone's forgiveness is not neccesary, losing control over this riot of pure fury without heart. Looking back a thousand times, it remains as my very best choice. Letting these emotions race, rage and rampage uncontrollably Whilst losing ones self within a lunatic laughter to release pressure I cannot stop these tears, pitying the past long gone rolling down my cheeks, moistening the very soil I am growing on, as a pure lily Until the moment comes in which my body exhausts itself and allows me to enter the world of dreams, where despair fades into happiness. Until the sun rises once again ~ Umi
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Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
Pure Lunacy
a passing balloon piece, his, within in a message, makes the imagery explode with numerous contractions, even confusions, and requires an explaining explication and a fresh application of sealant men see the words ~ think war or football, women think of the lyric, phrase in a sad love ballad that means recall, and a moistening  tear drop that liquifies but doesn’t drop but that word, pulverized,  has an enormity attached, that conjures destruction total, s battlefield’s aftermath, tree stumps cut down, synchronized with bodies in parts, sole souls departing without reasoning/justification the lineage upon her face, pulverized by sorrow and no expectations for the morrow, gaveled into existence, by losses and carried for a length of  a term ill defined, as “life” with no hint of irony, for it’s not life when  it’s spent reminiscing remembering the dismemberment of what was a joy taken instantly and perpetually inexplicabe the tragedies multicolored in black, a solid stolid state that nary a meter, talking centi’s here, pinch of breeze and /or hurricane alters status quo, both of us have long known that, but we nonetheless pick up grains, single alphabet scrambled pieces to put the whole together again, but it’s a cause hopeless cause we be are pulverized inside so the chorded chore is a double whammy and still and yet we say but, for we cannot stop our fingers from their appointed rounds and we think in term not of hope but a thought out louded, the eternal question, what if we do not try?
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Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 10:18 AM UTC
“The pulverized line”
a passing balloon piece, his, within in a message, makes the imagery explode with numerous contractions, even confusions, and requires an explaining explication and a fresh application of sealant men see the words ~ think war or football, women think of the lyric, phrase in a sad love ballad that means recall, and a moistening  tear drop that liquifies but doesn’t drop but that word, pulverized,  has an enormity attached, that conjures destruction total, s battlefield’s aftermath, tree stumps cut down, synchronized with bodies in parts, sole souls departing without reasoning/justification the lineage upon her face, pulverized by sorrow and no expectations for the morrow, gaveled into existence, by losses and carried for a length of  a term ill defined, as “life” with no hint of irony, for it’s not life when  it’s spent reminiscing remembering the dismemberment of what was a joy taken instantly and perpetually inexplicabe the tragedies multicolored in black, a solid stolid state that nary a meter, talking centi’s here, pinch of breeze and /or hurricane alters status quo, both of us have long known that, but we nonetheless pick up grains, single alphabet scrambled pieces to put the whole together again, but it’s a cause hopeless cause we be are pulverized inside so the chorded chore is a double whammy and still and yet we say but, for we cannot stop our fingers from their appointed rounds and we think in term not of hope but a thought out louded, the eternal question, what if we do not try?
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52
From the Azul sky a diving sparkling speck, An unmatched beautiful creature without circumspect, The golden leaves of spring like soldiers on parade, Dip and make way for this fair winged maid. I have so much longed to be first bite of this season, To be touched and blossomed to perfection by your reason, I grow juicy, soft and ripen as I fall for you. Tumbling into your soft Cashmere hands on cue. Salivating, I’m tasty, savour me between your teeth, Sink deep in without remorse, how delectably indiscrete! Say my name with a smile it’s so safe in your mouth. I’m tingling the roof of your brain with my flavours coming out. Take me away! as we fly, I’m cast about like an enchanted spell, Moistening your soft syrupy lips of caramel. I’m drained to sustain the iridescent colours of your gilded wings, Moved by the high passionate notes as you sing. Your smooth, probing tongue, my flesh diabetically sweet, Leaving streaks of sienna nectar on fates smeared cheeks, Wipe away before staining fabric from our black and white lives. They keep returning, stubborn like long goodbyes. Surprise! New emotions enveloping, hypnotic like Night Jasmine, Mimicking a rainwater spout so bubbly, escaping, and exciting! Your caught hopeless as a fish fly rod with a glass eyed trout Choking while love swoops silent from heaven to pluck it out. That’s when you look at my seed and you can tell. I’m good for your ego but as bad as a toadstool’s spell. So I’m placed in the first mound of mud you come across, Where you replant me sprinkled with fairy dust.
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Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
My Thinker Belle
From the Azul sky a diving sparkling speck, An unmatched beautiful creature without circumspect, The golden leaves of spring like soldiers on parade, Dip and make way for this fair winged maid. I have so much longed to be first bite of this season, To be touched and blossomed to perfection by your reason, I grow juicy, soft and ripen as I fall for you. Tumbling into your soft Cashmere hands on cue. Salivating, I’m tasty, savour me between your teeth, Sink deep in without remorse, how delectably indiscrete! Say my name with a smile it’s so safe in your mouth. I’m tingling the roof of your brain with my flavours coming out. Take me away! as we fly, I’m cast about like an enchanted spell, Moistening your soft syrupy lips of caramel. I’m drained to sustain the iridescent colours of your gilded wings, Moved by the high passionate notes as you sing. Your smooth, probing tongue, my flesh diabetically sweet, Leaving streaks of sienna nectar on fates smeared cheeks, Wipe away before staining fabric from our black and white lives. They keep returning, stubborn like long goodbyes. Surprise! New emotions enveloping, hypnotic like Night Jasmine, Mimicking a rainwater spout so bubbly, escaping, and exciting! Your caught hopeless as a fish fly rod with a glass eyed trout Choking while love swoops silent from heaven to pluck it out. That’s when you look at my seed and you can tell. I’m good for your ego but as bad as a toadstool’s spell. So I’m placed in the first mound of mud you come across, Where you replant me sprinkled with fairy dust.
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28
She hides in pockets of flesh in my gums I can taste her in the morning when I spit at night I can feel her swimming in an ocean of mouthwash In sleep she oozes onto my pillow moistening the dusty fabric under my cheek When shes really playful she will wiggle herself into my cerebellum and dance furiously with my dreams or gently sing lullabies when my heart wont let me sleep when the world and its filth have commandeered my hope she is there to brush away the dirt with untarnished hands she is my religion she is my ****** without her I am sick a smoldering heat of black matter and fungi she is antibacterial soap on my soul Lysol wipes to my tarred lungs with one whiff I am cleansed of debris she saturates the oxygen in my blood she resides in my abdomen I can feel her in my kidneys.
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Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 5:08 PM UTC
I Feel Her in my Kidneys
The ground connects us through our feet We connect the Earth through our minds And connect our hearts through our hands Until the ground beneath our feet Begins to crumble We dig up hatred and then repeat As we stumble Attacking the planet to cut our connection And severing our stability When the ground is filled with holes And the ground is filled with those We chose to dispose For what they know Or what they show We told them no And dimmed their glow We feel dirt between our toes As the quicksand embraces our ankles We let a malicious mudslide flank us The Sandman continues to introduce us To our own eternal rest On his endless conquest For minerals in his midst Sentiment unable to penetrate his sediment The dirtiness in his heart becomes evident When he drowns us in dust And colors us rust He feels he must But he made a fatal mistake Not realizing we are attached by soil As the soil becomes a lake We find relation deeper than oil The Sandman seeks our species' slumber But the power of our tears Are strong when shared And shower us with love That runs through our blood Moistening man Soaking the sand Once we see life grand
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Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 5:38 AM UTC
Sandman
Melodious moonlight thy clear liquid spreads painting all in lavender hue and moistening lips wait for the kiss of your words, muse You sing through her parted lips your cryptic hymns and poetry, words wound together in strange nightly meter that twist together and shift like tree limbs tangled and petals cast down the stream To bathe in the rippling water and wait for clarity to wash away the rough edges of the mind let the stones become smooth and mind like bowstrings, taughtened. But the crowds protest in collective indignation all members chained together by common trepidation lest altars crack under the weight of strange words and the diety's light grows dim they sharpen what was dull and loose arrows in laughing mirth into bodies' crooked minds uninhibited and feet unshackled The ones in the crowd yell with groans and laughter but they groan also with the pain of what is constant death and birth... they are resigned to their tradition's lies and perish ten thousand times. Nascent generations yell out in incredulity until voices become hoarse and skin turns gray, resign themselves to murmur their insolence in dreams as they whither slowly away. But the one who, in nighttime, sings and bestowed by muse's mind, from human lips part words and strange poems spoken blaspheme will live but once and one day rest by the shifting branches and on grass by trickling stream and not by chain's clanking arrest.
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Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
The Muse and the Crowd
the rain's damp streaming tendrils caressed the dry landscape with a kindly moistening to revive its soils
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Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
Soils (Dodoitsu)
Steaming, pale pink, moments ago these rosebuds were sleeping, dried, unfragrant. Now, like a single paper flower that blossoms from within its scrubbed clam shell, held together lightly, then opening slowly in its requisite, tall, crystalline glass of water, these tiny buds are softening, unfurling, reviving, intoxicating me with this heady, womanly scent, and moistening my face as I lean over this healing brew you sent for me. Born of humans, linked to me by human blood and a shared, ancient selkie ancestry, wise, beautiful, deep eyes, flowing dark hair, blessings pour forth from you in all, and every moment, of your gentle, earnest, worshiping life. Kinswoman to my open heart, to our ceaseless inquiries into sacred mysteries, your power to transform finds me wherever I am.
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Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 3:22 PM UTC
Cel Du
The fat lady came out first, tearing our roots and moistening drumskins. The fat lady who turns dying octopuses inside out. The fat lady, the moon's antagonist, was running through the streets and deserted buildings and leaving tiny skulls of pigeons in the corners and stirring up the furies of the last centuries' feasts and summinging the demon of bread through the sky's clean-swept hills and filtering a longing for light into subterranean tunnels. The graveyards, yes the graveyards and the sorrow of the kitchens buried in sand, and dead, pheasants and apples of another era, pushing it into our throat. There were murmurings from the jungle of ***** with the empty women, with hot wax children, with fermtented trees and tireless waiters who serve platters of salt beneath harps of saliva. There's no other way, my son, ***** There's no other way. It's not the ***** of hussars on the ******* of their ****** nor the ***** of cats that inadvertently swallowed frogs, but the dead who scratch with clay hands on flint gates where clouds and desserts decay. The fat lady came first with the crowds from the ships,s taverns, and parks. ***** was delicately shaking its drums among a few little girls of blood who were begging the moon for protection. Who could imagine my sadness? The look on my face was mine, but now isn't me, the naked look on my face, trembling for alcohol and launching incredible ships through the anemones of the piers. I protect myself with this look that flows from waves where no dawn would go. I, poet without arms, lost in the vomiting multitude, with no effusive horse to shear the thick moss from my temples. The fat lady went first and the crowds kept looking for pharmacies where the bitter tropics could be found. Only when a flag went up and the first dogs arrived did the entire city rush to the railings of the boardwalk.
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2.1k
Landscape of a Vomiting Multitude
The fat lady came out first, tearing our roots and moistening drumskins. The fat lady who turns dying octopuses inside out. The fat lady, the moon's antagonist, was running through the streets and deserted buildings and leaving tiny skulls of pigeons in the corners and stirring up the furies of the last centuries' feasts and summinging the demon of bread through the sky's clean-swept hills and filtering a longing for light into subterranean tunnels. The graveyards, yes the graveyards and the sorrow of the kitchens buried in sand, and dead, pheasants and apples of another era, pushing it into our throat. There were murmurings from the jungle of ***** with the empty women, with hot wax children, with fermtented trees and tireless waiters who serve platters of salt beneath harps of saliva. There's no other way, my son, ***** There's no other way. It's not the ***** of hussars on the ******* of their ****** nor the ***** of cats that inadvertently swallowed frogs, but the dead who scratch with clay hands on flint gates where clouds and desserts decay. The fat lady came first with the crowds from the ships,s taverns, and parks. ***** was delicately shaking its drums among a few little girls of blood who were begging the moon for protection. Who could imagine my sadness? The look on my face was mine, but now isn't me, the naked look on my face, trembling for alcohol and launching incredible ships through the anemones of the piers. I protect myself with this look that flows from waves where no dawn would go. I, poet without arms, lost in the vomiting multitude, with no effusive horse to shear the thick moss from my temples. The fat lady went first and the crowds kept looking for pharmacies where the bitter tropics could be found. Only when a flag went up and the first dogs arrived did the entire city rush to the railings of the boardwalk.
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44
Because of you I'm all here Buried all the pains Dug a new chapter Imported new feelings Seeded hope Exported all the grievances Took hold of the promises Watered the heart Cementing the broken pieces together Laminated the smile And on the wall I nailed it Began a tireless journey Wishing for the best Trusting the eyes Enjoying the sweet melody A lullaby I need for a lifetime Remember those days? Acting silly and stupid The ignorance we entertained The confusion we embraced Embroidering the hatred An the mist of pain we got lost Turning our backs on each other Anger reddening our eyes Silence that became a graveyard Silence that almost murdered our hearts Intoxicating our feelings Destroying the taproots of our future I remember that days Buried now Now I smile For we hold it In our hands we are molding it Together moistening the clay That long ago cracked With no hope of being a palp again We have it We repainted the wall A new dawn of hope A beginning of a new chapter The chills of winter all gone Summer says hello With its rain we will puddle In the mud together Yes the mud of love we will ***** ourselves For we buried the past
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Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 5:32 AM UTC
BECAUSE OF YOU
the sun is exfoliating my skin for you. just give me a minute, my love. i am shedding the dry past away.
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Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 12:00 AM UTC
moistening
He wants to tell her of a story he read once About that gorilla who could sign And taught its baby to sign How when the baby died The flailing of her fingertips And the movement of her hands Said more about loss than anyone ever cared to know She looks at him Hot pho steam moistening her face There is a man pacing outside the windows of the restaurant It is a whole in a wall In a small city The city is ***** Next to the restaurant is a bar They listen Juke box bass hick thunder through the walls She ***** a noodle into her mouth “Is this a date,” she says If you want it to be “It’s not exactly romantic” He smiles thinks about what it means to be romantic Remembers the list with the boxes to check off Of will she **** me later It’s all too generic And we are so talented at romanticizing the trivial That people forget how to be charming He thinks of death-beds And what she might say to him Maybe it isn’t now. But later, you’ll remember this guy And you’ll think of that weird place he took you to this one time. It wasn’t exactly romantic. But for whatever reason You will remember me for doing things like this. He wants to tell her of the gorilla With the sad hands His own hands tremble He thinks of languages people spend lifetimes learning She sips her water Wipes sweat from her face She smiles It is beautiful when she smiles He smiles too Shivers as the doors open and the cold comes in Maybe in some other universe The words would have meant more to her They would have made sense He fills the silence with the sound of soup She looks at him again The thunder through the walls stops And all he can think of Is the gorilla who learned the language of love And lost the need to use it
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Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 4:03 AM UTC
When Words Should Have Done More
He wants to tell her of a story he read once About that gorilla who could sign And taught its baby to sign How when the baby died The flailing of her fingertips And the movement of her hands Said more about loss than anyone ever cared to know She looks at him Hot pho steam moistening her face There is a man pacing outside the windows of the restaurant It is a whole in a wall In a small city The city is ***** Next to the restaurant is a bar They listen Juke box bass hick thunder through the walls She ***** a noodle into her mouth “Is this a date,” she says If you want it to be “It’s not exactly romantic” He smiles thinks about what it means to be romantic Remembers the list with the boxes to check off Of will she **** me later It’s all too generic And we are so talented at romanticizing the trivial That people forget how to be charming He thinks of death-beds And what she might say to him Maybe it isn’t now. But later, you’ll remember this guy And you’ll think of that weird place he took you to this one time. It wasn’t exactly romantic. But for whatever reason You will remember me for doing things like this. He wants to tell her of the gorilla With the sad hands His own hands tremble He thinks of languages people spend lifetimes learning She sips her water Wipes sweat from her face She smiles It is beautiful when she smiles He smiles too Shivers as the doors open and the cold comes in Maybe in some other universe The words would have meant more to her They would have made sense He fills the silence with the sound of soup She looks at him again The thunder through the walls stops And all he can think of Is the gorilla who learned the language of love And lost the need to use it
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53
down on her knees beseeching pleading for it to arrive days without a meager amount she was dying as time did pass to be endowed in it's refreshment towards the heavens her hands were stretched asking so earnestly for the opening of clouds to replenish her core so dry ecstasy had abandoned her terrain gone was it's  life giving dampness which would allay her anguish and pain arid she'd been all summer long twas too long a period being bereft of those quenching drops her ground so dusty and so lifeless she pined for the sweet moistening to fill her with enlivening streams   a band of richly laden clouds came as she pleaded to the sky once again she implored in desperation to be saturated monster spots of rain poured down which so soothed her landscape's crust enthralled was she to be in  receipt of it's wetting balm long she'd made supplications to the sky for her ground had been excessively dry on her knees and with her hands stretched to the heavens on high the sky bequeathed her it's deliverance   as her death was drawing ever nigh
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Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
Drawing Ever Nigh
The craving for your whip wanting it to mark me to feel its hellish sting screaming to force it on me and the pain that says you own me I feel its curl around my flesh and strain at ropes that hold me yet cannot hide the moistening flood that forces me to want you the lines across my body red will force my needing further yet when you cut me down and take my body to you my wanting won’t deny you For this is torture quite sublime here in your darkest dungeon your willing captive evermore draining all you have to give and wanting still more of you ....Francesca Anderssen 2016
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Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC
Craving
Dripping poetry From every pore Luscious skin Oozing with love As you walk Across languidly Moistening the floor Every stanza Adds more eloquence To the heady concoction Waiting to be consumed Till the last drop Each footstep Creates an impression On the heart Graceful flutter Of the heavy eyelashes Seems an eternity Stealthy criminal Wants an open window To sneak in Through the pause Slither between lines Entwined to every word A serpentine hold On poetry beautiful Trickling with sweet honey Taste of immortality
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Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
Eloquence
Alabaster white skin pinkening Jade eyes moistening as my ministrations continue Electricity crackling between us The last two on this earth Two who are and always will be One Ruby red cupid’s bow parts No sound escapes Just a breath taken For we do not need words We feel We touch We play We tease Each other Until the dawn breaks Sunrise dappling across our bodies Erotically tattooing us
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Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
Bliss
Peace. White lilac atmosphere Laced with Autum’s farewell A fragrant kiss whispered into his lover’s ear Moistening the staid air With a sweetness Of chlorophyll. A green so rare A jade for writhing. Lilacs bloom, daffodils, roses She fearfully forebodes the night And waits for him. Too cruel for snow An icy caress of stoney lips An arrogant tease of affection Crimson petals Frosted in the blackness Only to be comforted by mother’s loving arms When morning blooms.
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Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
"Longing"
flowers flow into cool ground moistening and softening they burst into long white rays of earth
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Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 1:30 PM UTC
adaptation
If I couldst show to thee the measure of my love, wouldst thine eyes shine in radiant hues? Smoulder then in deepest lapis blues, that put to shame the very rainbow's best intent. If I couldst share with thee, the hottest of my humors, wouldst not the boilings in that abyssal pit, pale and mediocre seem, as 'twere mine, in compare? It would melt old Vulcans's anvil, adamantine! Take for thee, these my softest kisses, which, placed upon lips, seeming to mine own essence, as pillowed angels breath, yet, those godly messengers own sweetest puckerings, as granite, to those of my mistress. If thou couldst pluck from my chest, a still beating heart, wouldst not the sanguine, boiling streams, scold the unforgiving stones, on which they splash? The fiery vapours rending air, as heaven bound they rise to paint the sky, incarnadine! And yet, merely moistening that beloved hand, which holds, the fleshy, ruby prize. Canst thou now measure, that which knows no measure? And like heavens starried twinkles, whose beacons point the way, know this, infinite, is the measure of my love for thee, my mistress.
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Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
soul of yesteryear
Come my dear take your fill Fatigue will wait as no one else will Cause I want you naked Wet with desire I want to rise and fall Like phoenix feathers Burning in my own ashes Soft bottom pressed against My thick throbbing flesh Breast in hand Though gently cupped I barely brush the pink areoles Perking them up to full pleasure position Mouth upon thy neck Tongue gently stroking And moistening your flesh Your ecstasy epileptic As you almost swallow my tongue I lunge inside to feel your wet warm thighs And fill the wonderful caverns Of your womanhood Oh desire is a wretched beast For you are far to far away from me So stroke for stroke I fuel the furnace Your full form in my mind’s eyes I shoot high Clinging to the long pillow As if it was your warm body And love you lonely from a long distance
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Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
The Long Distance Lover
At the outset of a variable weather day Sunlight spangles danced in the skies above Was such a brilliance of radiant beams As mid afternoon drew closer a change did arrive In the grey smudged clouds rolled Replacing the bright morn's festival Whereupon came a moistening festival Raindrops fell for the rest of the day Down the damp quenching rolled The billows unloading from high above Which farmers were gladdened to see arrive Their worried brows begat more calming beams Fields lush in verdant vibrant green beams The wetting so joyous of a happy festival Dutiful was the timely drink's arrive A difference made within a single day Welcome were the heavy showers gifted above Pasture lands looking minted and gold rolled The reverse clime's dices had been rolled Water storages filled with streaming beams Such a gracious endowment up above Unto landholders giving a grand festival Altering the complexion of the day Providence surrendered on needed arrive A goodly amount of thirst saving did arrive On the dark masses prospect being rolled There was an improved outlook to the day Ever men of acreage seek hopeful beams So they can enjoy a precipitation festival Wishing upon the receipt in clouds above In their thoughts what is happening above When will the heaven's bestowments arrive Always championing the dowsing's festival Then for them soils ideally bank rolled On conditions being sated so nicely of beams Will the soaking occur on this day Festival glee awaited in the atmosphere above Day did dawn with a dazzling sun's arrive Rolled by the promise of eve's drenching beams
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Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 7:15 AM UTC
Eve's Drenching Beams (Sestina)
At the outset of a variable weather day Sunlight spangles danced in the skies above Was such a brilliance of radiant beams As mid afternoon drew closer a change did arrive In the grey smudged clouds rolled Replacing the bright morn's festival Whereupon came a moistening festival Raindrops fell for the rest of the day Down the damp quenching rolled The billows unloading from high above Which farmers were gladdened to see arrive Their worried brows begat more calming beams Fields lush in verdant vibrant green beams The wetting so joyous of a happy festival Dutiful was the timely drink's arrive A difference made within a single day Welcome were the heavy showers gifted above Pasture lands looking minted and gold rolled The reverse clime's dices had been rolled Water storages filled with streaming beams Such a gracious endowment up above Unto landholders giving a grand festival Altering the complexion of the day Providence surrendered on needed arrive A goodly amount of thirst saving did arrive On the dark masses prospect being rolled There was an improved outlook to the day Ever men of acreage seek hopeful beams So they can enjoy a precipitation festival Wishing upon the receipt in clouds above In their thoughts what is happening above When will the heaven's bestowments arrive Always championing the dowsing's festival Then for them soils ideally bank rolled On conditions being sated so nicely of beams Will the soaking occur on this day Festival glee awaited in the atmosphere above Day did dawn with a dazzling sun's arrive Rolled by the promise of eve's drenching beams
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39
Isis knows the finger going down her bony spine slowly, belongs to (without doubt) her girlfriend young Jodie. The finger moves between the valley of her *** circling the soft fuzz, hovering just above, predator of deep love, moistening the fruit cup, wet mouthing the dark dugs, tongue licking the milk mounds, ear to breast hearing soft the beat thump of her heart as her thighs spread wide like the Red Sea, and the hushed voice and sigh like buzzing of the wild honey bee.
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Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
****** SYMPHONY.
Sticky sheets gooey in between. Shivering through shouts, nights last loud. tickling me with your eyes, hands moistening thighs, pale gasps, crinkled crys, and waves that rolled then calmed us close, too close. Naked, nestled real in silver hands. Sweaty smooth, and gritty sand. Fresh faces hot against backs and kissing to find pillow lips plump and flowing with neon lights, crakling life. sweet, following sleep to the rocks of electicity, creating soothing simplicity in me.
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Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 1:18 AM UTC
Before we dream
Feeling you oh my world unjust from matter grey growing old. intellect chaotic in cruelty killed mercies all dead in hearts chilled for morsels of humanity,ravenous. with tidbits of graces small ecstatic. despaired for a dreamy mirage afar in flaming greed's do I slowly char. smoky guns rattle dealing out ****** whining chainsaws balding green all very wombs earthy tremble with nukes elements all so impure,one just pukes  men in name only **** with rebukes.     all of us many brutalize one world just! flowing from nooks of a spirit noble my tears, moistening heart,well in eyes unseeing and drop silently on earth ******
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Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
Tears flow from a noble place.