"pelvis" poems
forgive me my darling
hollow beauty
but seeing you so gaunt
with
sunken dark eyes
and skin like gray soap
makes me feel
your easily breakable
already so close to death
my **** could crack your pelvis
and bird delicate ribs
inspired skeleton dancing
your body exclaims to all
a sensual exhibition
of slow suicide
my bloodless blossom
brave breatharian
your favorite math
subtraction
by multiplied
delicious starvations
you may need a strong man
deaths final instrument
who will love you
with tender crushes
darkly ******
come naked
spread wide my lovely grotesque
nestle in my arms
coffins embrace
to be bruised
while tremulously kissed
i will turn you to crumbles and powder
to finish sweetly
what you have started so long ago
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
I could have gone to the cemetery,
or back to my high school lab,
find him lecturing from a podium,
bony finger raised,
demagogue of the dead.
I could break him down piece by piece,
cram him in a duffle,
a femur jutting the zipper.
Ignore the groan-
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Instead I found myself
in the carnival lot,
The dog was long dead,
the sign kept guard.
Rusty rides slouched like tumbleweeds.
Cotton candy in memory-
blue tack crunching my teeth.
Lewd.
Skeletons fixed on poles,
spiked up through pelvis and spine.
Use ****
Grip shoulders. twist. lift.
When one slid free,
he collapsed into my arms
all bone-light, lovely,
mine at last.
I just brought him home.
Sat at the kitchen table.
Named him Curly.
Zoom howled: WAG’s gone weird!
What’s his name? What’s his name?
His name is Curly,
I said, but I knew
his name was You.
We drink wine by the pool.
He never sips.
Sometimes I pour a second glass for the glint.
Sometimes he tells me Danny Elfman
wants to play his ribs like a xylophone.
Sometimes he sighs,
he hates Oingo Boingo.
I laugh. Obliging.
So do I.
When the wind kicks up
he smells of sugar and rust.
Sometimes he rattles the glassware.
Sometimes he won’t sit still.
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 12:11 PM UTC
1
The other day I saw a picture of you.
Shirt buttoned up to your throat,
Pants cutting off the blood circulation in your pelvis,
Shoes shining brighter than the north star,
And a smile being pulled across your cheeks
Like an archer pulling a bow string.
I smiled back at my computer screen.
2
I’ve listened to this album at least 30 times.
I own three versions of it.
UK deluxe, US deluxe, Target Deluxe.
Everything about you is deluxe.
Your eyes, your voice, your breath
As it passes through the microphone and into my ears.
3
I believe in fate
But not so much in destiny.
I don’t scream at my reflection anymore
And I’m described as independent.
For the most part.
I’m a pretty trustworthy person
And I promise I’m not that desperate.
4
The music ripples through my veins
As I whip my curls at the mirror.
The hairbrush pressed against my mouth
And I repeat the lyrics that roll past your lips so smoothly.
5
I can almost feel your arms
Wrap around my waist before I go to sleep.
I had a dream
You and I were together
And you were happy
And I was happy
And everyone was happy.
But I know if my dream became reality
No one would be happy.
Jealousy would taint the spit on other girls’ tongues
And the distance between
New Jersey and Australia is too much.
Even for me.
5
I can almost feel your arms
Wrap around my waist before I got to sleep.
5
I can almost feel you.
5
We have the same eye color.
6
We have the same hair color.
7
I am just an insecure girl.
You are taking over the world.
You are stepping in the soil of every state.
And you won’t look at me
Longer for three seconds in the New York City heat.
8
I never thought I would be one of those girls.
One of those girls
Who latch onto a boy’s identity,
Not knowing his soul
But knowing his spirit.
I’ve seen you three times.
You don’t even realize.
I try too hard and I’m convinced you notice this.
9
You are nine months older than me.
In your eyes I am just a baby.
My cocoon of pictures of you is the womb
I am being baked in.
You won’t follow me back on twitter.
10
You are just my celebrity crush
But you have such an impact on me.
Go back home.
Let me rest.
Go back to bed.
I’ll have that dream again
And I won’t speak of it
And no one has to know of this
Pathetic excuse for love I carry in me like a dead fetus.
10
You are just my celebrity crush.
It was never supposed to go this far.
10
You are just my celebrity crush.
10
You can never love me
The same way I love you.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
At the edge of the Waterfall
My motor gone the boat drifted faster and faster.
At the edge of the waterfall as I approached the falls
helpless hopeless I thought of my life subsiding
to words and no friend message or hopes to send my life
summed to press me quickly but no time for tears in my eye
I am afraid for soon I may die.
But what the hell I lived a good life everything
I wanted with very little strife.
What may lie at the bottom of the falls as I drift closer to the edge.
The tension grows it may all soon an I suppose
I think back to a time when everything was so sublime
and peaceful and free.
I know its time so please lord take me
I will be pleased to meet you and gaze upon
your face I will know that I with your heavenly grace.
So over the edge I fall and fall and fall.
I thank you lord it is over That's all.
So the paramedic says you're lucky to be alive so somethings
glimmers inside my head with St Peter Jesus and God
I'd be better off dead.
For I have a broken pelvis and life will be full of pain.
So St Peter Jesus and God do look fine.
Check with me at a later date, some other time.
https://vimeo.com/27129652
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
Deeper than the captivating shape it has,
Lies a greater purpose it stands for.
So vast and strong,
It rotates laterally
and extends at your will.
It stands strong, defying gravity
cushioning you for your comfort
and holding your pelvis still.
So appreciate it for more than it's curves;
stand tall and thank your behind
when you bend.
For it is greater than
it seems.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 6:25 AM UTC
Etched in a lilies bloom
Tastes of him were born;
Beneath an attic sky, a sleeping heart, listens to his tune,
Her hands, small cathedrals, catching the heat of his dark...
Summer, shimmered beneath a midnight sun;
Flooding moments,
Feeding his mind through her tongue,
A vibration, milky blue ....notes rubbing softly upon her skin,
Oh! how her pores sung his finger tipped tender.....
A half light of fingers, stroked memories through shadows,
A skin of kisses, shivering on starry pillows, fusing the jet velvet;
Gauze, skimmed a ghost, un-woken between light and body;
As the flute of larynx, unhooked, softly in shadows of reflection,
Spilling amber
Upon a necklace of optimism...too delicate to wear.....
His heart, cradled the curl that fell across her face,
It danced in his fingertips,
Endless ribbons of tender Love, dripped from veins upon
Her skinny jeans,
Scarlet stained
Ripped...
He whispered "baby", and rocked her with his hips;
The ache in her thighs missed him,
The sweetness of him;
Breathing silence, upon her pelvis,
A cat's cradle; scented with orchids;
Upon a canvas of aching skin...
Ravaging, raking needs, spoke tongue's
In the drape down taste of heartbeats,
Arousing the fire of Summer's gentle slope;
The spiral of her heart, cornered, wild;
A quiet suffering, soothing her breast,
In a moonlight of dark songs...
Heartbeats, she thought,
Are but night whispers..... fading in and out of time,
Lingering on the edge of now, to
Fall softly, into a misty world of someday;
Somewhere, in the stillness, his voice whispers her heart,
Beyond forever, washing wishes in the sea........
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
I feel lost at times,
Like I'm losing my mind
Everybody else letting loose,
**** dropping, pill popping
'Booty' on pelvis grinds
Joint sharing, sniffing ******* lines
Unemployed but still no one has time
Everyone is commited,
But nobody knows why.
I feel lost because
The education system taught us
Mathematics, English
And a bunch of other stuff
But not how to apply for a job
Behave in an interview or
Maintain and mindset
That actually gives a ****
How our voting system works,
Whether we elect our leaders
Or if the system is really corrupt
So was it enough?
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
When you touch me I am immediately turned on.
Your hands are always warm
and your skin is soft.
I love when we are about to stop kissing
the last few kisses grow
slower
and longer.
When you press your pelvis against mine I can't help but think
about how wonderful it's going to be to make love to you
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
“What if God was a woman?” Asked Lois undeterred.
Well well well, if God was a woman — she continued —
Perhaps agnostics and atheists, wouldn’t say no with our heads
but we'd say yes with our guts.
Perhaps we would approach to her divine ******
to kiss her feet not of bronze, her pelvis not of stone,
her ******* not of marble, her lips not of gold.
If God was a woman, we would embrace her to steal her from her horizon
and you wouldn’t have to swear “till death do us part”
because it would be already inmortal by antonomasia,
and instead of give you AIDS or panic,
contagious her everlasting life would be.
If God was a woman, she wouldn’t lie far away in the kingdom of heavens,
but she’d live in the vestibule of hell waiting for us,
with her arms not closed, her rose not of plastic, her love not of saints.
My God, my God… — if for ever and from ever you were a woman —
how beautiful scandal it would be, what a fortunate, splendid, impossible,
prodigious blasphemy.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
Your body
All angles and edges in place of curves
Your neck
Cinnamon, turmeric and salt
Your skin
Wheat-dark like pages of a well-worn book
Your atlas back
Arched like a cello’s waist
Your elegant fingers
Graze the ivory shell of my ear
Your hollow collarbone
Perched like a sycamore branch
Crawling its way up
My pelvis
My sternum
My throat
Until finally hanahaki springs forth
From my welcoming lips.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 9:20 AM UTC
Oo, have I got a song for you. While you whittle away time learning to play instruments I've run the gun and figured how to inject my spirit in it. Has it been for you as easy to forget as it has been for me to leave the love where it belongs and move on with healthy hope, pelvis at the rope, grinding life into a pulp with each push and pull. The cold in memory for you serves as my instigation to remember you for warmth.
Life is just kitchen like it was before
Conversation runneth over,
Our glasses overfull with celebration
Why don't you come to my door?
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
Born heavy as adorned many: objectivity lifts ready existance carried more steady with the fist than a switchblade as to fist crave: yall just manisfest id shame when you spit back like all my family here to spit crack bone in been gripped back when at grown taught to **** Macks;
I'm the R to the Mack Marck M heavy to my fam born carried since Nas dropped the bomb that Eminem levied in so to spit back, like ghost spittin the **** shittin at all emcees here to spit back:
only time you'd get a note outta me relative is when i'm posing for death: like tupac menacing his pelvis still for the ****** levy in neglection in pics wack;
i spit bone quick when it comes to being notorious in a jacuzzi playing sega and super nintendo **** be in disrespect to ever understand that i don't spit thick back.
i flow sick that before i flow spit that between to post ****
I pose **** to even to boast fits forgotten what the Ohmegaus finds the rest as undereducated life in being in the sun.
Ghost spittin future written past to see all the conjugatives relative like ****** games on the run:
games on the fun like extension big sides as big sizes like chasing dreams again straight to the the sun is what we've become.
unfinished...
this ain't motherfucken games, and you know id through wish-epic
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC
Nudge a numb cockroach and he'll love you for life
just ***** little lemonheads
can't actually survive a nuclear explosion
but can cause catastrophic evolutionary queries
like "Why do the good die young?"
Can you believe
that long ago only the bad died elderly
and were witches with elixirs
potions and spells to make God blush and his **** turn to mush
so powerful
they made people go crazy with
judgement and micromanaging
but I'm the real witch
right-o I ride broomsticks and eat toads for snacks
my back is a lump of coal from the Devil's morning hookah
smoke billows from my ears
cockroaches my best friends
we cut off our heads and run into fridges
my pelvis is frigid except
for those **** roaches.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 6:43 PM UTC
Sweetheart, come to bed.
the demons that you hoard are bending the curves of your spin;
I can see them pulling at every muscle tucked beneath your skin.
You pop and you crack and it vibrates against the walls.
I shutter at the sound
the sickening, awful sound.
Sometimes I wonder if you believe in the miracles
that fall between my pelvis,
or the heavy breath I breathe between parted lips.
Are my bones strong enough to save you?
Sweetheart, come to bed.
Your cautious footsteps are creeping back and forth,
up and down,
heavy footed across the ragged carpet.
I hear them every night aching so unholy,
from underneath my bed sheets.
You swear you're next to me asleep.
I hear them though you swear you've been asleep.
Most times I want to believe in the miracles,
I have promised you between night and day
and the soft lipstick stains I've left lingering lightly on every inch of skin
you've left so vulnerable to my kiss.
I wonder if its saving that you need.
Sweetheart, come to bed.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
Women are so beautiful
take a woman down to her skin
and you can trace the lines of her back
like tracing the curves of silken cloth
every dimple
every curve
the crease of the neck
the elegance of the shoulder blades
the rolling divot of the spinal cord
the curve of her sides
the dimples at the bottom of her spine
her hips
that dint that curves around to her inner thighs
her thighs
her knees
her ankles
the feeling of pressing your naked body up to her naked body
your hands on her hips
your palms in her dimples
your chest on her back
chin in her collar
fingers in her pelvic crease
your lips on her neck
her **** fit into your pelvis
your tongue at her jaw line
hands in between her thighs
teeth pulling at her earlobe
fingers on her ****
her *** on your fingers
your leg wrapped around hers
your hand tracing her outline
like rolling hills
soft
and smooth
she's so beautiful
and it's all so perfect
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
The ache,
The zing through the pelvis
Trapped in an evergreen
Transcending into the pillow
Light is Black
Black is light
The brain has slithered from the skull
Out the ear, leaving a wet trail
The bliss
The suspended body transfixed on the ceiling
Eyes small like buttholes
Writhing in angst
Rolling in filth
Buzzing in a field
The ********
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
the body falls soft
curves collapsing on the edge of
bedspread tangled in cliched prison
escape ropes
tied loose like old tendon,
we are all but used.
I feel the force of Fibonacci
spiraling between ribs
and pelvis, golden ratios
divining skin,
1 to 1.616
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
I want to ****** you with my blue eyes
take you in for a little while
then walk away into another room
then come back and take you in a little while longer
until you come over and speak to me
then I want to listen to your every word
nod, smile, laugh, touch your arm
touch your thigh
look into your eyes
telling you
I want to kiss you
secretly in some kind of visual code,
that I want to lick your neck a little bit
and nibble on your ear
make you go crazy
make you tingle and pull away from
feeling too overwhelmed
then coming back to receive more,
and after that happens,
I want to crawl my fingers up your shirt
feel your warm stomach skin
ribs
chest
shoulders
pulling it over your head and throwing it on the floor
caressing your torso
hand prints against your back
pulling you closer toward me
pressing my pelvis up against yours
taking initiative
on my tippytoes
letting you take initiative
bending your back to my height
and it’s all muscle memory from there on;
breaking away from your lips and pressing my own
up against your collar bone
your shoulders
your chest
your treasure trail
your hip bones
undoing your belt
taking quite some time at this task because I find that
every man’s belt is very confusing to undo -
finally, success
pulling it through the belt loops
popping the button out of the hole
unzipping the zipper
clasping onto each side and pulling down
pushing down
they’re around your ankles and you step out
and then you’re in your briefs
just your briefs
all else is skin and devilish looks
then, pushing me onto the bed
on top of me with a hard on pressing up against
the space between my open legs
that wrap around your hips
kissing my neck
biting my neck
licking my neck
my earlobes
my shoulders
my collar bone
tongue swirls around the aroused tips of my chest
arousing me more
wanting me more
wanting you more
then you’ll take off my underwear and I’ll be fully naked
for you
on this bed that I want to **** you on
biting my lip
leaning forward to pull down your briefs
and you are fully naked
for me
you pop out freely
hard
stiff
pink
eager
your two fingers linger low and decide I am ready
in goes the stiff
out goes a moan
out pulls the stiff
in it goes again
I cannot describe what it is like
when you look me in the eyes when we make love
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 9:49 AM UTC
Lamenting lost love
hidden behind harmonies,
(synonymous to symphony)
resonates absently.
Like making love
to a stranger.
Like you make love
to me.
Void of all passion,
like revenge of apathy.
Apathetic entirely,
the emptiness that fuels you
emphasizes decrees.
Standard-less standards
validate your need
to dismantle the mantled,
and devour the diseased,
to command and to seize,
to exploit the exploited,
and explore every scene—
every pelvis, and every scream.
How did I fall for such a—
loveless being?
Better yet,
How do I disintegrate re-memories,
Or abolish aplitic fallacies,
and survive soullessly?
(How must I do these things!?)
Here I plead
surrounded, unattentively,
summoning recognition
for the being
whom resides in me.
Resurrecting old wounds,
(chore almost seems daily)
almost seems like it’s alive,
like maybe one day
it might save me.
More likely, one day
it will concave me.
But without knowledge
there is no upset.
And no upset means
no you and me.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
I am the cushion that life first rests in,
The crib meticulously created layer by layer,
The soft bed of flowers, glistening like blood,
The protector of all beings, the seat of care
My love is fuelled by the silver calmness
I gently extract from the first lunar night,
When the moon emerges from its dark sabbatical,
Armed with tales it gathered from the other side
Each day, its luminosity deepens, its stories
Turn more vivid, more wrenching, more morose,
I soak it all in- the pain, the suffering, the injustice,
And colour myself, in the darkest shade of rose
My red is no ordinary red, it is the
Culmination of every sister's deep cry,
It is the crimson of anger that can only be felt,
By the cradle entrusted with preservation of life
I am full and brimming, with pangs too strong
And hues of vermilion too dark to contain,
I rock back and forth, my cot full of stories,
Twisting, flailing and writhing in pain
And then I burst out and let freely flow,
The dam I created with laments of loss and love
Painted with conversations lasting until twilight,
With my cratered friend in the skies above
Petal by petal, as I lose my form and disintegrate,
She is connected to each woman's cry that I assimilate,
Flexed at the pelvis, helpless yet so strong, she listens,
And understands the lore I sing about, every twenty-eighth.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
.the rorschach test... and the gestalt theory... and taking a selfie... esp. if one does so using two mirrors - to achieve the profile: side "invitation"... or rather... i'm not minding the chronology... the imploded darkness... what is Gestalt to Rorschach? x-ray minus vision? the psychology of bones... or... what is gestalt and rorschach within the confines of physiognomy? ink-blot: either a butterfly or a pelvis!
to take a selfie, proper -
i always require to use two mirrors -
to take a selfie i need to bend
light - or at least my eyesight...
i need to use two mirror:
to take a selfie...
because... i know what it feels
like to have your picture taken:
by a "third" person -
and i want to remember how good
it feels like...
when someone takes a photograph
of you: with you being caught:
unsuspecting...
a picture taken when: you're not
in a group and about to say:
charlie loves wensleydale!
no... i need two mirrors to take a selfie -
and it's always... a profile picture...
the gestalt pause -
two faces meeting or a lamp-shade?
profile: on the side.
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 6:42 PM UTC
I feel as though I’ve been entirely flushed out. It’s like my whole body has been turned inside out, rung out like an old cloth and my internal organs have set flight. At this time, they no longer belong to me nor do they reside in their original places. I've cookie-cut like pieces inside me now; empty. I’m walking round with hallow spaces where things should be inside my chest, my torso, and my pelvis. I’m told time is short on how long the body can survive without these crucial organs, but I’m hoping I’ll have enough time to sow up all my flaws and stich myself back into something worth being. Maybe, second time round, I can rebuild myself without all the things you hate so bad.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 2:20 AM UTC
cervical cancer
ovarian cyst
open your mouth
here's my fist
stomach ulcer
an inflammation disease
got pneumonia
from just a sneeze
inflamed pelvis
stomach cancer
shut the **** up
you don't know the answer
heart attack
blood clots
watch me as
my insides rot
my brain thinks
I've had every disease
but its funny
i've never had any of these
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 7:02 PM UTC
You're so dangerous with your profane paraphernalia
Your pelvis postures pandering favor
The line of your stomach embossed by the fire is like a pasture for me
So paranoid with your pacifistic lust
As you proceed to please me with your posture so slightly
And I attempt to pursue oh so politely
You make me perk up like a peacock just with one peak
You're aware of every petty palpitation you can feel just under my sleeve
You play me like a piano, so plush with your lust politics
Pandering for a pardon of my ***** talk poignancy
I part you like Pluto from your orbits serene hum
I'll pleasure you, pleasure you until you're purple like a plum
A pastimes poetises to be written with pleasing lead
You plan every move like a predator in my bed
You're polarizing, plump, and pampered like a pageant doll
Pilfering every plausible pause with a pose of voice, your moan
Seizing the post with your post - modern pompous pouncing
Prompted like Pisces to postulate your prognosis
Lifting your posterior like the pun of a phaliccy
Pillaging me like a pandemic, a plague
Something to be paraded by paganistic plauds
Your pale skin is like playwear for sins
You're pinning me plastered with the play of your grin
Such a pretty motion picture to paint in the prison of your promise
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
Heaven whispered your name,
Lavender silk
Smooth upon lips,
****** to the flavour of destiny.......
Your tongue passed through mirages,
Tasting the warmth of my soul, like
Unexpected breaths washing upon
The shores of thirst;
Your white smile irising the sky...
I held my breath
...for, I needed to relish yours
Deeper than my sighs,
Into the depths of ache;
The pause in my heartbeat, lay tenderly
Balanced on the edge of your soul...
I dreamed the night's mist,
An omen of silken-soft, upon velvet petals,
An immaculate flower,
Conceived in the poetry of this delicate awakening;
The sweet intimacy
Pressed into the dark of my heart...
Your voice, became the
Hands that stripped me bare,
Wrapping around my essence like a myriad of
Forbidden elixir's, from fountains beyond the
Flinch of fingertips that
Traced the pulse of my thighs...
And your lips fell upon my body
In creases...
...those secret places...where
You arced the light of me,
A coruscation of eyes, beyond burn,
Changing darkness to blossom incandescence...
My pelvis, captured moistened moments
Quivering
Beneath the power of your descent;
Where I held you hostage
Upon this pillow of my heartbeat,
Levitated in the hush of your breath...
You painted me beautiful, in moonlight
With the brush of your lips, and
I needed you,
Needed you...
Alas...only the
Soft of shadows remain,
To light disrobed hours, where
Perfumed winds whisper
Precious echoes of your words;
Tracing the patient hues of roses, that will always dream
To sway in the twilight of your arms........
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC