"pheromonic" poems
Your lips,
Soft and pale… red and flat,
I lick to moisten them,
They taste like raw flesh,
Of course, they are raw flesh,
And they trace paths to more raw flesh,
Pale, freckled peaks and valleys,
Fragrant, tangy… Pheromonic folds,
Fuzzy and warm,
Fingertips tickle to smooth,
I flick to moisten, Then moan to you,
And whisper to your neck,
Soft and scented,
You open with love.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
i read poetry in the morning
with chai, stains awoken
and i’d like to believe
i can remember at least one hundredth
of the photomemoirs i’ll make
walking home from science class today;
because that walk is all my heart sees
and my brain knows not
to see things how i would write them -
.
then i noted the monarch butterflies
dancing to the tunes of their
pheromonic wingharp love unknown,
swiftly along colorful breezes;
when i walked home,
and then i felt this strange feeling -
there is too, a beauty in being alone
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:52 PM UTC