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Leonard Green Feb 2017
Prolog:
Foreplay opens with an aphrodisiac dubbed the mind
caressing private chambers with passion, over time
words stimulating nerve-endings for the ideal tease
like the skin dripping of honey from the nectar of bees
exploiting the fragrances of scented oils and balms
or maybe vib’ing lyrics inducing a seductive calm
compelling forces bombard the intellectual’s sanity
as the proximity of the blackhole distorts humanity

Love’s Play:
Costars entwine heated bodies for love’s embrace
as moments become endless as vectors of subspace
sporadic movements take the form of blissful spasms
while the players combine to mold a single plasm
ringing chimes fulfill the awareness with sensations
too diverse to classify for logical deliberations
yet finally, the mountaintop of cliffs can be reached
where there is no retreat and no return from its breach

Epilog:
Aftermath closes basking from the physical exertion
as two kindred spirits epitomize timeless insertion
gazing deeply into the abyss of the partner’s soul
only to find comfort and compassion ruling the role
can this be the earthly heaven that one truly beholds
written in the historic words as the heavens foretold
feelings ignite once again burning deeply within
opening yet another intriguing act, one must attend.
Dedicated to the lovers on Valentine's Day
Dorian Feb 2018
In the silence I fool myself
hearing a call from space.
Laying in pools of dark
shadows, I pray for
another awakening.
--
With hard dirt beneath me,
I find myself sleeping.
---
Plasmatic ribbons of scarlet
raining soft around my body
as I lay hear in the circle of
this warm and dim light.

I can feel the weight lifting,
Oh, my body is ascending.
This is the beginning of
a long awaited night,
---
The words you speak come slowly.
You whisper how you wish to know me
in the quietest ways:
body and mind

I feel as though I've missed you
in the deepest parts of me
my whole life.

Will you take me with you?
Take me back to your home.
From up here where I've come from
seems so dark and cold.

If you leave me behind,
I won't make it on my own.
I cannot return.
I can't stand to be alone.
---
The scene you set permits
the acquittal of my submission.
Myself: flawed, and sight: fogged,
in overwhelming passion for...
...you...
...tap into me as I'd tap a tree
to leak the sap. The steady
bleeding comes in rich amber beads.

Liquid metal in my veins
serve as a token for your mission.
The time it takes to drain me
tapers in a mysterious fashion.
---
All I've been and all I'll be
was left with you when you left me.
I'm grounded with the weight on top of me.
---
In the quiet, I'm woken by
the snap of a twig.
Eyelids part, only the
canopy above me.

A sea of forest green
illuminated by stars.
I know where I am,
but not where you are.
Renaldo Negron Jul 2013
Thanks to the god that left her
The beast within
Bound here to the altar standing
Peace within
The Card is Tranquility, Balance and Stillness
Legs spread like pillars of Heaven, exquisite
Arms raised like holders of torches extended
She is calm now, has the moon light upon her
Let us begin

I call her Selene. I call her Luna
Lips touch her chin
I see her haloed in symmetry perfect
Lash touch her skin
I see her robes whipping quickly all from her
I sense her skin calling hungry for knowledge
I feel her pull now with famished excitement
Give to the lash what the lash wants to take I am
Eater of sin

Holy is the energy, Holy the night
The sphere of perfection, the urge to bite
Pierce it with thumbs, pierce and produce
From the fruit of the pomegranate, pomegranate juice

Here in the hell we have set her
Secrets unsealed
Rage of our bodies have met her
She is revealed
Mouth now to mouth is an unending chasm
Fire in the blood and the milk and the plasm
Sensations meted in rictus and in spasm
The heart of the beast is the heart of ******
What was within
Released again
I am eater of sin
Eater of sin.
David Bojay Apr 2014
destiny has betrayed my hopes
im not sure to let things go
or to hold them tightly
is it always my fate to feel lonely?
i seek no guidance in whats meant to be
i listen to new beginnings knowing struggle is upon my next footsteps
the plasm of existence is on my shoulders
the creation of walking through rocky roads,
is the struggle to see the light
when i come home promise me
supper will be on the table, and unspoken prayers are shouted to the hands of God and seen in mysterious ways along the way
im no good at coming up with titles
Dante Leto Nov 2019
The quiet whispers taunt me.
In the night beneath the umbral waves
The humble haze still haunts me.
Through daunting ways these gauntly wraiths
Yet flaunt the ways they wont me
To nightly pangs of hunger,
Reins, and tormenting unending.
Belike the blaze of spectral flames
Will burn my soul as kindling
Til naught remains but rotted frames;
To this my will is dwindling.

The ghastly echoes call me.
From my slumber come the rumbling of
A hunger that befalls me.
Amidst the stomach grumbling come the
Numbing screams, appalling
Dreams, they seem to plead with me,
Indeed, beseech me, drawling
In tongues unknown to me. Their bleat
Is strangely so familiar.
But one would tone above the rest
That said: "Behold! A killer!"

Aloud phantasms sing
Their eerie verses full of curses.
Terse, yet maddening.
Severe at first, yes, but the worst,
Perverse, the last conceived
Verse that's heard as they rehearse
Coerce a lasting bleed
From eyes and ears and nose. Behold
Those bursts of plasm brings
The fiends that thirst as they traverse
Headfirst through fathomed greed.

My bonds begin to break.
As all these raunchy melodies
Beset me, here I shake.
Conniptions, fits, and predilection
Of sadistic traits.
No longer can they be restrained,
The bloodlust must be slaked.
Among the graves of wanton slaves
Where staunch stench radiates
I wake to see nightmarish scenes
So garishly ornate.

Hailed by an astral choir.
Their incantations of damnation
Hasten my desire
To sever, ****, obliterate,
And purge through blood and fire
The filth, the waste, that permeates
This place that earns my ire.
A desecrated wretch, her fated
Death be made entire.
Raze her face with razor blades,
Exsaguinate the liar.

The blood moon's macabre glow
Bids me to forbidden deeds
And beckons me below.
A severed head and crimson red
Flora form a show
With shredded flesh. Lecherousness
This foetid mess invokes.
I taste the blood...Oh, what a rush!
By lust I feel possessed!
The litanies have conjured me
To binge on blood and death.
On Ethiopian Good Friday
A rainbow on Ethiopia's sky
Its flag hovered high
Why?
Doubt have not I
As told to Noah
It is God's sign of mercy
"Gramercy! "
We owe the Omnipresent
Gramercy.

Come what may
(Corona or a lockdown)
Round the clock
God the Almighty
Is Ethiopia's prayer
And its orthodox
Faithful's talk.  (plasm 68, 31)

Press ahead
We need
Our talk to walk
Praising and praying
In every abode
True
"Ethiopia raises its hands
To God! "
////
After observing such an event; check  
https://www.tobiatube247.com/watch.php?vid=8b395d40f
From going out
I have to refrain
Terrified by the passing by
Corona thunder and
Pandemic rain,
Oddly defying science,
A chimera,
Looming large
Again and again.

I have begun
To pine
For old me
Freely out to
The neighborhood
And street
Somebody to meet
Somebody to greet.

After  Covid-19's
Shock treatment,
My reservation
I admit
In being picky
When choosing people
I used to meet.

"Love your friend
As yourself
As God said
It has dawned on me
In humanity's treasure trove
Should  come peoples' love
Of course all things atop
Must be placed
In-God-vested hope.(Mark 12: 30-31)


My behavior spiraling
Out of control
A feeble and complacent
Human being
I stretched my imagination
As if God
Has secondary or no role.
As such,
Earthly pursuit
Was my goal.
Now, as King David said, (plasm 122:1)
I reflect
Going to church,
Uplifting soul, allows
With God keeping
In touch.
It has also sank in
Brushing shoulders
With collogues
Was enthusing
Aloof, on my chair
Before I perch,
At times to do
Reading research.

I realized the money
I used to stash away
To make hay,
While others were starving
And when I could become
People hungry
Had no meaning.

I want to see
The broadmass
No more afraid
Out, on their table
To put bread!

I pined my liberty of
To and fro
Breathing oxygen free
Before the
Corona lockdown decree.

I want to project
My true face
Forced not on
My lovely face
A mask to place.

With a square shoulder
I want to walk
No more ringing
In my ear
The pandemic talk.
I want to rove the land
And fly on the sky
To feast my eyes
On touristic spots
Or goods to buy,
May God allow me
Such things again
Before I die!
I  also pine to see
The day
Undertakers are
No longer in a hurry
Fellow citizens
To bury.

I pray for
God's Mercy
Gramercy!

But now  
Keeping social distance
Washings hands with soap
Putting on face mask
And sanitizing is
What I advance.
True to Jesus's parable if a Shepard who had 100 sheep missed one, he will worry more about the one he lost. I missed people--friends, neighbors ,colleagues and fellow citizens
****** morgue fridges that kept corpses cold brought attention to
the troubling concerns 'tween Mongol cadavers unbought & unsold
to be flayed for exposition in: In China You Do What You Are Told
A red-haired foster boy asks, “******, phony-fake Daddy, is 'Blood
Spewing from my Throat' a love song or what?” 9 months later dad
answers, “Yes, it is a song to determine whether you make the cut.”
I like being ***-******* in Houston with the cellar door bolted shut
'cause it makes me feel something inside like a pure-breed in a mutt
or like 1 of Robert Joseph White's headless monkeys clapping a nut
against the dull cavities entombed in the petrified body of King Tut
Don't get thorn-pricked by roses when they're prickly because queer
Peter O'Toole was surrounded by sickly ghouls & cremated quickly
& handed a pass so you wouldn't chew out his gay *** in Sewickley
Your dementia praecox psychosis made my *** rotate with emotion
while my prong horn alarmingly stiffened with bed-ridden devotion
the queen's counsel addressed Prince Andrew's gaseous commotion
My loose, slimmer turds are shaped like listed federally-endangered
bald eagle birds, not Iraqi Kurds because they are alien Americanos
floatin' on plasm in the deep-seated blue sea where green meets ***
In 1995 I was given a pass, for it you don't have to chew out my ***
that'd bounded beyond the musical range of ham-***** Mama Cass
whose lousy death made another ****-tall **** gynecologically pass
by deck-swabbbers & cranberry-boggers whose prance invokes sass

— The End —