A Compilation Of Romantical Tidbits
From The Tomes Of Marcus


Perhaps somewhere along time's vista
as I stroll down the lane
twixt the cherry blossom snow
and the baby blue blanket of sky,
a crystal miracle
will flutter down
on the fragranted breeze
to alight on my honored shoulder,
blow a kiss in my ear
and say “today is your day,
what do you wish?
I shall grant reality
to whatever desire is most special.”
there would be sining,
elven voices mingling in the air.
there would be dancing,
a wild run midst the night skies.
I would pluck stars from their heavenly roosts
and place them like flowers in hair
to wink at me from inside your sparkle,
try vainly to outshine you
and finally bow to the Queen of their own.


memories
and memorabilia
substitute for your presence
as mementos embrace me
with their hint of your essence.
they fill me with silly fanciful notions
of lazy afternoons
and the coursing of unbridled passion
almost furious in its urgency
promising ecstasy and rhapsody
and calm in its permanency
whispering this is rapture and sincerity.


I see images of a rose,
love on the vine.

an erstwhile poet
dancing in his orbit
around the center of his universe --
you, the inspiration for each verse.

want to dive into your ocean
and ride the waves of emotion.
there's no worry I'll drown
for weightless is love's crown.

I yearn for the touch of your words
to fall like silken snowflakes about my head,
burst into flames once heard
and set my paper soul burnng in their stead.

there's so much to share:
a sweet kiss;
a gentle caress.
flattery may get you everywhere.


they say sweets that pass the lips
stay forever on the hips.
so sweetness gathered from twixt the hips
should spend eternity on the lips.
the nectar makes me giddy
like honeymoon champagne
and forever intoxicates me --
love's fine wine thrills my brain.


LOVE is a big word
woven from a million smaller 'luvs'.
I luv being with you,
it adds dimensions to my personality
and makes ego insignificant.
I luv the way you smile,
how your eyes reflect the joy of the soul
and the soft glow you radiate
flares brighter.
I luv the rush of color
it brings your gently drawn cheeks.
and I luv your lilting laugh,
a simple sound that melts me
and absorbs me into its echo.
when you wish to laugh
laugh with me,
it moves me along
in a soothing warm cascade.
when you want to smile
smile on me,
it removes obstacles
and lights my way.
when you need to cry
cry into me,
I'll soak up your tears
and return truth,
fantasy
and support.

listen to me.
I sound just like
some foolish romantic,
young and in love.
guess I am
from time to time.
wish I could be that way
every second, every day.

To the warmth of life
And passing through with grace
Of a woman in hand under veil,
Lavished in her unconquered beauty,
Enamored with her saving grace
Amid the elation of first kiss,
Under the spell of first eternity.

And through the veils of silence
When the swarm of sounds of
Making love have devoured the hours
And he stares into fertile eyes,
The truth of his belief in them,
And the prelude to forever's nest,
The dove returns upon white unifications.

But soon the dove will deny the embrace,
And the cold lonesome dove
Will be forgotten in the skies blue,
The touch of ****** prowess ,
The soft moist of lips that convened
A destiny of adornment with kisses
So deep and meaningful that it vibrates
Through times like a phantom flame
From forever's fire,
The bitter flight of the dove with passion
To ravage her body,
Upon the return open does the veil.

Before passion abandons,
Let them return home to nest
The kisses from that eternal night,
That journey for the taste your
Of your sanguinary fruit
Provoking the eternal flight.

Before her lips close at the dove's
Return, lift the veil of forever
On the romantical threshold,
The death and purity,
The light and the venom,
What white veils may hide.

Morning, I have broke
With thorn covered glass
Her petals, they spoke
A romantical farce

Like kiss me I'm beautiful
In a sentence the first,
The second her petals
Hydrated my thirst

And pressure was made
I wrote down the results
When it should've been roses
We must both be adults

There's no time to be beautiful
No reasons we kissed
Once time was a picture
We drew on our wrist

A villain from our favourite film
We joked about his presence
Now he sits behind our back
Breathe deep and of the essence

With our veins on the wall
To keep them in order
To help us keep track
Of our son and our daughter

Who'll repeat our mistakes
Face down in the river
One day to emerge
With a smiling, spoiled liver

I can fall in love with your words,
Without ever meeting the person behind them.
I could be infatuated by what you have to say,
Without ever hearing a moments speech from your lips,
Feel touched without the need for physical embrace,
Because every emotion shared is a kind of kiss.

It's certainly not romantical (although it offers no barriers to such),
No, this is something far more real,
Transcending the animal need for the flesh to intertwine,
So much more than the roundabout hellos and goodbyes,
Beating even the are you OKs and I feel that way toos.

It's the simple "I am here. This is me."
So glorious in its simplicity that it could break a heart,
Or mend it, depending on the reciever,
Although I suppose the point is there is no reciever,
Like the triumphant cry of the lone mountaineer,
Or the screams of a mother who's lost her child,
Only far more composed in their release.

I sometimes feel like I'm reading words not meant for my eyes,
(And, in a sense, I suppose they're not).
They are far more beautiful than words that need to be read,
These are words that were meant to be written.

I find myself hating humanity to its very core,
Although each individual has traits I love endearingly-
Every last one- (even ****** created works of beauty),
But you, who have encapsulated a piece of divinity,
Within such common things as words - I love you more.

They grabbed their 3D glasses just to watch me beg hello poetry for more followers
They watched, but didn't see me with the glasses on.
You see, I wont be televised
That's why I write like I am about to commit suicide
to tell all that I tried my best
but if all my effort goes to waste!
I will forever stay alive just to write something Shakespeare forgot to write!!
Follow me
And I will not just let you see
But also make you use all your Senses
This is far from poetry
This is life hidden in some dark Mystery
before throwing it at your enemy Shake your Spear and follow me on a mystical, romantical, weird and dark phenomenon!
cause
You cant!!
I cant!!!
be the greatest without each other!

Touch me like you mean it with your love-stick in the dark at the amusement park ~ Swing my door like my hinges aren't rusted while you lift your leg with 1 knee cap busted ~ Don't kiss me in front of my favorite chicken today because I'm not feeling kissable in a romantical way...I didn't mean it when I called you a ****** partisan. I was in pain and I took it out on you. I was wrong. Please accept my humble apology. Marie Anna, I miss "us." Remember, our unarmed, midnight walks through the Muslim quarter? Remember wearing "God Save the Queen" sweaters in July? Remember? Remember that "funny little thing" that you used to do that never made me laugh, not even a little? Remember when we shaved our heads and rolled around in the mud like pigs?*
   *Ease off American *****-a-thon. What business is it of yours to tell me that these things that are none of my business are none of my business? ~ My *** is itchy. ~ Wanna borrow my car keys? ~ I'll have to until I find mine.

im ****** wine
your champagne
were both drunk
and not careful
what our bodys campaigning
but lust filled eyes
and ****** desires
is all we want
in this romantical attire
but im cheap wine
and your champange
and by the end of this
we'll part our seperate ways

you think
I have romantical heart
fragile soul

never see underneath
practical mind
heavy stone

again we're at the same spot
me unconditionally loving
you lusting for someone else

I am strong like cheddar cheese with a taste for world unification through torture camps. My winds are strong while they whistle around my *** bones. Things you tell me will be used to inflict punishment. In other ways, I'm strange to American white women.

I saw your **** wiggle in the moon-glow of a smile that disinfected
the ****** ward over the death-rattling noises of Frisbees deflected
On Cindy Brady's mongrel paw I placed a safety-glass slipper then I
replaced little Bobby as her step-brotherly, swollen-*** *** whipper
before an experiment in ****** ******* with a ripe, past stripper
I slayed Siam's evil city Bangkok as a diesel **** combo gas sipper

It was good that the viceroy was at the palace in audience with the queen. This soak is what she needed. Her lower back, just above the crack-of-itchy, felt romantical. She now hoped that the viceroy would return shortly to give her "the once over." Suddenly, like a motorcycle coming out of nowhere, José the gardener entered the bathroom. "Madre," he began, "I beg Jew problem."
   "Oh, slide in," Paula said, feigning anger.
   "And my brother? He too?"
   "Oh, alright."
   With the 3 of them soaping up there wasn't room for the viceroy should he arrive home ahead of schedule.
   "Here ease Carmen," José's brother said, and sure enough there was Carmen **** and in the process of draping herself across Paula's dreamy-creamy, parted thighs.
   "Carmen, are you pregnant?" Paula asked.
   "Jess mum," she giggled. "Jew ties are berry **** mum."
   "Here," the gardener said to Paula, "let me feel you up a lot."
  Paula stretched out, the best that she could, for a Mexican *****. "Berry goo," she teased while the soapy water flooded her love tunnel. "Jew ease juice watt I needed," she moaned as José took liberties upon her like he was Erik Estrada standing amidst the grandeur that was "California Pines.”
   "What's this?!" The viceroy exclaimed as he jumped suddenly into the bathtub like a motorcycle coming out of nowhere.
   "Berry sore he," Carmen said. "I go."
  "Please don't go," the viceroy whined more affectionately than would a dog catcher with gonorrhea, "till I've sluiced your crack!"

Love...
Coming in sunset hues in my dreams
And incubus-like shadows.
Too long...
I watched honey smeared lips
And just admired.
I feel...
That love smells rather of pesticides than freedom.
Like having to love to say I hate you?
What the **** is that...
Love...
Is cold in the air
Platonic, romantical, ****** you name it.
I've no love to spare.
Gravitational regret...
How smooth can you be?
What's falling in love and what's just thinking about it, the possibility, of potentially feeling what is marketed as... Love.
Dedicational letters or careless texts seem useless,
Unless they make you feel less worthless.
Nonetheless it's just advertisement for some feeling growing out of my inexistent basement.
Cynical...
I've been told,  told that I have an asexual view over romanticisms and ****** encounters.
No.
I am just as perverted as the rest of the world,
Possibly even more.
But what is ******* and *** to love
The statuesque human principle?
Simply just as relatives as time.

☎ ☎ ☎ ☎ ☎
In this weird America we jump back to pray, mason Ronald Reagan
could've "married" Clancy, not Nancy, making ****** ****** okay
as fellows laying men hearkens back to the hidden hand's occultical
rites of jabbing ritualistical plant mendicants stylized entheogenical
from graphical zero-order marks that temporize ape traits eugenical
It is on the rug from the litter box so I am self-assured that it is crap
which is easier to ret up than rhyming verse which ain't no easy nap
with veins popping out my head through this back assward ball cap
Attack-strikes against ******* can't lift Iberian Moors from the mire
nor re-animate homosexy Mohandas Gandhi from his funereal pyre
so that I could make bread selling his burnt-up ***, enough to retire
like that Nancy-boy: the forever-prancing-man-kissin' *** Jon Cryer
whose romantical lust for John Travolta entails proctological desire
that digs northwardly east from Oceania's fantastical rim-job of fire
to recruit boys for **** movies as Kelly Preston's a pig-***** denier
regarding her husband's penchant for tweaking her 2 **** with pliers
to make 'em more pointy like the pointy knobs that are Talia Shire's
guns that try the souls of reverends known to be well-practised liars
who fly in the face of pilots uncertified to be bona fide blimp flyers
despite the love-child ******* lazy Jimmy Swaggart begets or sires
as he has got the street-smarts that knocking up a ******* requires
& the fatherly touch that, for girls just off the bus, calms & inspires
when they get $10 from a John named Billy amongst *****-buyers
The flat Earth is the repository of human life-force & soul reflectin'
God's list of Man's anatomical parts that puts a *****'s eyes & hole
on an equal plane that rises to eye-level along a line that's horizonal
I fell off the toilet in mid-**** twistin' my ankle sprained, hey let us
fund ditzy N.A.S.A. with its nutty assumptions stupidly ascertained
via Antarctic moon rocks that Wernher von Braun secretly obtained
to ensure that the orb Earth masonic joke could be widely sustained
in the boyish minds of men with whom a Boy Scout logic remained
as a black blemish on the pox-scarred lame & the tattoo-ink stained
& the hepar-diseased mufflers diving with mermaids who refrained
☎ ☎ ☎ ☎ ☎

dead communists with their Lenin red fluff fanciful fanciness, while dancing on dirt with broken glass glassiness to the communal romancing of runny Turkic birthing holes & ports with an ultra-glib romantical Romanian pseudo-manliness...