"slathered" poems
i told my therapist about you,
while your lips were still slathered alllll over my body.
i showed her the places we had been,
and all the things we had seen.
i told her what lies underneath that pretty
pretty
skin of yours,
and i told her how i knew.
i spelt out your name as she scribbled it on her cute little clipboard,
i told her about the first night
and the second
and the fourth
and that time in the closet.
i told her everything,
i really just wanted to get
you
out
of my brain,
it didn't matter if saying these things put me in sososo much pain.
because you've moved on so why can't i?
i told my therapist about you,
but i still can't tell you
goodbye.
i know i'm s t u p i d,
for holding on this l
o
n
g,
i know it's useless,
for wishing you weren't gone.
but my words carry on like a heartbeat
s l o w
steady
fast
u s e d
n t a y
i keep keep keep breaking and breaking and breaking and
i told my therapist about you.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
Her shadow
Washed in sin, covered in blood
Oh, what a sad little dove
Festering secrets, slathered in shame
Purity poisoned, life to blame
Born unwanted, a mother denies
Behind the shadow of our eyes
His shadow
In dynamics
Of dysfunctional dismay
Lost in secret family shame
These emotional contacts delay
That we carry 'til the end of our days
Cast in stone, in foundation of lies
All these shadows behind our eyes
Her pain
Painful memories of long ago
Though, I know, I must let go
Triggers upon the aching scars
That burns within an injured heart
Full of fear, in the wake of lies
All behind the shadow of our eyes
His pain
An unending twitch
The fast fading smile
The ever bleeding heart
Of a broken lost child
Carrying stones up endless hills
All these issue we're forced to feel
And stuff them down, way down inside
Behind the shadow of our eyes
Her darkness
Hidden is a blacken variant
Attached with unbreakable sealant
Of life's destiny, from the gods
Concealed amid, evolved facades
A mind, compartmentalized
Behind the shadow of our eyes
His darkness
Desensitized to life, empathy left poor
Bottomless abyss where my spirit now soars
Love is a dream in my abandoned role
The pieces won't fit my wandering soul....
The window to a soul hides
Behind the Shadow of our Eyes
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 11:44 PM UTC
Paints of dark twilight hues,
Slathered across in blunt strokes.
Blend with deft hands,
Cajole gently with jabs and pokes.
Backdrop begging for a few others.
Longing to hold in infinite embrace.
Friends of earth and midnight sky.
Worthy of a doe-eyed lovers' gaze.
Cascading moonbeam...
Drenching all in silvery white.
Restless twinkling stars...
Singing their mismatched might.
Silhouetted landscape as horizon,
Darkened oils of plateaued ridges.
Finest brush could only manage,
To close the gap, I build bridges.
Nearing completion, this stint on canvas.
Nuances of dawn for what I've begun,
Usher the arrival of a brand new day.
All I need now is a few drops of sun.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
The ocean,
oh it looked so blue,
shades of colour swimming around like clouds around the moon,
The water,
oh it looked so clean,
but it was just the sun's reflection making it clear,
Underneath the waves lay a graveyard,
a promise of death,
a promise of extinction,
Tombs made of plastic,
slathered in oil,
steaming with toxic waste,
and all the people know,
The damage is unfolding faster than we are evolving,
The turtles are ingesting plastic as if it were their only meal,
begging for their fins to just be free,
so they can dive through the sea,
The seals are tangled in nets, lines and lures,
plastic bags and packing bands,
till they're tied to their grave as if life were just a brief phase,
The seabirds skim the ocean waves for fish and squid,
yet plastic is their only catch of the day,
leaving them broken inside and out,
and dead on the beaches we claim are our own,
The whales are submerged beneath the sea,
eating most things that they see,
plastic, plastic everywhere beneath,
not giving them much time before they can no longer breathe,
The dolphins are gliding through the sea,
taking what they can to eat,
plastic as their only meal,
tearing them apart from within,
leaving them starving for weeks,
till the grave is the only thing they see,
Us humans are so weak,
we can’t see how deep the pain seeps,
but when nothing is left for us to eat,
and the rich have nothing left to steal,
we’ll end in the same graves as all the lives we could have healed.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 12:16 PM UTC
It smells like first love
Says the perfume bottle
Smells like true love
Says the bath bomb
What does first love smell like?
First love smells like rain
The heavy scent of the air
Before a thunderstorm
True love smells like cookies
Baking in the background
And a rich *** of coffee
Brewing from fresh beans
And of cinnamon in hot chocolate
And lavender, like my lotion
And spice, like his deodorant
First love smells lightly of sweat
Because you're nervous
True love smells like tears
Because it's never a dry-eyed affair
It smells like the flowers
Of the wedding bouquet
And the crimson and white
Christmas flower display
First love smells like body spray
Slathered on to hide the sweat
True love smells natural
Bad breath in the morning
And yet fine
Because it's theirs.
First love turns to sweet summers' air
Vanished with August's last week
True love kisses the scents
Both foul and fair
That break upon my cheek.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
when i want inspiration to write poetry
i watch a heaving tempest of kisses
they have a better flavor
than cooking shows
what's prettier than pretty pretty
in pigtails
shaking her delicious
derriere whipped Soufflé?
i'm kissing butter princess
witchy ****
spread lickity splits
eating her
with a big wide **** eating grin
like an open face dagwood
whats more poetic than that hopeful glaring
of
Adonis's plumper in paradise
filling Cleopatra's slathered meringue?
ga-ga-ga-gag me, daddy
merciless, pa-leazze
fluttered big wet talking eyes
like pools of blue honey
getting it zigged zagged
hard against a redraw mouth
throttling fluted gullet
while eager throat gasps
a symphonic music of the spheres
in relentless staccato chokes
lovin her big devil **** splashing
all gym built wonder-boy
a litter of ****** and tongues
licking pig greedy
rapturous milkshake waterfalls
whimpering
mmmmmm
oooh big daddy
oh my ****** god
pillar of colossus
you Tunisian donut you
pierce me like a spoon
through summer guava
who screams like that eating lunch
but a half ate apricot?
better than a football game
I'd rather take her greek
more fun than math or small talk
preferable to a pat on the back at work
or a ridged procession at a funeral
oh beautiful dark fig
squatting crotch candy
bubbling tapioca ***
queen of
spun sugar ****
all pyrotechnics
and fluttering sinews
if you asked most
do they watch ****
they'd grow smug like a senator
or punch you in the mouth
outwardly high-minded
refusing the blessing of a
video **** parade
of pirouetting vaginas
and glistening areolas
for the glory
of the secret ************ ceremony
the *** moralists
only good for a secret ******
living their lives
with passions submerged
and nothing to confess
except for guilty offerings
as they wander through dreamland shopping malls
wanting to know
Victorias ***** little secret
seduced
but not caressed
by
a mouthpiece for castrated dreams
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
Father checks if I'm sleeping; I wake up, and see
little tinctures of nothing night-sky poetic, I see
blandness slathered in a huge speck. Where was
that spirit and excitement and everything that life offered
not too long ago? Who wakes up to do their homework
at midnight?
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
The pizza took her place in bed. It slathered itself all over her.
The pizza objectified my body.
It slid between her ******* leaving traces of red sauce and strands of hot, almost liquid cheese in the nook of her cleavage.
It slowly dripped off of her ******* as she spread its residue across her *****
From there, the succulent, almost watery juices rolled off of her teet and onto her folded legs as she knelt there in the store window.
Everyone could see her.
But as long as those who were most enthralled came inside to purchase a pie or two, no one seemed to care.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC
I am the shy man
you see at 6 AM in Starbucks
umbrella cocked under my left arm like a guidon,
formless and murky as the latte in my cup,
neufchatel slathered on the bageled
cusp of a new day, one bus token removed
from yesterday's office, aspiring
toward tomorrow's and the next day's sunrise,
convinced of nothing printed
in splashy headlines of USA Today.
I am the strong man
who smiles at the concept
of growing ******* watching women
surrender their eggs, take on new testicles.
I would eagerly belly
your child, assume your burden,
let you envelope me with velvet
*** dream submissive destiny
in the absence of Bodhisattva's caress,
if delicious debauchery empowers you.
I am a Boy Toy on the half-shell,
a nascent embryo filled with dread
of wombs which recently had bound me.
You offer deliverance. I am seed
in your fertile loam-brown soil.
I germinate sinking roots in your mind,
fully conscious I will flower,
a stubborn hybrid planted for your pleasure.
I am a pilgrim without a rock,
the twilight sky beneath your periwinkled heavens.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
Such solidarity we created
On the hilltop with the cows
Discussing sassafras,
Our Chakras,
Summer-berry wine.
Per aspera ad astra
But without inhaling tar
We have come.
The cornbread with anise and wheat berries
Cruncy and sweet
Slathered with strawberry jam
Was such a luxurious meal
For us two tired wanderers.
We're left over from the '60s
Living in the past but in the moment
Listening to Mama Tried (well, she did!)
And crying over Wharf Rat
We model turtles, Celtic knots, a moose
Dream of yesterday and tomorrow
Say what we mean
Take a misguided turn driving home
And our minds meander to slumber and internal illusions.
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 3:25 PM UTC
Tingly under the daisies;
Glassy-eyed, glazed, greasy;
Shaking, shivering, shuddering,
Wishing, wandering, whimpering,
Westernizing—
Romanizing—
Constitutionalizing—
Institutionalizing—
Perpetually searching
And dying
And living,
Watching Death survive
And scythe the frolickers,
The prancers,
The rompers,
The merrymakers.
A rose clamped between his
Grinning teeth glistens brightly,
And he dances so joyously.
“Yes!” say the naysayers,
Confused are the soothsayers,
Lost are the cartographers.
Oh, Utopia!
The monks are extravagant;
The meditations are a farce!
The preachers are beggars
And swindlers and chargers,
And Machiavelli fulfills his wishes!
Babies are stillborn, stabbed, and
Ritualistically sacrificed,
And their blood is spilled, drunk,
Slathered over the ***** man.
The evangelists scream and lie:
“You are all predestined to die!”
Oh, hail Utopia!
Wedded are the girls to the girls;
Wedded are the boys to the boys;
Wedded is Death to Death,
Life to Life,
And Life to Death.
Wedded are the living to the existent.
And the milking babes are slaughtered
Ceremoniously,
Surreptitiously,
Ostentatiously.
Oh, hail great Utopia!
We are all dead and unintelligent:
Laugh, laugh, Einstein, at your
Stupidity.
Laugh, laugh, Temple Grandin at
Your retardation.
Laugh, laugh, laugh!
Look at the sluggard, thou ant;
Look at the boy, sobbing wolf;
Aesop was drunk,
Aristotle was delusional,
Michelangelo was blind,
Beethoven could hear,
Poe was sane.
And I can't read.
They ramble,
I watch.
They sleep,
I watch.
They dream,
I watch.
They sleep-talk,
I watch.
They scream,
I watch.
They choke,
I watch.
They suffocate,
I watch.
Stone-faced, I stare;
Raspingly, I breathe;
Uncontrollably, I twitch;
Inwardly, I rage.
I hope you die, I hope you die.
I hope you bleed, I hope you die.
I want you begging and crying,
I want you blubbering at my feet,
I want you gnashing at my ankles,
I want you writhing in pain,
I want your arm twisted off,
Cracking with the snapping sinews, I want your beating heart in my hands, I want your genitals uprooted and stuffed in your throat, I want your stomach so I can eat the still-digesting food, I want your shrunken head and I want to force my thumbs into your unblinking eyes and I want to tear your face in two and I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
I could put it into specifics by describing your toothpaste. No matter how recently you had bought it, that sorry tube was always a mangled mess. Twisted, creased, folded plastic or whatever it was, topped with a messy, half-open, broken-hinged, ineffective cap. Slathered with the blue-and-white residue of rushed mornings and tired nights. Exhausted. Does toothpaste try? It gets the job done, sure. But you probably waste half the toothpaste by destroying the tube like that.
You were like this with many things. Exhausted, a little bit crumpled and always partially wasted. Like toothpaste, I know you were always trying, and you nearly always succeeded at whatever you were doing, you were just often left with something not finished to your own standards. Dissatisfied with your own success. As I'm sure toothpaste is when you have a fine smile but still end up needing a filling again. Toothpaste does a good job, you must understand. We are just sometimes careless, and we sometimes don't have the time we need. We all still end up needing to schedule a dentist's appointment once in awhile.
Nobody likes the dentist. They’re bound to be good people, dentists, but I’ve never met anyone that doesn’t dread the dentist’s throne. Really, we’re supposed to avoid them - the whole goal is to never have reason to see the dentist, right? But we always do. For a regular check-up at least, if we can remember to book the appointment, as much as we may want to get out of it. Something that should be so easy to get out of, had you just brushed your teeth right all the time. So toothpaste is never as effective as you want it to be. But maybe that’s what makes it so satisfying - squeezing the life out of that tube, you can feel like you have power over the inevitable. That’s what you wanted.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
Nine years later
I still feel everything.
Potent ****** reaction.
Guilt has caused
Riverbed cheeks.
This single image
That I've kept buried
In an attempt to leave behind
Is seared into my mind.
It plays out:
My mother is there;
up against the wall.
Pig-tailed braids
And slender in overalls.
Cowering
In hyperventilation
And sobs
Looking so child-like,
Cornered
By 3 betrayals in human form.
Voices raised in accusation
Ripping into her
In my bedroom.
Feeling ill and lost
I lie face down on the bed,
Covering my ears,
Screaming.
Blocking out
The family fight
Chaotic and ferocious,
Like worlds end
Crumbling my foundation
Only feet away
Words like daggers
Slathered in anger,
Hate, and distrust.
I couldn't handle
Seeing my mom like that;
Bullied, scared,
And broken down.
Hated and attacked
By a husband
Who vowed to love and protect her;
By a son-in-law
Who was meant to respect her;
By my sister
Who was first-born to her.
All because a misunderstanding,
A rumor,
A lie.
And I,
Too young to understand
What this meant,
But who knew the truth,
Didn't come to her rescue.
And now she
Is outcasted and alone
And I
Can't wash myself
Of this searing recollection.
21 years old
I still find myself
Lying face down,
Covering my ears,
Screaming.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
i. descend
i've lost weight since we last met
we fit differently from before-
bird-thin, the both of us-
but this hollow in your feathered chest is
still where i feel most at home-
your jade eyes
a nest, to cultivate my happiness
i've been betrothed to the birds
you stayed back, earthbound
i fell, a cataract, from the red cliffs
you watched me sink, earthbound
i was ripped to shreds in the tundra
freezing and thirsty
and you listened instead to the flowers,
drowning me out as i whispered for help
they told you sunlight stories
when i was trapped in dusk
i was an inch from the edge of night
and you fled
so as to not be consumed.
ii. unpend
i know what i told myself-
i said i shed my mourning veil-
but i still weep for the morning lark,
your lightening song
haunting my brittle nightingale
i write you letters every night
with a fountain pen slathered in red ink
saying what i never could,
spilling my regret on the page
(wake up with ****** hands)
i should have known
you were no one to trust
you're just a fledgling
we're all so naïve.
iii. the end
i take flight, for brave is the man
who would leap from the bluff
to prove his worth;
for i can take action now-
i can say this now,
where before i sat on the sidelines
i will not wilt
in your arms
just for a moment
i will hold you tight
my prisoner
thank you for keeping me alive
i don't need that anymore
thank you for staying by my side
when i had eyes set to ****
thank you for helping me to ascertain
that i’m no phoenix
thank you for participating in
my stupid guessing games
you were the match
to ignite my nicotine habits
but now i'm the one who's
decided to spark and fade
green-eyes,
i've made a decision
and this time i'll stick with it-
featherlight now,
i will make my escape
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
it's not even noon, but
my thoughts are drenched with
*** bound and gagged.
you're dancing around the kitchen, clad
only in a pair of
lace ******* you paid
too much for at Victoria's
Secret liaisons by the
seaside, sand sieving through your hair:
all forms of metal-backed currency taste
like ***** on your fingertips stuffed
roughly in my mouth,
call me a ****
pretty please?
promethazine slathered over
watermelon sherbert and
soaked in Sprite; put a lid on it and
shake vigorously until well mixed.
Xanax exacerbated migraines mean
naptime for me, and I forgot to tell you
the Gatorade is spiked with *****
(or maybe tequila; I've well and truly
forgotten) and all of this
is just another means of
replacing you.
you're wrapped in an
ecru trench coat,
cinched at the waist over
concealed weaponry:
unlicensed pistol and wet coral *****
constrained by a black leather holster and
cobalt cotton.
you kissed me with
******* in your nostrils and
nosebleed on your lips;
you killed me with
contempt in your mouth and
venom on your nails.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
I spent Thanksgiving
this year
not in the blue-collar comfort
of my aunt’s house,
nestled somewhere
within a well-buried suburb
of a quaint, but un-noteworthy neighborhood
with walls decorated with Budweiser signs
juxtaposed against portraits of the ****** Mary,
where a football announcer’s voice plays like
conservative talk radio
in the background.
Instead, to save the labor
of my weary immigrant grandmother,
we dressed in Sunday best
and drove ourselves in
three well-packed mini vans
to some elegant hotel restaurant,
ideal for people-watching
from the gaudy, art-deco staircase
while pretending to be in the Great Gatsby.
It didn’t feel natural, though,
that beside a modest turkey breast
with cranberry dressing, sat a beautiful
cut of prime rib, carefully ladled
with truffle au juis–
nor beside a humble dollop
of mashed potatoes and gravy,
should there be salmon to die for,
and berries slathered with brie.
The food I nibbled
with bites of nervous guilt,
as the impeccably dressed waiter
exhaustedly refilled our water glasses,
nodding his head reflexively
to my mouse squeaks of “thank you’s”
What monsters are we,
letting these people work on Thanksgiving Day?
Grandma said, calmly, that some people
are just happy to be paid,
recounting
her impoverished childhood
in war-torn Germany—
that to simply muffle
the aggressive rumbling
of a days-empty stomach,
she and her brother
would ****** a handful of
potatoes from a government farm,
not many, but just enough
as she grimaced
at the ever-so-slight mealiness
of her rosemary-infused pork chop—
the woman who couldn’t afford ham
until she became a citizen.
We nodded quietly and
swallowed our privileged guilt,
washed down with
politely cut bites
of perfectly cooked salmon.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
From what glorious kingdom
Will my armored warrior hail
That for my small hand
On slathered horse
Journey roads of heaven and hell
Riding stone covered ground
Of long black waiting shadows
To return to my lost soul
Stolen waiting tomorrows
On the quest to my heart
Slay the crimson dragon pain
His jeweled reward but one
Eternal love to gain
Written when my thoughts are not tainted with Poe
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Dec. 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
If you ask me, he lit the match that set the Moon on fire
It’s not a myth; I was there, when I had no home
And I walked in Saturn’s ring rain for so long it sloughed off my skin
I marched, trying to flatten the crater I’d made
Because I was ashamed of it
I was the last meteor to hit his heart; the loudest
But that was so long ago
The quietest revolutions are usually the most violent
If you ask him, I smelled like Genesis and Revelation from the inside
******* insatiable
I slathered honey on my cheeks and boiled my blood
so hot until my arteries turned charred black
I licked my wounds from the impact and discovered just what the hell was poisoning me
If you ask me, I didn’t know him last night and I won’t know him on the last night
But my God, he inspires me
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 8:28 PM UTC
Sound asleep, dead to the world. Enjoying the best sleep in a long time. Then the alarm goes off and I roll over to turn it off. The blaring sound goes away and I relapse into a peaceful slumber. On my only day off, I find rest to be bliss, but alas life is not perfect and my wife has other plans. The battle is fought once a week, with new and creative ways found to jar me from my sleep, but on this particular day I am determined to not be bothered. So through 3 alarm clocks and innumerable catcalls I snooze on. Only rolling to one side or the other to avoid the harassment that seeks to steal my peaceful sleep. Then as if by design, I begin to have the most elaborate dream. Wrapped in a sheet, I am held fast as my feet slip and slide in the mud. For a moment I feel the ooze beneath my feet. Then at a moments notice, the ooze is replaced by warm water running over my toes. I begin to giggle as the water feels as if it is filled with sand. Then to my stark surprise, I open my eyes to find my feet slathered in peanut butter and my golden retriever licking my feet to relieve me of the ooze of which I had dreamed. Thus once again my wife wins the battle, and rattles me from my slumber with a furry alarm clock and a list of things for me to do today.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
Oh no,
he did it again,
undressed another woman,
as she begged him no,
while her head spun to a different world,
she pushed him away,
her fingernails grasped at his skin,
she whispered,
“please…. stop,”
but he didn’t listen,
not a single soul would listen.
She’s all alone,
stripped of her dignity,
her spirit pushed down the drain,
as he entered inside her,
her heart beat faster,
but her body was numb,
she couldn’t feel her arms,
or her legs,
her fingers lost all touch,
and her voice screeched with pain,
she’d never cried so much yet felt so little,
as her body stopped,
and her soul tried to escape to a better place.
But truth is it doesn’t always happen in this way,
with a firm “No” and attempt to get away.
Sometimes he’s kind and sweet,
or powerful and famous,
he’s your teacher, mentor, or friend,
the love of your life,
or a one night stand,
and you uncomfortably say “No”,
“Maybe not now”,
“I don’t feel like it”,
“Maybe you should go”.
Yes,
sometimes we scream “Please No”,
but other times we drown under the waves in our ears telling us it will end soon,
or
we fall into the sound of our body begging for forgiveness for letting another human take a part of us away.
As he touches you,
and you pull away,
after the hundredth time you’re so weak,
so violated,
caving like a prisoner pushed to the edge,
laying numb and senselessly wishing for your last breath,
as your body is fumbled,
and your heart tumbles,
your honor and morality thrown to the floor,
stomped and spit on as your words become worthless to another person's soul.
Drugged or drunk,
sober or young,
you’re futile,
as your body becomes his,
and what once belonged to you is stripped,
and slathered in pain,
then thrown aside like a bad book and never looked at the same,
but his life doesn’t change,
and all the things you used to love become a reminder of what once was.
The feeling of his hands on your hips,
imprinted on your skin like a tattoo you can’t laser off,
a lifetime of what should’ve been,
but will never be.
“What can I become when his face is all I see when I think of;
love, lu*st, or even my own sanity?
Where does the healing begin when my body’s just become an empty limb?
What will my friends and family think?
What can I say when the world won’t even believe the rich who’ve paid the same price of insanity for the man who took their dignity?
It took him just a few minutes for me to feel this pain everyday,
So who’s going to believe me when I say by ****** me he took my life away?”
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 4:09 PM UTC
at night, i dream of sun-drenched eggshell walls
baking in the morning like yukon gold potatoes
where we wake unbothered by the encroaching light
i’ll meet you in the kitchen to switch on the toaster oven
the coffee *** pulling our ceramic mugs from the drying rack
carrying our books with bent covers to the balcony
where you set down thick slices of french bread slathered in butter
and a bowl of fresh, cold strawberries on a small round table
that we found at a sunday yard sale two summers ago
we take turns taking crisp bites in between sips of steaming coffee
mine with raw honey and cream, yours black
our oily thumbs staining the corners of thin ivory pages
i listen to the sound of you reading; of the world waking up
birds singing their sunrise songs; and my heart
slow, and buoyant, and irrevocably yours
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 11:41 PM UTC
Come to me...
I want you" I whisper breathlessly in your ear
I crave you under my skin,
Between my thighs
With every inch that pulses...
Come to me... stroke my body
With your wet desires,
Taste me as I bring myself to your lips,
I want to sink my silken need,
Wrap around your aching sinew;
G
l
i
d
i
n
g
My hip motion,
In rhythmic beats...
Listen,
As my song liquefy's,
Drowns you,
In the swallowing gush;
Midnight
My decadent addiction
Drips velvet...
Melting
The shudder, of a russet kiss
Devoured
Slathered in October's earthy scent,
The gem faceted light reveals
My softness... in your hands;
Sliding your desire
Coating me...
Deepest silken magenta
Drinks poignant yearn
Laced lips...
Wrap around
Groans that echo
Spoon feeding enchantment upon
A sinful swallow...
Unashamed, shadows smile
Where a tongue teases
Pulse beat moments...
Your skin scent,
A rush in torrid blues
Tethered,
Stitched into silken crevices;
Where flesh consumes itself against
Your burning,
Red in my veins...
Stroke my petals with a moist lick of tongue,
Watch me
As I bloom and open wider,
Enter the swelling pinkness
Wander ever deeper into my fragrance;
"You make me burn"
I whisper into your mouth...
Touch my flesh in breaths
Bend me, fold me, lick my sighs
Move me from within.
Let your fingers caress my open thighs
Hold me deeply
Throb in my grip...
Kiss the place where ***** peaks taste your tongue...
~Breathless~
higher
~Faster~
higher
~Deeper~
higher
Come
To
Me..............
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
My mother taught me to finish all the food on my plate,
that children in Africa are starving for a taste of it -
and only disrespect leaves crumbs behind
but I never guessed I would be middle-aged at eighteen
Never thought I’d know exactly what those kids were starving for.
I’m pushing a full plate towards her tight-lipped disgust
slathered in every last drop of stubborn society -
she will always be the epitome of gluttony
in the most frail and forgotten way,
Always asking for more than I could ever give.
Only those will a full cupboard of snacks
stand before the cool air of refrigerators
discerning the difference between craving and needing
as the hours ticks away like racing dollar bills
I spent every last second stuffing her full with time
But she told me that her stomach was empty
I am eighteen going on thirty-two
raising a defensive daughter I never gave birth to
and now I know what those kids in Africa starve for -
Not just food
But the taste of having too much
Too easy
so that they can feel hungry again.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
how you defined me is extinct in the wild.
i'm still not sure if you meant that i am the
last of my kind or if i was the only thing you
had left to swallow and with distaste you spit
me out like i was dish washing soap slathered
onto your tongue. even though you were right,
that i am all i will have left in the end, i still
never saw you look upon me like i was special
just because i am going extinct, one day at a time.
- kra
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC