"tonuge" poems
It lingers in my veins, across my skin.
The Death that has taken my soul.
The seductive addictive pain,
Shiver ripples through my blood.
I smell you,
Scent thick with fear,with anticipation
With Lust for Eternal life.
The mark of the dead.
Twirling my fingers in your beautiful curls,
As I nuzzle closers,
And you moan as my lips hit your skin.
And I know you are ready for me
With this bite, I insite the itch,
That desperate need in you.
The hunger for more.
For my Body.
With your life blood in my body
Running over my tonuge and lips.
I whisper to you,
"I love you, My dark child".
The drug you crave,
The attention I keep from your body.
You squirm with need,
And a smile creeps to my face.
"If you want it...Take it"
A young farm boy,
Alone and lost.
My gentle hands wrap warmly around your heart
For it, and the rest of you are mine.
With great gentleness, You pull me ontop of you
My body unclothed and waiting.
My pale cold skin a stark contrast to your farmers tan
And I run my nails long your **** chest.
mine...
Take me when I let you,
Come to me when I call.
For My drug is you.
So Delicious
A Sweet Bite of you.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
down a hole
a boy grows words
from his tonuge.
he speaks dirt
to sprout flowers;
so nurture his love
so his vines can
reach your garden
too.
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 4:10 AM UTC
A taste for lust on the tip of her tonuge . All I have to do is reach it.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 10:28 AM UTC
This is a procession of bodies.
Him on the couch, right next to me tonuge stuck too far down.
You there too far away. Too confusing. Too much too anything. Too little everything.
Another stuck somewhere in the middle. Cute and sweet and here for now.
One right at my fingertips. A friend. A must have filled with so much hope.
Another too clingy, without spark. In no certain place at all.
And there will be others... I think.
But what I have learned,
body after body,
Is that this is how the procession takes place.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
My tongue runs over my swollen gums.
I taste the blood.
I feel the aching zones
Between off-white and red.
It stings.
There's not enough room in my mouth.
My tonuge runs down the row of 16;
There are two prongs sticking up
Where they shouldn't be.
Wisdom teeth.
Four corners, four teeth.
My teeth are textured.
Some feel smooth
Some ripple
Some have edges that grate against my tongue.
One tooth hides behind another
Afraid of the air
And the water.
The tooth that once housed a hole
Is now thicker than the rest.
Thick with plastic
Or whatever it is they use.
It's a cavern of discomfort
Cause by my own doing.
Blood.
Plaque.
Pressure.
I should've been a bird.
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 7:19 PM UTC
Happy, or so it seemed
Happiness with you seems like inadequacy
Happiness may feel like a bad stomach ache
Or saying goodbye over and over again
Maybe happiness is biting your tonuge
Telling everyone you love “no”
Watching yourself slip away
Pushing yourself off the highest peak
Maybe happiness was finding myself at rock bottom
Watchng you bury me even farther into the ground
Watching you laugh as you put the dirt over my face
Making sure I was really dead
Happiness was actually getting up
Brushing the dirt off
Looking myself in the face
Finding myself alive again
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
praying towards the roof of the mouth, cathedral hallways
you said
on my knees elapsing
towards a response from you
but you’re carving out your tonsils in the kitchen
you said
i said
think of the excuses you left on the floor
roll them at me in between eyes
You can smell it
you said
You can smell it on my mouth
mopping the floor with your sight
it’s frightening
waking to
shattering keys
leaving keys in
locks and bed and shelves and waking to keys in loopholes and
a headache
like the swelling of a wave before
he crashes back in
to himself
back in to the shore line of
his face. his face of uncertainty,
uncertainty quivers
the tip of this wave
into a sea of uncertainty
flinches at outstretched hands
fingers readily echoing the ********* of mothballs under the sink
until the pipes are collapsing
upon the cloud we fell in love under, ripe and ready to rain
when we thundered, and we did, it was not a
drizzle, a collapse, a clap from the gods but a murmur
but nothing.
"Nothing under this sun could hurt me,” I tell myself
(other than) myself,
With my counting numbers,
counting colors,
counting potassium,
iron,
ounces of water
like
128 is 1
8 ounces in 1 cup
1 oz, maybe one and half, in a shot of:
reflux, knee **** reaction, temporary relief
from scrubbing the sickness from beneath your fingernails
with nothing to gain
but body like a jackknife
but my spine cocked like a gun
a body thinning like winter
changing before my eyes
I realize
I hate things that change instead of falling apart completely
humidity picking scabs from the walls
and the rash on your neck.
brown skin running from the blonde of your hair
I miss untouched spaces on your body
the things that touch you but aren’t me
things that change you but aren’t me
like sea to sky, there is no definite line,
between what is
and was,
the first dream I had of us
fingers tracing fingers and I awoke to life-
a fantasy ever since.
But now,
I am sorry for
lashes that drizzle
their whippings onto your cheeks.
minute counts,
minute wishes wasted
Hammered away at my self
, wrapped in sheets unfurling,
peeling apart form my body like
snakes shedding skin,
the coil of his tonuge like
the coil in a car, burnt.
tar, gas, antifreeze drips from
words. Words.
I always get stuck
on words. a word, the words,
let me return—
While eyes silently ran the maze
of your arm, you tell me
“this is too beautiful to be an accident, katie.”
but if this is not an accident,
then it is changed,
but not by me.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
That dredwire tonuge soaked in black hard tar spoke only the piece of the puzzle which was converted into lies.
He who walks the red sea in dreams drowns slowly in puddles . The making of his own blood. Satisfactory in the future for non is built on your words. Let me show you how it's done.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 5:47 AM UTC
i.
you were a field report
of illness
of twenty mountains
and mounds which
we could not
step over.
instead, we leeched
upon boulders in
the sky, which
eyed us down with specific uncertainties.
divided doubles of
destruction,
presently
ii.
it touches the lips.
you bought me a drink.
with the tip of a glass, nations, countries, worlds
spill down my esophagus.
cosmopolitan, please
cultivate on the curve of a tonuge licking the lips
inching upon the longitude of the spine
iii.
i guess we were dreaming
of other things, instead of right now.
when we were dreaming,
i was chewing the inside of my mouth
picking apples from orchards
where we never went.
iv.
instead of a journey of the world
it is not taking motions while i had the chance
this is natural
flinch.
this is time weaving braids
of memories with nimble fingers
v.
I’m scared to remove the splinter on the underbelly of things,
like the mold under the carpet;
both are soiled with avoidance.
we cannot apologize for
now until later,
but by then its always too late
vi.
i walk on the sides of my feet for months because
of the fear of what lurks
under, the tiles
is a growth unfolding from the center
and not a journey out, but a growing up
apart
vii.
a criminal chained to the boy in
a bed which is a sea
arms wide
and eyes like florescent
light. unnatural and ultraviolet
infectious affection
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
That dredwire tonuge soaked in black hard tar spoke only the piece of the puzzle which was converted into lies.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
And the blind venture on the misgivings
of what they do not see.
But heed whispers from
a snakes tonuge,
to bite them upon there vulnerabilities.
Seeping Ill words beneath
there morality.
Man does not need the whispers
of snakes to control them,
but the reality of humanity.
To awaken the truth
that were just human.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 5:55 PM UTC