Two Virgos meet; an occurrence far from promiscuous.
As the ******. Sensual, but modest.
Like silver beauty that would never lose purity, no matter how potentially pleasing she may be.
Quiet,
but touch the right spot, and you’d never hear silence again.
We love shattering the alignment of the planets. Misconfiguring.
It was the one thing that made us clean. It brought me joy. It brought him joy. Exploding together with salty sweat and saliva. Like white constellations bursting at the end of lifetimes, heated by love and light. Becoming one another in hasty motions, fast and slow. Soft and hard. Wet and loud. Slapping, punching, biting, *******, licking, kissing, done.
Losing purity with each stroke, until we reach clarity once again.
So is it irony, or am I just too *****?
The stars make patterns that tell me I am to be slight in my attempts to fornicate. I will be admired for my beauty. My resilience to resist. Resist him, resist her, resist what those will force upon you.
Trust in the skies. The stars expect me to fight this urge. Remain a ******. Stay pure. Do not destroy your youth.
But when two virgos meet, the urge is unbearable. The resistance is no more. Slight eye contact is the way to the soul, the way to become one, to ******, and return.
A brief escape, but we always return.
In the eyes of two virgos is endless pain. I see his when he comes. In his wide eyes, open and forgiving. Vulnerability is what he needs and I see what he cannot hide. We two virgos come together as one. We cannot deny.
These two virgins have vanished and will never be again.
We are two gorgeous arrangements of light reminded to be less.

dusk fell upon us softly
   between kisses
that probed and went
across the borders
into the other´s land
   to find it strange
yet pleasant
and a little frightening

the whistle for retreat
   was blown
and we went out for dinner
but soon grew restive
to resume the wanderings
on each other´s turf

your girlish coyness
made me hesitate
lest a wrong move
turn me into a frog that
   thrown against the wall
   would not change
      into a prince

I hid within my robe

your loving body
hard up against mine
   felt beautiful
your kisses and caresses
   roused my blood

your loving trust
   shaken, at times,
   by my exploring touch
made me feel very young
and very old at once
   it was not easy
   to maintain control

we walked the tightrope
   through the night
your innocence protected you as well
   as my experience and respect
for your determination
   not to lose yourself

   and not to join me
   at that time

our entanglement
between desire and restraint
was long and yet too short
dawn found us puzzled
   words were scarce

the parting kisses
   sweet and sad
left memories

unrefreshed

to this very day

     * *

dismay is felt when opening the newspaper
to read Athena's astral charts
on many occasions her predictions are well out
which tend to make the readers doubt

to-day she stated that all Geminis
were in for an adventure
but she failed to also mention
the possibility of a misadventure

Taurus individuals supposedly
are going to win a truck load of cash
they'll be disappointed
should they not collect a stash

she said all Virgos
would be bidding their time
but how would she know
as few of them can march to a rhyme

this pronouncement she had written large
which told of a Capricorn who'd fly to Mars
yet this person hasn't got a rocket
which can propel him to Mars

here was one that reeled me in
she spoke of a Pisces eating a dog
her info was well out of kilter
we all know that all fishes prefer a frog

Athena was glowing in her outlook
for those Cancer folk saying they'd find a bloke
though none of them are in the market
for finding a bloke

she put in a good line for Scorpios
to be careful whilst using the hose
as they might get the nozzle
stuck to their nose

Libras were given an Athena heads up
not to take their dreams too far  
why would she say that
when we all know that a Libra dreamer always makes par

she stated that Sagittarius ladies
needed to buy a spring party dress
though they've all got wardrobes
full of lovely floral brightness

what do you think of her
Leo chart for November and December
during these months
will they have a holiday to remember

she made mention of Aquarius souls
by way of Rock and Roll
few of those sixties baby bombers
have the legs to now Rock and Roll

finally her is what she telegraphed
for our Aries cousins in Perth
they'd all be reborn on planet Earth
yet none are seeking a rebirth

Athena's predictive Astrology page
is one we'll all need to thoroughly gauge

i've been in a prison of my own making...
it's kinda perfect, i get to read books
rather than watch television...
the blind flamethrower albino ******
is on the stats -
i end the night with a self-gratifying
exercise - the main sub article concerns
itself with **** and male *******...
never mind the ***** cut off for ******...
and never mind the Madonna-***** complex...
why, the problem is sorted:
if you don't get a hard-on with prostitutes
then you can blame it on ****...
otherwise? well, you'll hardly be the one to blame...
i see you using your ******.... the blue diamonds...
the litmus test is quicker done...
go to a brothel... once you get an *******
with a ******* all forms of feminism prescribing
masochism to men will disappear...
this erectile dysfunction will become a hoax...
it will become basis for the other thing
Freud is famous for, putting it nicely
the the Medusa-Madonna complex...
you can't be Oedipal with economic stresses...
someone has to take the blame...
******* is one strand of attitudes exercised...
we will have no Mozart, no Shakespeare when
we censor **** and bargain hunting celibates...
you basically censored the freedom of language
like you did undermining the European Union,
and European doctors giving way to an exodus
due to your cheap xenophobia...
X-factor contestants as doctors? i'll gladly wait and see,
you congest life into suffering akin to animals
in slaughterhouses... boy, i'll wait.
your Vermin will be your death angels... you'll
want to die, you'll be gagging for death when i'm
through... and yes, i remember my great-grandmother,
who remembered the 2nd world war...
as i said: ****** was gassed... due repayment of equal
measure... the Ypres guise of suburban Warsaw in
the trenches, in the ghetto; harsh, isn't it?
humanising something human when the soldiery
artefact is brought up? it must be harsh...
too much faith in the Luftwaffe, i'd dig under the channel
and let the Panzers roll in... this is my method
of appetising grievances to be rid off...
my grandfather asked SS-men for candy,
my great grandmother escaped the Nazis...
this is a healing process... i've taken the *******
and applied it to the star of David, ******* with it...
so it looks like reading a book on a prayer mat...
but that's not the bothersome triad -
people forget the success of Freud in the other department,
you can't pinpoint the influence of *******
without having to recognise the influence of
the Madonna-***** complex -
which would explain much more than scapegoat ****
is privileged by... why would i get an *******,
drunk (well yeah, at every opportunity a ******,
Virgos' tear) with prostitutes, and not be bothered
by *******... abstinence won't help...
it's enough to be governed by a psychiatric conundrum
of the fabled case of ******* your mother...
why all the blame on man? typical feminism...
Platonic feminism, Darwinism's feminism -
have they bothered to subscribe to the idea that it's not
simply a male affair? having professional pornographers
is the problem... a bit like at the Olympics...
the professional high jumpers are one thing...
you jumping into bed to frolic is another...
it's hardly a mono-****** affair ascribed to only one
gentrification - when you're a ******* decathlon
enthusiast, *******, working, cooking, raising the ids
of kids... you're supposed to be there,
specialised in the erectile business, and nothing more...
the hammer to a nail... redundancy following suit.
and what man will succumb to this?
perhaps he's talking Swahili or he's Somalian...
because, believe me, that's where you'r herding the flock
girl... i don't really care where the whites end up...
this Islamic attack on western culture is nothing,
nothing, compared to the apathy western women
implanted into western men's psyche...
a few terrorist attacks are nothing in comparison...
as said the once parallel now intersecting
conversation between King Solomon and Sheba...
these terrorist attacks are nothing compared to what's
coming... i blame Darwinism partly for having staged
a coup d'vie, meaning? i really can't be bothered!
usurp my indolence in the affairs of mind and body,
make me into your ideal dietary requirement checklist...
this thing we're experiencing is worse than
terrorism... feminism has made us indolent,
non-responsive... non-competitive...
we're basically trapped in a hamster wheel where
women fancied themselves to champion ethnic defence
strategies.... ruby ***** of all hues go round...
i was never a saint, but i wanted to be a sinner...
try that like winning the lottery...
if the white man dies, i won't even care to cry...
i'd be clapping... clap clap... clap clap...
i'll just know that i left the ideal hue of ***** behind;
what?! i liked to **** too! but obviously i
was given the poker hand of angling a repertoire
akin to a monk like Martin Luther.

Chilling, to think
"social media" (whatever that means)
is really just building up halls
complete with old tattered wallpaper
for our ghosts to haunt
like a rickety Victorian mansion.

You,
Pinned to a wall by his van,
like a packet of paper
pierced by a preposterously red pushpin,
a coward is now getting off on being scared
shitless,
and overwhelmed with intoxicated rage,
because he was trying to claw his way home,
no matter the cost,
like a fearful animal,
and excuse
and excuse
and excuse us for our lack of pity.

You,
taken prematurely from your infant son,
your infant marriage,
your infant life,
you're still around, frozen.
Immortalized as you were,
tagged in photos.

"Desiree liked this"
bears an odd resemblance
to moaning from the basement
or footsteps down the hall
**** the bed
call for mom

Getting daily horoscopes
as though you still need
to figure out every detail
about your personality,
who you’re compatible with.
Virgos don't like spontaneity.
Scorpio is sensual.
Taurus are stubborn
in the way that
flowers at a tombstone
seem more sentimental
than script on a screen.

But then again the soul owns no
defined location,
no cage.

But, even more grim,
blow out the candle,
One day I'll be there too,
Plastered in white and blue,
When sleeping dogs should lie.

You were a Capricorn.
You told me those typically clicked with Virgos.
You put a lot of faith in horoscope factoids like that.

You wrote in all caps often, but
you were never yelling out of anger.
You were just an enthusiastic person.

You had a boyfriend.
You loved him a lot and the feelings were mutual.
You always liked to tell me about the funny things he said.

You had cancer.
You managed to keep that secret from me for a long time, but
you never stopped believing that you could beat it.

You were a broken soul.
You had been torn apart by your family and your disease and
you never wanted to accept help from your friends.

You were an enigma.
You never told me what the matter was and
you disappeared before I could figure out what was going on.

You came back, but
you came at a bad time and before I could say goodbye,
you had already left me your final parting words:

“I’ll see you after life.”

*You can no longer reply to this conversation

I see the world from your point of view
I always took it for grantid
I love when we both stop to smell the flowers
I see the world from your point of view
The ladybug miles away
From the shops on the street
The clouds that look like butterflies
And marshmallows
The tall skyscrapers
All of the busy bustling on the streets
The escalators that are so high
They look as though they are headed
To heaven
And I panic
You are okay
Much more braver than I
I hate heights and crowds
You hate bushes and bugs
I hate loud noises
You get frustrated easily
We meltdown
Life is a journey indeed.
I am your mother
You are my son
You are my daughter
We are friends
In this busy
Sometimes not so friendly world
We are cut from a different cloth
We are all Virgos
We all have autism
I am happy
I can see the world from your point of view

She's not a lady
In the strictest sense
She's my puppy dog
And that's her defense.
Got her at seven months
Wild and crazy
And it's been so since.
She's not like the others
Both male
And gotten as pups
But we love her nevertheless.
Oddly she and I have the same birthday
We are both Virgos and that's a fact.
Had just put down dear old Scout
Didn't know what my life would be without
Miraculously an email appeared
From a friend who knew my pain
Said someone took their pups back
To the ******* again.
We wanted a male
But who could resist
An opportunity like this.
How can I describe her
Noisy, enthusiastic, Stubborn
Playful, Insistent, Beautiful
And Special as all dogs should be.