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"visceral" poems
Just how does one define friendship? Oh, I already know what the Dictionary says. It's far more than merely one word, or two. You could apply many verbs to describe it. Few, on their own will justice due. It is more about one's emotional perception, than a mere sentence of words, though descriptive. For sure it's a feeling, a strong visceral response evoked by respect, even love of a thing above all other's. Friends come in many shapes, sizes and colors. They can be inanimate or living breathing. All inspire in us a near electrical resonance of reassurance, a sense of peace, surely comfort. Maybe it starts with the rhythmic beating of our own mothers heart, the sound and vibration of our first true friendship. A little later her breast and the nourishment it gave, became our first outer world dearest best companion. Mother's milk, served warm, sweet and tenderly, Love's personification. Yes of course Friendship can be an extension of a strong lasting bond with other people, yet even more. Our family's are our closest best friends, if we are lucky. But what of the others? I have been  befriended by books, movies, dogs and many other non human living friends, I even have a old film camera I packed completely around the world, that I count among my closest companions. A soft warm favorite wool blanket acquired down in New Zealand, also fits nicely that same description. An old bamboo fly rod that belonged to my Father, Is a friend I would not part with for any amount of dollars. And less I forget (No pun intended) our memories too are right there, with the best and oldest of our dearest, lasting friends, Conjured up at a minutes notice. And perhaps last of all, (you may have more on your list), I can not leave out the most important friendship of all, It's the friendship we have with our selves, to which I'm referring. For if that very personal friendship is not strong and on going, It's truly doubtful that we will have, or sustain for long, any others.
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Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
Friendship
Just how does one define friendship? Oh, I already know what the Dictionary says. It's far more than merely one word, or two. You could apply many verbs to describe it. Few, on their own will justice due. It is more about one's emotional perception, than a mere sentence of words, though descriptive. For sure it's a feeling, a strong visceral response evoked by respect, even love of a thing above all other's. Friends come in many shapes, sizes and colors. They can be inanimate or living breathing. All inspire in us a near electrical resonance of reassurance, a sense of peace, surely comfort. Maybe it starts with the rhythmic beating of our own mothers heart, the sound and vibration of our first true friendship. A little later her breast and the nourishment it gave, became our first outer world dearest best companion. Mother's milk, served warm, sweet and tenderly, Love's personification. Yes of course Friendship can be an extension of a strong lasting bond with other people, yet even more. Our family's are our closest best friends, if we are lucky. But what of the others? I have been  befriended by books, movies, dogs and many other non human living friends, I even have a old film camera I packed completely around the world, that I count among my closest companions. A soft warm favorite wool blanket acquired down in New Zealand, also fits nicely that same description. An old bamboo fly rod that belonged to my Father, Is a friend I would not part with for any amount of dollars. And less I forget (No pun intended) our memories too are right there, with the best and oldest of our dearest, lasting friends, Conjured up at a minutes notice. And perhaps last of all, (you may have more on your list), I can not leave out the most important friendship of all, It's the friendship we have with our selves, to which I'm referring. For if that very personal friendship is not strong and on going, It's truly doubtful that we will have, or sustain for long, any others.
Continue reading...
39
There are no right answers. The sky rejects the birds, turns them over to gravity, embedding them in the concrete and dirt. The grit refuses to become a pearl, just as the wound refuses to heal and the flesh eats itself. The market sees a sudden spike in sales of Champagne and cyanide. Coordinated efforts seek and fail to curtail the rising tide of violence in the nation's dreaming. You realise that this crude, barbaric language that you can't understand is your own. Beauty glitches and pixelates. Frightened, furtive confessions of love are unheard over proud, visceral proclamations of hate. Tongues divorce mouths. Every now and then, a voice inside your head says, 'Thud.' The measures of sanity become more quantifiable and totally arbitrary. The horizon tightens like a noose. It doesn't matter if this is wrong. There are no right answers.
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Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 4:40 AM UTC
There Are No Right Answers
A Close friend said "The Perfect Woman" is much like a shark. if I am greeted in this ocean, by a woman I will allow her to look at me with all primal intent. splay my wrist open and watch her as she smells the little turn of blood floating now in spirals between us I'll have done it not for the pain, or shock but for the honesty. to watch a creature struggling to hold onto their facade and the tears that start to bloom in the pink above their sharp teeth. Look, I know sharks don't cry. it's not about the crying, I crave the visceral emotion. want to give my body to the indulgence the electric moment where I feel them feel conflicted with my whole body feel their suffering and internal struggle in my entire manic smile tight cheeked all eyes on them like a paid performer or Alternatively, I would give them all this passion, my body in anticipation of their opening clenching to their masks, They Devour me.
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Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 12:27 AM UTC
Attempting to define Dracophilia with sharks
What do you see When the flower meets your eye, What beauty must hide In visceral Versailles, In cherry tree reality... Does it mystify? The variegated countryside Does the chorus nullify The diversified into harmony What melodic elegance underlies That subjective divide Wistful of waves you fly What do you see in the cherry tree sky
0
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
Bumblebee
The mirror mocks my every move Every lump I try to smooth The mirror cons me of my happiness Knot in my throat, stuck like this Dysmorphia I feel the corners of my mouth Like they're tied to the ground I try to fix it, try to heal I try to replace it, the shame I feel Dysmorphia Feeling visceral Indescribable If only I could find Something comparable Dysmorphia
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Jul 17, 2022
Jul 17, 2022 at 3:13 AM UTC
Dysmorphia (12/23/2019)
I am at this place where sound is energy- where color has mass and taste. Every moment is a glorious adventure, balanced on the fine line between joy and madness. I may be insane. I might have finally lost my mind. I don't care. I am bliss and freedom in this moment, encapsulated by the rushing wind of my own thoughts as they sail by visceral, anthropomorphic. As layer by layer all I know is taken not by force, but gently, I discover truth hidden beneath. Obfuscated no longer, I am god of this moment- I am the All-Seeing Eye. -for just a moment. A moment that seems to stretch across the history of the universe, as I am blinded by the birth of a billion suns... As waves of cigarette smoke waft lazily into the form of tigers, the fever pitch waves adieu- like the distant memory of an ****** it leaves me tired but fulfilled. Time to reflect. Time to absorb what I've found. There are no adventures greater than those in your own mind.
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Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Psychedelic
Slide into me Tight rigid flesh Aching breaths hitting Pulsing lips riding Crimson cheeks Lingering wet fingertips Flayed and primitive Grazing the surface Ritual essence denied Deeper base of purity Carnal frames clutching Erupting into form and shape Becoming essential and visceral Instinctive undulating Reaching the orogeny Cresting over solid embrace Luscious tumbles Twisting skin I slip in you
0
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 6:31 PM UTC
Deeper
Girls are pretty. Cigarettes are pretty. Guts are pretty too. I don’t think they are pretty in the same way. Girls are beautiful. Cigarettes are soothing. Guts are visceral. All of them are pretty, Just like me.
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Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 10:12 AM UTC
Butch(er)
They enter the café just as some sappy pop song is playing They order then immediately hug Embrace Swaying to one side, together, like the wind Encircling the leaning tower of Pisa Then teetering to the other solstice Foot to foot, smile to smile, hand round skirted waist Forearm resting on his tall  blazered shoulders This is forgivable in the young Those teeny-boppers with defiant hair-cuts and posters However, he has peppered hair She, though voluptuous and tanned, Must be in her 30s. “Affair.” My cynical devil snickers, between sips But I sit mesmerized, and for the first time ever Envious. The chairs and the tables somehow seem more distant The song  now sounds as if it’s funneled through some crackling phonograph The very light disentangles itself from stones It’s as if a sky has opened up in my chest Flying high overhead,  one lone raven, Its slow shadow Gliding across my heart Oh, how I miss you 5 states away I see your smile on magazine covers I vaguely sniff your scent on passing women Yet you remain elusive - immaterial, haunting,   While this visceral assault Leaves me bewildered - empty An echo in a chiaroscuro cavern   Fading for thee
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Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
Letters from N.M.
A million bitten off breaths Hang quietly. I’m close enough to hear her thudding - A jarring noise that parts a cloud of frothy swans. We’ve all seen photographs in Wildlife Books – I’m sure you can conjure up the moment a water bird lances a sunlit river with the very tip of its beak to gobble a fish. It’s a difficult photo to take, It’s all over so quickly - The fish caught, The river moving, moving, Still. But here she is in front of me, That bird, Suspended with one Foot in this world, And the other In another. Her toes grind up the Spotlight, Trampling into the moon and balancing there, (I'm surprised the stage is not full of chalk.) It's not beautiful, Not ghostly, But all visceral meat glistening, Fitness, strength, survival, Like nature… No need to take a photo, She is a picture that my mind has Tricked me into taking. So perhaps that’s talent, darling..? Or Perhaps it’s something else, with a name I never knew.
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Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
ballerina
Lucid, abusive Tongue in cheek divine Stupid, elusive Lost soul of mine A snap of orchestral fingers to summon the suave illustrator Mohawk punks and minions to smash the limp masturbator Loveless, acquiesce Arpeggio flutter ripples Convalesce, Fancy dress ******* with perky ******* One or two drinks, make it three then five Keeping the blood warm and love alive Visceral, peripheral Dark raven hair Liberal, scriptural I couldn’t even care. I adored her all, her everything, her gleaming demeanor The subtle wink of her eyes, the glow; even greener Exotica, ex machina Street amazon of desert glass sand No drama, rural karma Flesh sweating like the heat of Sudan Dead singers like Cole and Morrison sing of paper moons and Crystal Ships The mixed CD segues to U2, Pulp, and then a full disk of The Flaming Lips. "Nightingale", minor scale The saxophonist played under the street lamp outside Folktale female “Another drink?” she abides, two glasses and wine supplied On her balcony we watched and listened, to the call of urban passion The wordless music we adored, a testament to our mutual attraction.
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Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
After Hours
Poetry is a mask in reverse created from just a mere spark bringing to light who we really are out of the depths of the dark        Despite ourselves       we try to hide in the realms of our daily lives and then poetry's visceral therapy weaves magic spells from our fingers      right out                  of our minds Suddenly, there is no choice but to allow those masks to be dropped like a sudden change of fancy at a medieval ball: Naked eyes for coverings are swapped Yes…the command is given ornate masks slip with a splat upon the floor Suddenly, all dancers look upon each other's faces discovering treasures they knew not before Pregnant silence reigns and only then does the true dance begin in bransles' or corantos' countered moves, a new quiet drowns out the din Let it commence! in festive air, all attempts to hide are in vain Subtextual glances and heady music create sensual tension profane       The wine is flowing smiles glowing and soon release will bear fruit as the dance is danced without inhibition and all pretenses start to uproot And so it is in poetry… All those masks are thrown down the words just                         trip                               from beyond our lips making magic from adjectives and nouns Now, our words drip upon the paper revealing the secrets divine our souls are coaxed out from the layers melting your sparkling poets' hearts into mine
0
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
The Opposite of Masks
Poetry is a mask in reverse created from just a mere spark bringing to light who we really are out of the depths of the dark        Despite ourselves       we try to hide in the realms of our daily lives and then poetry's visceral therapy weaves magic spells from our fingers      right out                  of our minds Suddenly, there is no choice but to allow those masks to be dropped like a sudden change of fancy at a medieval ball: Naked eyes for coverings are swapped Yes…the command is given ornate masks slip with a splat upon the floor Suddenly, all dancers look upon each other's faces discovering treasures they knew not before Pregnant silence reigns and only then does the true dance begin in bransles' or corantos' countered moves, a new quiet drowns out the din Let it commence! in festive air, all attempts to hide are in vain Subtextual glances and heady music create sensual tension profane       The wine is flowing smiles glowing and soon release will bear fruit as the dance is danced without inhibition and all pretenses start to uproot And so it is in poetry… All those masks are thrown down the words just                         trip                               from beyond our lips making magic from adjectives and nouns Now, our words drip upon the paper revealing the secrets divine our souls are coaxed out from the layers melting your sparkling poets' hearts into mine
Continue reading...
66
Intelligence is the new authority resistance is the new sanctity velvety memoir of the patchy ride in a rainbow rollercoaster, left everything prime on the outside sink into the wagon with wild, visceral insides embark on an odyssey observing the past, questioning the future. The future is a distant memory of all the anachronistic glory.
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Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 8:46 PM UTC
when the future embrace
Tentacles grasping for nutrition Soaking in everything around you. Filled with visceral emotion overload Angered by the world's injustices You must then express yourself in ink To empty.
0
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 7:32 AM UTC
Octopus
I know I promised I'd never write about you again but it's five am and I am left with this visceral feeling of loss and anger I use to think you stripped Me of everything Now I realize you didn't. See, I forgot about the cross The burden of love You sentenced me to Your name is Judas and I will accept the crown of thorns and become a martyr for ever believing that true love existed in your eyes
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May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
Judas
Recall when you feel of course you don't don't mean to interrupt it sometimes makes me forget when the nights have been so numb you don't even remember routine a vicious cycle of not remembering when even vicious is not visceral. Person per person Have told me their ruts It takes time to get out For me, fruitless yells of 'get out.' Instead of ruminating, you stew Instead of contemplation, you fester Instead of crescendo, you ****** Through hoops of negative feedback loops. You sink until beyond your point of bearing Every cell in your body becomes saturated with pale thoughts that make the water dry so dry, you become breathless of a different kind. Except it is known well, and only you know you hide it, because these thoughts crave isolation don't show among people so they won't be affected but its because these thoughts know you're far worse You can't function during nights yet it still knows how to engineer the perfect circumstance to keep descending to that nadir which has no bottom. People make you sick Things once enjoyed, tire and bore you Ideologies are far away on a plane You could never catch Because the fever you caught Makes you see the ends Don't justify the means It all seems so pointless. bombardment, attrition, unrelenting. And for once, you are granted a small reprieve. The morning hungover from intense thoughts Happy that for once I don't despair to just be.
0
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Saturation upon Saturation
to know your skin is to know the turmoil of creation you are the visceral the primal roar urging its way out i will shape you mold you out of sand draw your pleasure out and ruin your salvation you've given me a taste so now i'll sniff out your blood and crawl my way over and snarl and scratch at you and feast on your flesh
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Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 3:05 AM UTC
"to see you naked is to recall the earth"
An amorphous cave hides behind a cascading flow of crystalline blue, sparkling and shining like radiant glass. Inside the incandescent cave, an effervescent and ephemeral scent of dulcet cinnamon coalesces into the air of the inside of this seemingly halcyon cave. The feelings, the emotions, the sights, all too inexorable in it's ineffable reality. It calls out, with it's mellifluous and beautiful, languid and sirenic voice, incandescent with epiphany, "Come child of man, meet me, greet me, welcome me, me as the idyllic felicity some dare to even dream of, and then let me embrace you and enrapture you and encompass you in my incorporeal and frozen, evanescent tranquility." This ephemeral and serene cave now even murmurs and sings a tranquil symphony suffused with rhapsodic zeniths. It... It truly was ephemeral... A horrible shriek, a shrill and a repulsive and repugnant and rancid smell. A decrepit cacophony of hollow, anguished wailing and screaming. Pain at my soul, and a harsh, hoarse and coarse voice filled with slaughter and cataclysm. A grotesque, hirsute maladroit leech, visceral and shunned from everything and everyone, even the Earth itself...
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Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
The Ephemeral-Epiphany Cave Of Traps
My feelings on the world are a complex dichotomy. If I could control the world, my rule would be to control nothing. To give freedom and agency to everyone and let every culture and kind shine as they do and **** superiority and focus on growth, not ********** But, not all people aren't as communally minded as that. And though in theory I could change the rules, I can't change people. In its own way, that's beautiful. The visceral strength and resiliency of humanity fascinates me, with the chaotic undertones that lie beneath every eye. I love the spectrum of pain and brilliance it brings. But it also makes a utopian world of understanding and lack of control impossible to keep people safe; because never will there be a human race that doesn't at least have some people craving absolute control. I think this dichotomy within myself parallels my standing with humanity very well. There is something on most every end I can find fascinating: free will, selflessness, unpredictability, tenacity. But also I can never seem to be pleased with how humanity could be but never amount to. Not that it gives me much trouble. I've always kept humanity at an arm's length, choosing books and stories over the flesh-bags in front of my face. The only thing I ever struggled with was not being normal with my human relationships, and trying to make my methods match. My methods won't match because I might as well be an alien for all I care about directly interacting with humanity. Yet, I love humanity, in a way. I could write about human transcendence and growth until I die. I am madly in love with human potential. But I don't love humans. I don't love a species that muscle arms its way into dominance and can be arrogant and small-minded. After all we've managed to accomplish, and we're still start wars over skin color and scapegoating? Its laughable, in a way. I suppose I look at humanity as if I was an alien scientist. I have no way of measuring things or conducting research because I'm foreign, but I can see the greatness in their eyes and am floored by it. Yet I also see the violence in their eyes and am repelled by it. The most tragic, push and pull love of my life has been for this species. I've learned lately I'm okay with being alien. But its strange to find a foothold in a world where I feel constantly at odds and different. But I like strange, so I think its what works best. Between humanity and me, things are complicated. Things are wonderful and painful and all worth the while in its own, ****** way. I suppose all I have is my words and I'll share them, and humanity can listen if it will. I hope it will. I hope it can help people who feel like aliens too, and maybe then being an alien and a human can be easier. But for those things, we'll just have to see.
0
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 8:32 AM UTC
Between Humanity and Me
My feelings on the world are a complex dichotomy. If I could control the world, my rule would be to control nothing. To give freedom and agency to everyone and let every culture and kind shine as they do and **** superiority and focus on growth, not ********** But, not all people aren't as communally minded as that. And though in theory I could change the rules, I can't change people. In its own way, that's beautiful. The visceral strength and resiliency of humanity fascinates me, with the chaotic undertones that lie beneath every eye. I love the spectrum of pain and brilliance it brings. But it also makes a utopian world of understanding and lack of control impossible to keep people safe; because never will there be a human race that doesn't at least have some people craving absolute control. I think this dichotomy within myself parallels my standing with humanity very well. There is something on most every end I can find fascinating: free will, selflessness, unpredictability, tenacity. But also I can never seem to be pleased with how humanity could be but never amount to. Not that it gives me much trouble. I've always kept humanity at an arm's length, choosing books and stories over the flesh-bags in front of my face. The only thing I ever struggled with was not being normal with my human relationships, and trying to make my methods match. My methods won't match because I might as well be an alien for all I care about directly interacting with humanity. Yet, I love humanity, in a way. I could write about human transcendence and growth until I die. I am madly in love with human potential. But I don't love humans. I don't love a species that muscle arms its way into dominance and can be arrogant and small-minded. After all we've managed to accomplish, and we're still start wars over skin color and scapegoating? Its laughable, in a way. I suppose I look at humanity as if I was an alien scientist. I have no way of measuring things or conducting research because I'm foreign, but I can see the greatness in their eyes and am floored by it. Yet I also see the violence in their eyes and am repelled by it. The most tragic, push and pull love of my life has been for this species. I've learned lately I'm okay with being alien. But its strange to find a foothold in a world where I feel constantly at odds and different. But I like strange, so I think its what works best. Between humanity and me, things are complicated. Things are wonderful and painful and all worth the while in its own, ****** way. I suppose all I have is my words and I'll share them, and humanity can listen if it will. I hope it will. I hope it can help people who feel like aliens too, and maybe then being an alien and a human can be easier. But for those things, we'll just have to see.
Continue reading...
12
There’s a wildness within his eyes that sparks a fire inside my soul. Passion, desire and the bitter taste of lust float through the air as pheromones, Creating a bridge between us and linking us together. This visceral feeling acts almost like a drug, pulling me under and clouding my senses. It’s a primal game we play. We test ATTRACTion by creating friction with our bodies. And are frightened by the REACTion we feel, finding out that love, as a catalyst, knows no bounds of race, gender, religion, philosophy or age. That, in the end, we’re all just human and to love is what makes us so. And there’s no error in that.
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Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
Epiphany No. 6
Lushly lustful exotically ****** Vibrant virile fertile vicissitude Puissant terminus loquacity photic Pique piquant poignant pulchritude Lecherous visceral longevous cohort Wanton licentious erogenous frolic Lurid lascivious ****** cavort ***** lewd apomixes anabolic
0
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 5:54 AM UTC
Yaw
I would offer you the best sensations, shivers down your spine Ecstasy thrown, mind blown, you begging to be mine Stroke my ego and I might just stroke your skin Your body a new world, where should I begin Your face on mine, my hand now held just below your wrist Now Ill start with your lips because I simply can not resist The scrumptious shade of strawberry and the tastes even better In my mouth your tongue had sung and left me even wetter A calm that makes me no longer wanting to give up and give in A kiss that I want to build a house on and with you live in My hands hold your cheek As I stare up at you rather meek Then trace the lines on your face and run my fingers through your hair Nihilistic Pessimistic Altruistic We would make quite the pair Around your lovely locks tightens my grip as I pull back slightly biting on your lip, your hands gripping my hips so tightly I would smile with a silent confidence As you recount how long you've imagined this Your imagination may not have prepared you, albeit wondrous and vast To feel better than you've ever felt, just know that it cant last I would offer you the best sensations, shivers down your spine Ecstasy thrown, mind blown, you begging to be mine you chuckled and told me a body like mine should come with a warning label Your eyes hungry devouring me from across the dinner table The long lost longing, the build up, the intense temptation Your mind reeling from a new glorious sensation Nothing could have gotten you ready for what you'd feel with me Better than you've ever felt, so visceral and free I'm as persuasive as I am perverse A mind I'm sure you'd love to traverse I would offer you the best sensations, shivers down your spine Ecstasy thrown, mind blown, you begging to be mine.
0
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
Shivers Down Your Spine
I would offer you the best sensations, shivers down your spine Ecstasy thrown, mind blown, you begging to be mine Stroke my ego and I might just stroke your skin Your body a new world, where should I begin Your face on mine, my hand now held just below your wrist Now Ill start with your lips because I simply can not resist The scrumptious shade of strawberry and the tastes even better In my mouth your tongue had sung and left me even wetter A calm that makes me no longer wanting to give up and give in A kiss that I want to build a house on and with you live in My hands hold your cheek As I stare up at you rather meek Then trace the lines on your face and run my fingers through your hair Nihilistic Pessimistic Altruistic We would make quite the pair Around your lovely locks tightens my grip as I pull back slightly biting on your lip, your hands gripping my hips so tightly I would smile with a silent confidence As you recount how long you've imagined this Your imagination may not have prepared you, albeit wondrous and vast To feel better than you've ever felt, just know that it cant last I would offer you the best sensations, shivers down your spine Ecstasy thrown, mind blown, you begging to be mine you chuckled and told me a body like mine should come with a warning label Your eyes hungry devouring me from across the dinner table The long lost longing, the build up, the intense temptation Your mind reeling from a new glorious sensation Nothing could have gotten you ready for what you'd feel with me Better than you've ever felt, so visceral and free I'm as persuasive as I am perverse A mind I'm sure you'd love to traverse I would offer you the best sensations, shivers down your spine Ecstasy thrown, mind blown, you begging to be mine.
Continue reading...
35
*Perched upon the peasant’s altar Anomalous, conglomerate, anorexic, and onyx The concubine’s cake with the Oxford comma, Communal and picked and eaten at by little birds Nominal trauma oozes visceral ****** and break Sever and break Steep walls of amorphous clay Congeal to the walls of the willow Exquisite and infinite, infidel Flight ****** Lo, light of my life, Long hair dripping with whiskey*
0
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
Untitled