"voluptuously" poems
The dream haunts me
often, far too often, building
in intensity but is initially
disguised in absurdity and the
nonsense of a young man's lusts
with an old man's deficits.
This woman-like entity,
ill-defined at first but forming
voluptuously, emerges from
swelling curtains. She moves, more
levitates, toward my bed, buoyed
by what I don't know, but angelic-like
it would seem. Or perhaps
an Aphrodite reincarnate?
Oh this goddess, what pale
skin, as Parian marble, full bosomed,
jutting ******* ***** that
beckon, nearly drool, and pursed
red lips beaded with sweet
juice stolen from the wild cherry
tree beneath my window.
Far too much clarity for a simple
dream. But such a dream! And what
seething testosterone I feel!
I am become a hedonist, raging,
pulsing spermatozoa, renewed
of time and youthful energies.
Nerve into nerve we join, ecstacy
compounding ecstacy, bodies wantonly
impaling the other on this love bed
to the result that each cell of our
individualities melds. We are indistinct,
yes - as one, and any ****** impulse
between us is shared to the point of
utter exhaustion, depletion. I am
nearly drained of life, it would seem.
Then, as it always must,
the scene changes, Act II.
Inexplicably, shedding a ******
serpentine-like skin, she slings it away
and drops limply upon me - entirely
skeletal, dry cartilage, sinew, lifeless,
sexless, motionless. The horror
of a diabolical hollowness
stares through me, and I am
suspended, fully terrorized, in
this paralysis. So, this is
succumbing to the Succubus?
God, my dear God, that I should
never dream again!
--
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 10:25 AM UTC
The music of life, at times, is a raucously *** concert
of ominously monotonous melodies sung sirenically
by voluptuously ugly monsters.
Curvaceous enough to flaunt the fact they’re actually ****
Which makes you feel like an *** but that’s just the way
it was meant to be.
Then the chorus bombs in, and the song starts to get sweeter
since the tune becomes a lot like Bob’s album: Street-Legal.
But as quick as you can nictitate, the ****** you anticipate
flicks away like a spark that was never gonna be lit-to-flame.
And so revert the monsters, their obnoxiously off-key verse,
somehow being, paradoxically, still acceptably heard.
And I almost forgot to mention how horrifyingly awkward
the gawking audience dances! Watching it is honestly
the most awful part of this non-senseness.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
Laying down in deep sleep
I see you
looking at me
from across the room
a holographic image,
as you lay down, too
in your faraway bed
in your faraway room
but your eyes, locked on mine
this is what's close
this is what's true
I feel your gaze
upon my third eye
feel your loving stare
deep inside
it penetrates and weaves its
way between the layers
of my heart
slices gently
tears me apart
being in torrid distance
sometimes hurts
and sometimes
I don't feel it at all
because in a space
beyond the ticking of clocks
in a set of hours
that exists beyond locks
in a private universe
that exists just for us
you are right here
breathing next to me
your chest rising with each
deep, relaxed breath
your mere presence
catching
my
fall
and as your eyes
radiate love into mine
from that bed across
the zoneless moon
our hands reach out,
fingers intertwine
two souls soldered
in landscapes separate
yet spanning the waves
across time
(and our nightair kisses
fly like the tiniest of flowers
confetti gliding
voluptuously sweet
and unfolding
in raging, perpetual
bloom)
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 7:26 AM UTC
swirling
living
in a world
filled
with vicarious
vicious doubt
spreading
a cancer throughout
lingering
for moments
hours
days
weeks
months
then dissipating
softly through
the indigo midnight bloom
filling crevasses
exploding voluptuously
in a brilliant crimson
clouds of dust
ending day
while beginning night
coaxing death
aching
for tranquility
in quiet hours
fearless at dawn
shivering
in the absence of warmth
taking
soft, lonely steps
towards unknown pleasures
yearning
begging
for the sun’s eager rays
to cast long, winter shadows
to awaken us
and to bring
an end
to slumber
in the young hours
restless shifting
and beating fingers
grazing lips
across frozen air
capturing breath
and slowing recovery
spring
blooms tulips
and she
is there
only she
lingers
taking my eyes
and sealing
my quivering mouth shut
with subtle words
robbing me
of my senses
driving
me to the bring of madness
and deserting me
in azure fields
tinged
with velvet gold
she takes
my thoughts
wrapping them
in delicate papyrus
savors them
like i savor
her presence
her silver
her waves
of silken tones
her musical strings
her tulips
in blooming spring
driving away
madness
only her
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC
You told me my colors clashed
But I think them more to dash
and lash out
at passersby to sing and scream,
to shout
to sigh and shrug,
to let it all out
To breathe real deep and hold it there
my chest the spectrum swells to a tear
dulls, pallids, dry and opaque
to sing and scream, to shout,
to shake.
Violently to wake.
Violently vaporize voluptuously
from lustful lucidity lusciously
to chromatically color kaleidoscopically
and wake.
Silently shake and to...
Brilliantly Break.
Such a brilliant break, the day's.
To shatter smoothly in calm collision
through the dripping dew, the haze
Oh the grip of you, the taste
Such a fantastic fission
Illuminate
Such a drastic decision
in a dreamstate.
Such a calm collision.
You told me my colors clashed.
*Your eyes, my sinking shrine
A wishing well in Town Square
filled with hope and change over time
Long and Loving I would sweetly stare
copper glowin' fine
Your eyes, at the present, you forgot to mention
what new love with my coins did you buy?
Your eyes, at the present, you forgot to mention
was my wishing well shrine emptied in the night?
Your eyes, at the present, you forgot to mention
why void of shine, lined with lies?*
You told me my colors clashed
Your eyes, though sublime,
Maybe Mis-matched.
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 1:30 AM UTC
in days of old
when knights were bold
returning battle-weary wounded
would be taken to temples
where priestesses
noble ******
dressed their wounds
with salves and medicinal herbs
to heal
and perform voluptuously ****** acts
for love and pleasure
a fevered joining
in the realm of the senses
spirit with flesh
in Venusian worship
devotion to sacred desires
courtesans of divinity
sacred hearts
with eager wet mouths
and
oh so willing open sacred *****
women of the highest character
once consecrated ladies
sadly lost to us
like arcane holy waters
that gave spiritual blow jobs
to wash away the pain
now in history's dust bin
of ***** dreams
sad vaginas and *****
desolated cups and ******
things get worse with time
in our Victorian phantasm
of serial monogamies
and broken heart
trunk music marriages
..........
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 6:18 AM UTC
No, I'm not a poet.
I'm just an interpreter of tales in which tears are drops of longing ...
Tales, in which I hear through my ears
echoes of an invisible and indivisible world ...
I sometimes like to pour myself a little red
and sweet wine of the silence cup,
the inner silence is erupting from me,
which seems to me to be a deaf-mute dispute between heart and reason ...
No, I'm not a poet.
Only words are fighting against me,
but still, I feel my heart is lifting in their arms,
with the same intensity as at the beginning...
The letters in my words do not need arguments,
they just want to free themselves,
to touch souls more and more, joining in verses,
their destinies being knotted with rhymes ...
No, I'm not a poet.
I'm just a human beeing who, for a few moments,
has a breath of inspiration,
swallowing with greed the air from the room
where I lay down my silence, my love, my longing,
trying to transform words into a vibrant power, almost tangible.
Sometimes I use words with a killing flesh of attraction,
like a masterful crowning of the letters that take hold of my pen...
and sometimes with a gentle, sweet glance,
whispering voluptuously, making my rhymes fall on their knees ...
No, I'm not a poet.
I just measure the universe with a hungry, critically eye-catching curiosity,
while the aroma of my coffee is flowing in the air,
escaping from the espresso,
mysteriously and dazzling...
I just caress the words on the pavements of the lyrics
peeled by the rains of the heart where the letters are sad and lonely...
Now I retire with a slight bow,
as an unspoken satisfaction, in front of all those who read me,
in front of the ones you know me...
A delusive lust to write a few lyrics has taken me by surprise...
maybe about truth, maybe about numb dreams,
maybe about the cure of lost hearts... which is love!
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 5:21 PM UTC
And when your day expose to test,
Come home to where your soul can rest
Darling come home
The night lit up by lovers yearn
wet lips taught
breathed an impassioned nocturne
The winds lament
swells the air
milk dampened with opaline tears
the sweat on flesh and fear
High as the rising tide
with might and main
with lust and claim
one slow kiss at a time
Fingers on flesh,
tracing my heart in hand
languished and bracing
In your eyes I am mirrored pallid
these naked gentle bones
back arched,
arms outstretched
innocense exposed
My lovers heart beats devoted
his pulse of heat is mine the same
two bodies embraced
my skin of silk his body drapes
This passionate heart,
his native drum
with every beat a roaring thunder runs
My eyes are of twilight and dawn
jewels your fingers give to me
flowering and brown
wild as the forest
calm as meadow
both dance,
my dearest fortune dances voluptuously on my belly
My body yearns
entranced with every breath
the rise and fall from his two iron gates
my fingers fleet to caress
Arms like veins up along my thighs
make me weak at the knees
as I fall into your sea
great body of beauty
wash over me
Come to my mouth
sweet, perfumed tongue
where my lips pour sweet wine
and drink my breath of infinite kisses
I am his queen
His body lapped over me
as if he was caressing his own white casket
Vagabonds enslaved to this beauty
Reckless creatures
"Your Gaze, Your Mouth, Your Foot, Opens Door",
(c) Jul 19, 2008 , Bellabloom, and its affiliates and assigns and licencors
All rights reserved
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
you never tell me to go **** myself
unless you want to help me do it
like when you get on your knees
after doing the knife stamp dance
loving my sickness as your own
Your *** a weaving curl
if I asked you to eat worms
you'd run to the tackle store
and buy a box of them
put on blood red lipstick
and tarnish your gleaming pearly whites
you all leg spread
**** on a plate
doing the shimmy
and gobble them down
making your tongue brown
like **** from hell
flashing your eyes like lightning
and laugh making me eat the rest
before ordering me to lick your ***
like Mr. Clean
all **** and span
obedience is our lubricant
each other's darkest secret dreams
baked in the fires of a red-hot furnace
mixing our ashes
and boiling blood
what's next ?
bare feet on hot coals
rope burns
little strangles and tender kisses
cherry blood **** to devour
ballet toe licking
my **** wrapped by you in a square knot
whos the queen
whos the king
whos the *****
princess of ***** deeds
whos groveling in the mud
begging for a spanking
******* like red raspberries
we are
tears of passion
saliva kisses
each other's kabuki **** doll
hurt me, hurt you
we cry and die
loving like coiled monsters in heaven
when we walk down the street
arm in arm we know
no one could ever have us
like we have each other
sick twisted lovebirds
gargling bloodstones
bending over for each other
at every turn
**** and ****** rings
to pull us along
**** forced open
fingers lickin good
preamble
spicy screaming kisses like nettles
on drunken nights
our *** like dripping buds
black cat perfume
our bed an ancient red alter
spikes for sacrifice
all golden glow
Queen Snakes
voluptuously ******
cuddle in Carpathian mists
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
Tonight the moon,
Voluptuously full and swollen
Moved close to me
And whispered -
(The way new lovers often do in the early hours
When they are sure the other is still sleeping,
Or too groggy to understand )
And truly I did not understand -
But I smiled and nodded
And continued our walk.
Now as I try to reconstruct the moment
I can’t help thinking
That beneath the sweet, gentle lightness
of the night breeze
There were overtones of something much darker.
Shadows mixed with dreams
Mixed with dreams
Mixed with moonbeams.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 2:32 AM UTC
*she thought who am i
there are so many of me
am i not veils and masks
even to myself
like a locked box
am i not peopled
with miscreant brooding hordes
of shadow selves
whispering gods and demons
taking space up within
like a coffin attic bedroom
to be rented out
for some wayward spectral family
oh children of the night
arguing like
black quilled throwing porcupines
players of dismal warbled music
that sounds like nails scratching floor boards
in the cold dread dead of night
at Holiday Hells Inn
see me she thought
am i not
an icon of responsibility
bright light
sweet and good
engraving angels on silver
making all sacred in the marvelous calm
wouldn't hurt a fly
oh no
me oh my
showered and smelling like
Chanel
she the feminist
her favorite words
"thats disgusting
and no"
until her fingers sneak down her pants
feeling like a flowery beautiful woman
who weeps to be naked
raked over desires hot coals
and forced to worship
big cocked men
to be engorged voluptuously
like a stuffed butter ball turkey
until her eyes roll back
like white moons shuttering
where gratitude is met
with bay *** and ***** tongues
a celebration of thanksgiving
and thanks is really given
with a star performance
leg show
lubricated for the baking oven
garnished with pineapple
dripping
tipping head over heels
at dizzying heights
hanging from a swinging chandelier
bejeweled
upside down girl
doing butter **** splits
to be scraped off walls and ceilings
like whipping cream whipped
and subsumed in the perfect power and glory
of
NO MIND*
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC
Through the forests of an old desire,
I have trod with utmost fear and dread,
While I voluptuously fought with fire,
I've known the demons that there spread,
That spread in their fantastic evil,
Whispering ghastly secrets of the dead.
Wind was fierce in his ways most cryptic,
Speaking things of odds unspeakable.
I've learned what lurks in skies ecliptic,
Daring fiends of spheres unreachable.
They swarmed in myriads of dauntless imps,
Of horrid eyes and reddish wings.
Aghast I saw them eating flesh,
Of ghoulish creatures dead and fresh.
Their voice was as if chasm had mouth,
Yawning like stars past flaming south,
It roared most grisly in its despair,
As if my thoughts it used to share.
Through the forests of that old desire,
I have dwelt in caves of fear and dread,
While I voluptuously fought with ire,
Against the demons that there spread,
That spread in their unholy lust,
Bringing a Succubus of their trust,
For me to copulate with,
And not forget my secret lust.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
on the stairs in front of the old row house
two doors on the front between two Azaleas beautifully
displaying their grandeur
I sit non-competitive with a thing in this world
the paint flaking under my *** on the worn out tongue and groove floor
and a tilted brick post supports the roof
and I am concretely not caring
about peeling paint or the leaky roof
or the neighbor's complaining constantly how my
Gardenia bushes by the property line so full so gorgeous
voluptuously block their view
little things don't matter I sweat them off
because I got some heavy duty
anti-perspirant I cook up myself
don't tell the DEA
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
The sounds of her sighs
Slid voluptuously
Long into my wakening nights
She made me a lover,
Of common things,
She made me a lover, of light.
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 11:58 AM UTC