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Andra May 2015
02:47 am. i am on the bench, alone, waiting...

the stranger sees me, sighs and asks me wheezing:
"you yearn for someone, too. don't you?"
i gasp. he passes by me and stops.
"what do i have to do to get rid of the yearning? i'm not ok..."
i say nothing, but in my eyes he could've read my answer, my cries and my yearn.
my yearns...
"i should go to sleep, right?"
i smile.
„but does it go away?”
„it certainly does not go away, but at some point you will get used to it and it's like a friend new in town that you take out for a walk.”, i answer him.
"you miss him, don't you?"
i gasp again. we look quietly at each other for a few seconds. then my phone rings.
"tell him that. you might be surprised. now i'll go, pick it up. good night!"
i managed to say: "take care of your yearns!" and i picked up the phone.

it was not him.
anemo ne Jun 18
The first sign of a dream approaching is that when you’ve already awoken,
awoken to a strange place with no trace of how you could’ve gotten there.
And the unfamiliar faces near, with eyes similar to shaded shards,
you can’t help but notice the feelings emitted was somehow something you’ve come to known before,
but where?
A sign of discord covers the room,
all that was allowed is furthest from you,
a parched paper made from twill knows nothing but lead between  
you find a face emerging from it,
quickly drawn with detail,
there it stops from motion to undulating surpass,
away from a darkened room up in front of a morning taking.
This conjuring source flairs outward
rising through the outworn canvas
leading it to embers
dancing away along a fizzled plane
for what was despair described in its meaningful dereliction.
To what is empty from emotion is nonexistent,
I couldn’t find the reason to live on,
this dream has died as will I.. as will the will of this way this place carries over me.
Yes decay follows me,
unto everywhere will there be the silent breezes to carry me past the concrete terrain into nothingness.
I find myself to live this over,
until the advent of air drowns these lungs to know again,
to know exactly what it means to breathe again.
I see no reason for such things as unrealistic as they may seem likely for me to occur in this living.
Again I’m stuck in a room full of my owns thoughts,
such a dangerously sorrowful place to be.
‘For everything as it may have not been
weary am I for looking forward at
The things that never happened’

In its most rawest.
5.3

Parallels:
Snow, for me exemplifies a mute understanding from in juxtaposition with various types of sadnesses that branch off into disparately inclined yearnings, to nostalgic preferences, whether known or not. Why it happens is of course obvious but the way it affects you, makes one wonder, if at all— I think I’m trailing off my train of though here, I’m not sure where this is going..

This was inspired by a remarkable composer, as I recalled a dream before, along with the yearning of trying to expose my underlying expansion of myself with my current understanding of things. what it all could mean as much of his cello’s presence affected me during that process. I’m the gray area that needs deciphering.

—continuations:
the cello that wails the loudest, is one that suffers the most. Even so, every tone encapsulates the listener with resonance. And in that, it reaches its utmost vulnerability, showing the many hues imbedded in an infinite sadness, in an astronomical way, a type of exquisite somber, that resides in the instrument’s hollowness until implementation of procedure.
rob kistner Jul 10
ADULT. CONTENT*
_

radiant vision silken skinned
translucent alabaster blaze
torrid as a teen's temptation
leaned low here before me
yearning

strappened ankles fragile turned
stiletto'd rise
on carpet soft
emblazened vixen
forward bent
availed so boldly
craving
burning

dual swells of fleshen myth
atop two lathen'd stems
they writhe
smooth and lithe
as liquid love
turned by pleasure's gloried angels

stretched taut
raised high on tips of toes
proud
defined
and goddess buff
offered now
for hunger's taking
consumed until
I've had enough

graceful face
brazen aglow
comely raised and tilted back
my fingers tangled in your hair
lifting firm
lusciously slow

swept away in lustful swoon
forearms rest on velvet sheets
eyes aflame in sapphire need
blatant in your fetched seduction

Hedone's daughter lush with Spring
smolders
in soft golden fire
that folds upon you soft as satin
'cross nape of neck
arched silk desire

down glistening back
that tempting tapers
to warm and tender
sultry surprise

a wonderland for fingertips
to touch
and tease
and tantalize

to explore
your quivering body
soul-addictive
deliciously
grand

divinely-pleasing sculpted vessel
brought forth by Aphrodite's hand

virgin fruit swells full and ripe
flesh silhouette to hypnotize
enticing in the candle's flicker
fondled by my hungry eyes

I stroke and tweak
the blossomed berries
that burst
engorged with passion's heat

that taunt my tongue to twirl 'round
my teeth to nip the tempting treat
draw to my lips
now lewdly moist
to take
and taste in eager suckle

willful hands
of pleasured probing
wrap slender waist
then slowly slide
'cross pleading hips
to folds of Venus
liquid molten
deep inside

into this angel's fire I'm thrust
to thrust
and thrust
in randy lust

love's raging heart
demands I must
and so I wildly
thrust and thrust
until finally
I'm spent and bust
passion's seed
has turned to dust

and wanton
carnal
flames
are snuffed

spring's sweet madness
is full rebuffed

_


rob kistner © 2010
(revised 2018
Hedone was the personification and goddess of sensual pleasure.
*WARNING! For adult readers only!
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