time it is
she beckoned
time and I ate of it
the dread
the matter of her
no kiss of her
from her
honestly
no doubt, I knew...

it was dinner time

"eat me"
she labored
as dog in heat
spread her legs
as on stirrups
I be, the muzzle be her divorce from me
yank my collar, chain wrapped
about her hand
beckon me
"eat"
chain be her love I desire
collar be my patience given
but appetite?

mine be love
her beest pleasure
I have no appetite for
merely
pleasure
neither hers nor mine
sans love?

no appetite at all have I

eyes so weary of wanting
that I melt
as Salvador Dali prophesied
mine eyes droop
her thighs
wet my fantasies
as ice cream, on the hottest Sunday,
I am weak
weary of denying myself her
she, a mere rainforest of beauty
abundant in plural, though singular
her flower
droop me 'tween mine legs
raise me, as the dawn rises zenithly,
she pies me,
my piper, my charmed being
I'm pied
she has me
dancing, midriffly, with ****** fervor
mine eyes cast down
as shadow in sunset
lone tree in the wilderness
redfern shadow
a mile long
mine eyes cast down between her legs
seeing all my heart's desires

"eat"

and all the hope dyeth there

"eat"

despair, I mourn
I pine
"love me"
I opine, my lover love me
be not pleasure the measure of our stay, in bed, this Sunday
love me, as the Father hath given us this day
be not Eve of the forbidden love
be Dawn of the day we won eternal life from the devil's death
that my fruit be of your nectar drunk, that I be your pleasure,
and you be mine
that I succor thine fruit
hour by hour that you writhe
not as snake but as mountain shook
as mountain moved
faithfully, you love me,
let that fantasy be mine drink
and thine offering due my thirst
that love sate me,
nay?!

"eat!"

and all the world looketh empty of light

"eat! **** you"

and all the world be afright with wonder that I be man, yet, eat not my ******, that
she be heathen of love, still, my ****** she be,

simply,
that mine eyes drink her in
beauty beyond compare
but that mine ears deceive me not
for deceive me, her flesh does
but her forked tongue
as lightning streak
she shat the bed
that streak be her ****** blessing
dashed across her whorish ways
be that time
I linger in wait
wanting, but that I eat
she trappeth me
that all I be good for
os her pleasure
but be not fit
for her love

"eat! what are you good for?!"

nay

"eat!"

nay

"what my flesh be, here, then?"

a trap,
and I say nay
for I be a lover
of such supple,
gorgeous,
womanly flesh, not, merely,
a ******...

"eat"

I be not hungry,
for a *****,
so, I say,

nay...

but,
that ye should, learn love me
perhaps,
that day

perhaps
then, yay

I’ve dreamed of a place where I can rest,
Yet I never searched with hope—still, you found me.
Your warmth, your touch, your eyes—
They awaken something I thought long lost.

It isn’t fantasy, nor is it a dream- I can see it now.
Ive grown accustomed to wandering through gardens of thorns, yet you chose to hand me nothing but delicate flowers.
Unrelentlessly fighting with ghosts of my past, You breathed life into what was fading.

You are what I couldn’t fathom to dream of.
You kiss my scars, and they begin to heal.
You stitch my wings, and I learn to fly.
You cultivate a field of wildflowers,
So I may run free beneath the open sky.
With your love, your strength, your unwavering devotion—
The past never stood a chance.

I revel in the thought of our souls entwined,
Dancing through lifetimes before this one.
For you, I lay down my sword, my shield, my armor—
For you render them useless.
I see my future filled with dreams that only a rare few could ever grasp.

So take my hand and lead me forward,
Through fields kissed by golden light.
With you, love is not just a fleeting moment,
But the quiet eternity I never thought I’d find.

Even if the world should darken,
Even if time dares to pull us apart,
Know this—
My love for you will outlive the stars,
And in every life, I will find you again.
And my heart- it is and always will be truly yours to keep.

You left me — but your voice lingers still,
a quiet echo threading the hollow of my chest.
Each word, a ghost — soft as smoke,
yet heavy as stones I cannot lay down.

Tell me — does absence end a presence,
or do the shadows of love remain,
like paintings in an empty gallery,
etched into the silence of who we were?

In every corner of my mind,
your words move like uninvited guests,
rearranging memories,
leaving traces where you once filled every space.

If love is gone —
why does my heart still tune itself
to the phantom murmurs of your voice,
waiting, endlessly,
for a silence that heals?

Among the crowd, busy life,
I saw a soul, hustling around.
Not like people, always rife,
A lost boy, ought to be found.

I saw you pass by,
Pass though my whole.
I wished to talk, say "Hi!"
But I only saw you, behind the pole.

I saw you, but so did you
You opened your mouth, I passed by,
Like a puzzle, you left a clue,
Walked away just after, "I!..."

What were you about to say,
This haunts me still,
Maybe you wanted to make me your bae,
Oh, I'm climbing a steep hill.

You ran a blitzkrieg on my heart,
Invading like the Mongol's carte,
Menu of skulls and bones.

After your attack,
You settled down,
Sweeping up the bruise and blood.

Then you just left,
What? I thought you wanted this nation?
I guess not.

There is power unfettered
In one’s right to write
Universes upon screen or page
Weaving words like clay or paint
To express or depress the senses,
As even us gods chase for the holy grail
Of inner peace and enlightenment therein,
So waste no further on fruitless squabbles
And show me world’s within your pen.

I wandered through silence,
bare feet tracing paths unseen,
adrift in a world without reason—
a ghost of what was,
a whisper of what could be.

Then you,
a steady hand upon my ribs,
fingers like verses,
writing me back into place.
Be my direction,
my gravity,
my correction.

For rightfully so, I see it—
not with sight,
but with the quiet knowing
of something meant,
of something found.

Fingers trace fire,
a whisper against trembling skin,
desires rising, unraveling,
spilling secrets in the hush of night.

A surge, a gasp—
breath caught between need and knowing,
pleasure flooding, aching,
a worship of motion, of surrender.

A gush, a pulse, a cry—
still, I wonder,
what magic is this,
that sets me free and binds me whole?