A WORD ABOUT FLESH…

Rapture holds
passion, not
infidelity.
(You have become
my forsaken
malady).

Ravish me.

The heat (is nearly
crippling).
I’m kissing,
your neck, (when)
my tongue finds the
sharp definition of your
Adam’s apple…Tastes-
so sweet, (and
so wonderful),
beneath the stubble
on (your neck),
your sculpted jaw,
and the other
delectable parts of you.
The salt of
sweat, leaves a hint,
in my mouth. Testosterone,
magnetic pheromones,
(fill up my sinuses,
head, and my throat).
And this divinity, almost
makes me forget, about
the pleasure I feel, every time
you move your hips.

Ravish me,
baby.

And slippery high moments,
that pale me-(just).
Pierce me.
Impale me, again and again.
It’s the flesh in my body, and
the ice in my soul.

fin

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Frustration: (Enter Stage Left)

I’m gonna give it up,
because, “I likes you”, but…
I don’t . I love the
things that you, could do, to me:
but-won’t. There’s not
enough, (of you), to come
around my (back-ward,
dirt-road, no-excuse-for-a)
back-door.

Upon the knee
of optimism: “it’s
more colourful
than I thought”…
these township roads Continue reading “Frustration: (Enter Stage Left)”

My Life

My boy-s have such beautiful eyes: all in the name of their minatory, blue-eyed Daddy. Perhaps he is a menace; you can believe me when I say…he is. Fortunately, for all concerned, (I see through, right to) their hearts…and it’s so familiar to me. My other two children (my son and my daughter) look more than a little bit, just like myself…an undeniable genetic fact, that has caused each some dismay. Their character is sound and open-(perhaps it’s just my eyes), but….I’m in love; the purest love with all four of my children…(perhaps I will live long enough to hear them call me mom).

fin

THE KISS

(I must confess); that
every intimate moment
we shared-
each passionate
EMBRACE…
(each one,
more sadistic,
than the last).
Constricting
precious air, as if
withholding rubber
chew toys,
from a pup. (who prefers
to chew on the sofa arm,
anyway).
I gasped.
He stopped, as if in triumph-
Had I given it all up? (admitting
urban greenery); meant
ugliness;
meant death just like
conformity. But in
a mere moment (yet,
a lifetime,
in the wrong place),
stopped me, revved up-
Sensibility, (would not
evade me further). Reckless
acts, my motivation; raw
emotion; a spontaneous chase
for passion.
I fell back as if there were
a caring pair of arms; a
mattress. Anything but
blackness-shattered glass beneath me,
ruins and remnants,
lust
had severed much,
from me-“what was his goddamned name?”
My good intentions, here,
are just as fallible,
as human as-(now I am)
staggering, boarishly-
feeling his presence
(looming) all around
me, makes me stutter, stammer,
(feel that)
DISABILITY-not knowing
where it came from;
verdant urbanity, and reckless,
verging psychopathic, vanity…
Always (almost), just a hair
away
from tragedy, I made so many
earnest,
rural, sweet
and unassuming,
mistakes,
before. And then I paid for them
in something….irreplaceable.
I paid in flesh.
I paid in blood.
I always paid in full, then
promptly, I
convinced myself “I’d
never err like that again”. But
sadly, here I am,
again. (This lesson
must be learned),
again.
I think he’s lied to me,
again. But baby,
I don’t care.
So, when he asks me (at my
weakest second), I
justify-to my
denigrated,
self in decline. I agree
to death,
(for abruptness in
bliss), before
violent defile. . .
Slow and indifferent;
his fist is apathy-
serving me,
to eternity in Hell. I don’t bother
to close my eyes to imagine the
dogged tears,
blood,
flesh rending
soiling, (unyielding): my
dismembering, will supersede
His pace, this place
is His, this town,
this filthy (infested),
restaraunt, the show (although)
delusional; is
gripping (but still belonging),
to Him.
Impatient now, I’m still
hoping, tolerating-(this)
makes me his trick-
a john, his bitch-at-beckon-call.
And, as I stand to leave I make a
mental note that I’m not even sure
why I’m here, anymore.
But, before I take a step,
I feel the hand on my shoulder,
displaying his strength,
compassionately, and I feel his
shameful inadequacy. The act-
It’s so fucking petty, yet claws
recall like a video feed,
right in front of me-Individual,
really quite personal, demonstrations:
my Dystopia.
I succumb to his sexualities, and
at once I’m inhaling him,
appeasing him,
wanting him, ——-
When, I realize my cryptic
mistake. I’ve been
here before, I remember this.
(The times, places,
the recovery-the
nearly-lost-my-worthless-life, while
he stood there, just
watching me.)
He shoves his
tongue, down my
throat; so hard,
I taste blood.
(Like the last time). . .a riot of idiocy,
a stream of license plates,
scrolling down,
committed to memory. A long list
of guys who live to distribute
their hate; their names,
(yeah, their license
plates). I’m such a
stupid girl, dumb girl-(This one’s
the reaper, girl). Grim,
stinking of evil, cocksure;
he didn’t even lie about
his name. (Uncommon, enough,
a name a sane girl wouldn’t forget).

It’s black,
Death.

20121022-072817.jpg
‘The Kiss’ by
Gustav Klimt