I worry about your days,
How you spend them,
If they are going to be enough.
I worry about your lips.
Will the smile today,
let out a laugh today.
I worry about your arms.
Who will they embrace?
Will they carry your burdens well?
I worry about you.
I do.
I simply worry about you.
I want you to be my lover,
Whose hands I hold onto.
Whose lips I kiss.
Whose heart I have.
I want you to be my lover,
the man who holds me,
the man who kisses me,
the man who has me.
I’ll never say what I really feel.
I can’t.
I’ll simply repeat what is going on around me.
Just never inside of me.
The curse of a poet.
Like the parachutes of a dandelion in the summer breeze.
The stone that is skipped on a murky pond in spring.
Like the helium balloons on their way filled with wishes.
I seek something just out of touch once it’s gone.
I can’t tell if honesty is honestly anything worth mentioning, after all the honesty goes downhill after recess ends. I mean we don’t really know what honesty is, we aren’t even conceived in honesty. I mean, one night stands and broken homes don’t exactly shout out, “Hey, it’s all about the honesty tonight!” No. In fact, it’s the opposite. One night stands, broken homes, and our inner angel tends to sweep honesty under the rug; and honestly, that gets a little boring. Honesty is more raw and amazing than lies are. How many times do people lie to cover the honest truth, think about that. I mean, honestly, how many times do we tell the truth to cover a lie? (Not as often, I’ll tell you that, that’s the god’s honest truth). Even behind keyboards we lie through our nifty little clicky teeth while we speak. Honestly, it gets to be too much, I’d honestly rather die than deal with our lies or honesty. I mean that, honestly.
She could feel the fabric as it slid gently between her fingers, she could feel the threads as they were folded in on one another. She could almost count the threads; one by one.
She picked up another towel, and looked at the rich, jewel, maroon that the towel was colored. She mentally placed it coming out of someone’s skull, like blood leaking onto the ground. Like blood that not only bled but also cleaned itself up.
She could feel the blood still on her hands, she could feel the blood beneath her fingernails, and she could still feel the pressure against her skin. He had asked for it, really. I mean, he insisted on it if you really think about it.
He pressed himself against her, his rough hands holding her hands to the wall in her room. He pressed his vodka flavored lips to her delicate face. He was sloppy, really he was.
He continued to kiss her, grinding into her, then he took her to the bed. He took her to the place that she slept in at night, knowing she was safe. He tied her hands with rope and tied that to the headboard.
He kissed her again, his sloppy lips grazing hers. His lips traveled the cheek and neck of his victim. He really was sloppy, really he asked for it. He undressed her, ripping her Mickey mouse shirt with a knife.
He took her shorts from her legs, leaving her exposed to the cold and then he tore the boy shorts from her body as well. She was exposed, and he hastily undressed himself, knocking over a lamp. He asked for it, he really did.
He laid on top of her, grinding into her, loving her with his lust and kissing ever inch of her. He smelt like cheap vodka, too much cologne, and menthol cigarettes. He asked for it, he really did.
After achieving the goal he came to achieve, he untied the woman, held her in his arms, and fell asleep with her in their bed. He whispered sweet things to his wife as he fell fast asleep. He deserved it, he really did.
She took to the bathroom, found her gun, and hit it in her bra. It was pink and compact, he bought it for her, “in case anyone endangers your well being,” he said. He deserved it, really, he did.
She let out a shriek and called him into the white tile bathroom, sure enough he stumbled in. The alcohol leaving and in its place seemed little bits of hangover. She told him there was a spider.
She swore up and down that it was there, so he bent over with a flip flop and went looking for it. Without hesitation she took the gun, shot the bullet, and ended his life. He deserved it, he really did.
She sat in the kitchen folding towels, waiting for the police to come collect the body and then take her to prison. When asked why she did it she’ll say,
“He deserved it, he really did. 14 years of marriage and he still breaks lamps, tries to make me enjoy his fantasies, insists on sticking his flacid cock in me, and he still can’t get me off. Really, he deserved it.”
She sat in the kitchen, folding towels, knowing that she’d not have to do laundry for a long time to come.
They tried to baptize me in water.
Get me to speak with a tongue of fire.
They said God was a whirling wind.
They said God was a rock to stand upon.
I only wanted to count your tears.
I only wanted you to vent to me.
I only wanted to explore with you.
I wanted to be there for you.
I don’t need a god of any sort,
I just want you happy.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
Fingers trailing along the lines of your body as your hands roam my body like the finger of a shotgun rider trailing along a map in the middle of no where. We have nothing better to do other than learning the other.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
Our lips lock like two puzzle pieces putting together a picture for a person to see. Your lips are warm against my skin as you spread kisses upon my neck, my collar bone, along my sternum. Taking my breath away as you go.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
Our bodies press together like we are waiting for warmth in the winter months in Wyoming but our bodies would melt even diamonds into puddles onto the floor. I feel you press against me, denim against denim, cotton against cotton. Hands against hands.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
The rustle of the red shirt as it flies across the room to where the rest of your laundry sits still. The whisper of you removing my shirt as our lips part for the briefest of moments. Chest against chest.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
Our chests press to one another and yours is chiseled by the gods who specialize in anatomy. Anatomy, your anatomy is flawless on your chest like a treasure chest waiting to bear its treasure to the lucky suitor or explorer who can find it.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
The sound of our pants removing themselves in such a way, that it seems like they flee from our bodies on their own. Denim is gone exposing the cotton of our briefs. Our hands explore and tempt the gates.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
Everything now seems so perfect as your lips trace down my neck, to my sternum, down my abdomen then you rise like a tidal wave to my lips once more. Teasing, tempting, never satisfying.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
In another moment’s notice, our clothes are gone. I feel our bodies press together in the heat of the moment. You are flawless in your creation and our cocks press to one another.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
I feel them press to the other, teasing, tempting, and singing a song of pure lust. Your body and mine pressed together. Now it is my turn to explore down your neck. Down your chest. Down your abdomen.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
I feel your hips beneath my lips as you moan, a song to my ears. I feel your cock, the symbol of you manhood and I do anything to please. I feel you dominate me in a way that I concede the battle with no fight.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
We roam like this back and forth. It lasts for hours on end. It’s like we never wanted to end this moment.
Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Adrenaline. Pumping. Nerves. Striking. Beat. Beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Fingers. Trailing. Hands. Roaming.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
The alarm clock awakens me before either one could finish. I roll over. It was a dream. My bed is as empty now as it was when I went to sleep. I roll back over, pull the blanket around my body, and hide myself in my thoughts of what will never come.
Every time I look at the moon, I realize I’m gazing into beauty. I’m gazing into something that has been worshiped for the beauty it possesses. It possesses the minds, the hands, the bodies of her people. She leads them to love, to live, to splendor. She wraps her gentle arms around my body and pulls me in closer. I feel her presence behind me, holding me, cradling me. I lean into her, the great mother, the maiden, and the crone. She is the one who is giver of life, she leaves behind beauty where she touches, she gives peace. I lean into her, hearing the whisper of the breeze caressing my ears and dancing into my soul. They dance around my ear like a tribe of shamans dance around a fire, reaching for more. I feel the pulse of the earth beneath my feet, dancing in the wind through the trees and the leaves. I feel it supporting itself and those on it. The earth stands strong, though she has been poisoned. I feel the stars dance around me, landing upon my face, my arms, and my hair. When they land, they laugh. Little pieces of laughter glisten in the sky, little pieces of hope land upon my skin. I feel the moon holding me tightly. That is when I realize I’ve been crying comets, and that the sky is full of them. Each tear a blazing star in the sky.
I feel the sun holding me now, taking me from the moon. I feel the sun taking me into his warmth, providing me with the laughter I need to give life to my dreams. The sun asks me my dreams and wishes, and as I speak them they fly from my mouth like butterflies and dragonflies. The sun asks me my fears and as I speak them, the leave me like dead weight being thrown off. The sun turns me to him, his beauty is just as stunning as the moon. He holds me in his arms and the son starts to press his lips to mine. I feel the gentle heat upon my lips and his arms lay me in a bed of wild flowers. I feel his gentle hands caress my face as he kisses me and shows me love. I feel the son take away my clothes in a way I barely notice. I feel our bodies merge, I feel the son penetrate deep into my body, my mind, my soul, and my heart. I feel the son showing me love and lust and splendor. The flowers beneath us raise their faces to us and stare in awe of the worshiping of each other that the son and I are doing to each other’s bodies.
I feel a shift and I soon look into the eyes of the son, and realize he has handed me off yet again. Now, I am being loved by self. I feel self gently whisper into my ears words that only self and I will ever know. I feel self give in and I feel myself give in to self. The two of us whisper “I love you”s and we merge to be one. I am the moon, I am the sun, I am me, I am divine.
He sits starring into his cup of coffee.
Like a modern day seer he stares into the abyss.
He sits and tries for images of his future, with joy.
All he really finds appears to be the daily grind.
He realizes he is stuck in his daily grind.
As he goes to work, he walks a new route.
Feeling like changing things may benefit him in some way
He feels the air; so crisp and clean, and he takes deep breaths.
He Crosses a new street, going a different way.
And it ends in a crash by a bus.
His guts are splattered onto the street.
The policemen stare at it looking for signs.
They try to become modern day seers.
they give up their adventure, knowing nothing new.
Ask the man on the street, he’d say it’s best that way.
These words are lacking the courage,
I once had a pair I could use,
Those two pens were lovely,
But they have no use.
He gave my words meaning,
Like the merriam-webster would.
He gave them a reason,
Like only Einstein could.
He gave them something beautiful,
But sadly they seem to lack.
Now I just write empty words,
Kind of like the heart the Doctor fixed,
When he emptied out the essence.
He was the essence.
Of every line I ever wrote.
He just doesn’t know it yet,
and maybe he never will.
I’ll take another shot…
of tequila, vodka, or lead.
Either way it could only end badly,
and I’m fine with that.
I’ve got these hands
Soft as a Texas spring.
I’ve got these hands
Not seeking a ring.
I’ve got these hands,
that create art
I’ve got these hands,
That will do their part.
You’ve got your hands,
As mysterious as can be.
You’ve got your hands
As curious as the sea.
You’ve got your hands
I’ve yet to ever touch
You’ve got your hands
Thats all I want, not much.
You’ve got your hands,
So new to explore,
You’ve got your hands.
That’s all I want, no more.
There are seven deadly sins,
One for every day.
I’ve manged to get personal,
In a devilish way.
The sins they deemed deadly,
Are really quite some fun.
Just give the sins a try,
Give them a little run.
People always say,
You’ll understand when you’re older.
Yet they want the fountain of youth.
