Forms of PleasureLike light breaking through the trees, it comes in waves or flashes.Forms of Pleasure
Or protruding heavily from a stalk, it grows in lavish, rich reds.
Or a hot whisper gathering behind your ear, It speaks softly.
Or a plume of smoke winding in the air, It curls inexorably.
Or like suds in the shower, It effervesces and overwhelms.
Or a sighing drop of eyes and rain, It weighs and goes.
Or a passing sun that blushes the sky, pleasure palettes my world, Combining in you;
White hot you.
Winter's EveI walked along a paunch of powd’ry snow, The crunch of a foot fallen, it slipped to fore. My hands are frosty, for the winds did blow;Winter's Eve
Rosy ebbing, feeling round the core. Nerves biting, whit’ning, color lost to life. The digits, shells are bare of beating breath And lonely lonesome leading golden strife. I yearn for mother’s bosom: make me deaf To all the cruelty, u-natural, and duress; Please give me hills and draw me closer still. What nature wills, all limbs shall shed excess— Her baby boys; consuming to her fill. The cooing coldness helps me pass
From Apollo to HyacinthNo declarations, No words--From Apollo to Hyacinth
Just rest now-- just lay with me
Let the sun drift And our thoughts sift.
No explanations, No clarifications--
It’s plain to see Our eyes share The same tender care.
No fanfare, No ceremony--
Let’s play Tonight In the yellow, moony lamplight.
No pokes, No prods--
Morning’s arms Like gold pouring into our eyes Simply beautiful; material lies.
No incandescence, No artifice--
A crescendo of bronze, bark, and ar
QuasarHow do we incise a starQuasar
Something so far
From what we are?
Speckled in solar velvet
How the hell did they get
Down to our sorry islet?
Every star's life surpasses our own
But oh do we bemoan
A whole ones ended unsown.
Whether for a binary baby
And his mommy, maybe
They were destined to collapse.
Or for a sinful singe of sleep,
The fleshlings surely weep
For something so eternal to relapse.
Perhaps an eagle shrouded in lies
Sequestered a cup-bearer to fill the skies
With oceans' unending taps
History Starts Now
Peaceful
--
Shut up and walk, dear. ♥
--
98% of the teenage population believe that these statistics are clever and make some sort of non-conformist statement. If you're part of the 2% that doesn't, copy & paste this into your signature.
*GLOMP*
--
Deine Stimme ist lauter, aber mein Herz ist grösser.
really appreciate it.
--
The Freudian Slip
Macellarius Est
If opinions can be lethal, then I am a murderer.
~S
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