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LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

30 Poems in 30 Days

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1 -27 About a banana

You come from Mexico, Guatemala
tempting me with your luscious
hot sun tropical skin

your warm scent makes
my stomach growl because
I've had you before
because you taste that good

Can't wait to peel your clothes
lay you bare for my teeth, swallowing
you whole without chewing

Easily, I could do this now
not shamed for wanting
but that's indecent at the produce stand

Instead, I will bring you home
pour caramel, brown sugar
Foster you tonight for dessert

I'll let you stay for the morning
after, treat myself
slice you up for my cornflakes
 
1-4

Ok, so I managed to pinch off one more:

Fingers dance
Upon this
Candescent
Karma.
 
part of me 1-28

part of me wants to spend the day
painting your nails
window shopping by the sea,
maybe some red wine
scotch smokes the memory so

everything above the board
you'll take my poems
teaching me metaphors and similes,
your vocabulary painting
vivid colors I can't describe

finishing the day with a villanelle
singing over and over again
the brilliant moments of............
several hours remembered forever
 
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1:28 Tracker

His hands track
the mere suggestion,
a secret, hidden path
in the dark.
He follows soft impressions,
pillow prints on my cheek,
waffled blanket lines
crisscrossing my belly,
a suspicious trail,
wet over my thighs.
I treasure the moment
he finds his mark.
His fingers hush my lips,
and we breathe together
in the stillness.
 
2-4

the act of consuming
never looked quite so
appealing
revealing that soft pink palate
and biting pearly whites
a heated space that
melts me like ice cream
in a sunbeam
i want to be your
candy-coated fruit.
 
1-28 Nothing New

I have nothing new to say.
This is sleepwalking today
just another edge
through the minefield.

Years ago I told you I'd love
to dance ballet feet
through your wrecked backyard--
toes en pointe among discard
of motors stopped like clocks
and oil filters standing
in upended Ohs, surprised
at my impromtu performance,

but now I pick through necessity
anyway. I live a metaphor
of once upon an expectation:
dance through probability
in sensible shoes without
an ounce of sense in me.
I've learned nothing,
but to keep moving.
 
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1-6 (?)

I'm posting two, but the first one doesn't count.

Felicity, remember that lame-ass TV show?
Ulcers burned whenever I saw her
Come-hither innocence
Kept inside that glowing box.

which led to:

Felicity? Good will gives me
Ulcers, burning in my
Contorted gut, bursting out, not
Kept contained, inside.
 
4.3

Apollo


My eye's pulled from the water
held with each droplet
clinging for the loss from skin

golden sunned youth
blonde locks kissing the shoulders

that hold strong the reins
of the sun chariot burning across the sky

glory shone in slow motion
in the smile of sky mirrored eyes

Mea culpa,
I would have given blood
to feel your lips press
in a blue suede kiss
to mine...
 
3-2

whynotwhy, y, not why, y's such a crooked fork
I can't even stand it.
Stupid crossroad letterwords
mocking me
things I don't understand
mocking me
things I can't figure out
mocking me

HELL if I can deal with it
hell if I know
hell if I don't
hell, all around,
how dramatic,
well-meaning flagstones I'm laying down with smirks and
knowing eyeshots

I can do this again, I can go back-to-wall
I can face down the guns in your looks
I don't even need a blindfold
don't need a last cigarette
I'm iron.

I, not why.
why not I?
You don't know,
I can take it.
 
1-28 Taken out for company

I will not be painted
blue like the willows
on Mother's old china
and neither will you.
She wiped off dust
and brittle insect legs,
wood oil smell lingered
all the way through.
 
1 - 7 - Transfigured Heart

Carry my heart in both hands.
Walk slowly.
Sometimes it feels indestructible
but it isn’t.

Carry it all the way.
Don’t hand it off when it gets heavy.
Help me to lighten it.

Why am I afraid?
It has been bruised and broken,
torn apart, crushed.
My heart, so transfigured, still beats.
It’s rhythm a bit slower, unfamiliar,
but still my own.

Be still, my heart, and, in the silence, listen.
Hear the flutter of a thousand valves.
Each beats with scars, a history of trauma.

Why am I afraid?
I trust your hands, your heart.
Just don’t drop me again.
 
1-28 Ripped Out Of Context

It's winter days like these
that makes you wonder.

They cast almost blue reflections
from white blankets,
and groan their sub ten
voices in protest,
when walked upon.

When everything is a postcard,
an arctic utopia, when breaths
paint fume traces after pedestrians,
when the tiniest gale stings,
and the low angle day is reflected
to shine brighter than any zenith might.

And still they show up, little women
wrapped in dust red robes,
dressed for desert dreads,
russian doll figurines
against the blank, sparkling canvas
of an unploughed .

Huddling groups of three,
one matriarch, two adepts,
according to ancient, uncodified law,
walking at their own pace,
reacting on their own terms
to the bite of ungodly lands,

free but frameless,
free, but far,
so far.
 
1-28

Chinook

The arch scribes a curve
across the prairie blue
sky, north - south by southwest.
What omens do you usher
down that mountain?

Winds blow ill in summer
but are kinder and welcomed
by the new year and winter-
tired city dwellers

as that wave foam
of heaven, spreads along
the horizon and brings
springtime to January.

Confused trees wake
from slumber and hurry
to get dressed, late
for an appointment
with a bumble bee
fooled into pollination
frenzy by the heat.

All too soon gone.
January crashes down
on May to freeze
the bloom out of buds
perked up in midwinter.
 
1 - 28 Part two...!

I want to gaze into your loving eyes

I want to hear your passionate cries

I want to restrain you with silken ties

I want to caress your sexy hot thighs

I want to be with you watching a sunrise

I want to listen to you speak words so wise

I want to make love to you under summer skies

I want to eat you all up like a delicious cream pie

I want to stand behind you and give you a surprise

I want to win your love as that is the greatest prize

I want to love you as sans you my world is undone

I want to surprise you in the garb of an evil Hun

I want to have you in my arms for the long run

I want to lick you all over like a hot X bun

I want to kiss you under a summer sun

I want to hear of things you've done

I want to enjoy what we've begun

I want to make bedtime hot fun

I want to be your smoking gun

I want to be second to none

I want to be the only one​
 
1:28

.
.

Today

They don’t let their arms swing free
as they strut the sidewalk, hands
gripping handbags, or pens,
or sun glasses in some ulterior defiance
of freedom only they understand.
They grip the bags to their sides
to their rounded bellies that arrived
with age along with the furrowed
brows and crinkled smiles
they crack open on momentous
days. They avoid shop windows
maybe sparing a single glance
to check the hair, or that their skirts
haven’t risen up to show slim line
petticoats. They’re the mothers
and lovers of the world, not
always the models. A little shop worn
with varicose veins hidden
behind stockings only they
or their lovers know
what lies at the top, with bras
under wired and weary
from all day weight lifting,
with sensible shoes and knowing
eyes that watch cat walk babes
stumble and that watch the eyes
of men who overlook the worthy
to stare dumbfounded at the painted,
plastic-coated, lip-bloated lushes
of today.
.
.
 
1 -28 Lullaby Blue

Cool moon, stroke my midnight sky
Dark tranquil waters
slowly rock-a-bye

Deep blue, above and below me
I can't sleep tonight
my tomorrows are too full of yesterday
these day-mares tie me here

Hush a bye babe,
don't worry, send me
a memory adrift when at last
I close my eyes
 
sems to me love ditty 1-29

seems to me
I don't want to shout about it
seems to me
we tell no one about it
seems to me
no one needs to know

in your eyes
I see heaven last forever
in your arms
only place I want to be
in our time
life is paradise

seems to be
we're a bond that can't be broken
seems it all
revolves around just us two
seems no need
for anything else

what we have
is more riches than a gold mine
what we need
only time with each other
seems to me.........
seems we have it all
 
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1:29 Love Story

I’ll love you sweet,
if you love me sweet back.
It’s a pretty dance on top—fizz-pop.
This veil covers other places.
Love’s bliss is a deeper blue.
Don’t stop in the fire warmth
of yellow and orange—
the center dissipates through,
freezing to nothing, everything.
It burns so hot that it’s stone cold,
and that is where history unwinds
and dissolves itself.
 
2-5

preliminaries and
idle chitt chatt
feed a kitty and
suddenly you are
the owner of some
crazy catt destined to
kill your fish
eat your bird
cough up hairballs
and evoke allergic
reactions, this is a
fact
son,
don't put out food for
strays
unless you really, really
like cats.
i mean, a lot of cats.
like, dozens.
wtf?
 
Hopeless Terzanelle 1-29

Who expected hope to form itself
completely in our time?
I hide secrets in my bookshelf,

I scatter them in rhyme--
perhaps you read the poem
completely in our time,

swallowed the words with toast or tea,
imagined warmth in our familiarity.
Perhaps you read the poem

and thought you held a little piece of me,
then shivered for the truth or ice
imagined warmth in our familiarity.

You wonder why a poem cannot suffice
when all the world is prose,
then shivered for the truth or ice

is mutable and as we change it flows.
Who expected hope to form itself
when all the world is prose?
I hide secrets in my bookshelf.
 
1-8 Little Seed

The little boy in footy pajamas,
a shock of curly black hair,
curled into a tight ball on the floor,
impossibly small.
A finger moves, unfolds, and another
followed by wrist, so slowly, so slowly
so smoothly unfolding, his small form flowering.

This performance is his, and we love it.
A little seed sprouting into a flower,
his little body stretched straight,
his fingers reaching for the ceiling.
In those moments, no judgment or doubt,
just the simple joy of blossoming.

Forty years have slipped away,
the flower faded, withered.
That sweet, bright child
so full of innocence and joy,
seems distant now, barely a memory.
His loss lingers in my heart,
but I know he’s a part of
my essential self,
as close as my breathing.
 
Fly 4::1

On a low shelf it languished, bound
and bulging from its box: the pool I needed
in the solar blister of August. The shock
of a prior buyer apparent in its misshapen
return. What unprepared them
for the realness inside? I imagined their clenching
disgust at finding that once out never returns
to its glossed first impression. Her beauty

was clear to me not from the promise
of her label, but from her willingness
to unpack, to spill herself from the geometry
of expectations. When she opened I fell in
love, my arms cradling
the scraps, the loose history trailing
from her mouth.
 
1-29 Force Feedback

One lockjawed mercenary,
zonked up on ibuprophenes,
guarava, iron, salmiak and caffeine,
untangled his brain
from trigger happy fantasies,
untangled his fingers from six inches
of proverbial phallos extension,

hardware hardwired to sync
with spine, and with a low pitched whine
eased a throbbing thumb
from the sensetive button.

Cramped pain dampened,
fingles tickled with lost anticipation
pulse flutterred in panic, as a two hour
adrenaline trickle subsided.

You got me, at last.
Yes, but you were a hard bargain. No surrender, fought to the teeth.
You mean a girl is not supposed to?
I mean, I'm not sure I would.
Ready for more?
Any time.
Alright then. Game on.
 
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