saying something foolish

So I went lingering through someone's virtual lingerie drawer...


She said it was an accident.
Who am I to say different?
But she did smile
that mysterious Mona Lisa smile.
She asked me why
I was looking “there.”
I just shrugged.
I am not going to complain
when she recrosses her legs
Nor am I not going to look
at such a delectable view.
And I do find that tear
in her hose
to be all too convenient,
and delicious.
 
so….yeah
whisper something intangible
not hard to do when I’m not really listening
oh no
don’t get that look
You know you’ve twisted my fate
my fancy
my needs and desires
to your liking
and maybe licking
with decadent lips

let me return the favor
glaze your eyes
and shudder for me baby
scream into the pillow
and bite it
pressure of your thighs on cheeks
clench and release
squeeze and relax
into a sweaty mess that breathes
heavily
 
So is it middle C,
solitary key on the piano
that resonates
within the soul?
Or is a love letter,
perhaps faded and tattered,
maybe stained with tears?

There is no tomorrow,
there is no yesterday,
and today is draped in black.
There is only night,
the middle of the night
with shaded memories
and rueful thoughts
what might have been.
But what might have been.
Was. Is. Will never be.

So let me kiss you silently to sleep.
Silently so as not to wake
the living,
the dead,
me.
I’ll write you a note
…tomorrow.
 
It doesn’t make sense to me.
Guys just don’t do it.
Okay, yeah, Share a shirt
when a clean one is required,
but why do girls always share clothes?

Do they think to themselves,
“I think that outfit will look better on me.”
or is it,
“I bet my boobs look better than hers
in that blouse.”

Or is it an intimacy
of friends, sisters, mothers, daughters?
Sharing a bit of life,
a bit of color?
Or is it someone else always has something brighter?
 
In some ways, war is the ultimate decadence.
Gore scattered along the landscape
while bureaucratic bystanders lick their fingers
after fisting innocent bodies locked in rigor remorse.

It devolves into an orgy of consumerism
as commercial fornicates with military
using corpses as a cushion,
a barrier to the scattered bones of history.

All this, a macabre pornography
inflicted on the youth of a new generation.
The experienced know when to turn their head,
not become a pillar of salt encapsulating remorse.
 
Housecleaning post


slander me irrelevant
then pander to my needs
or the needy
consequences aside
I only slide into flatulence
when craving something dark
but always demented
depends offer little
in the way of warmth
my erectile dysfunction
is no longer dysfunctioning
unless she acts pedantic
in which case
I prefer to sleep
through her verbal masturbation


She thinks
that only flowers see.
Gardening in the heat
calls for less,
not more.
So comfort
overrides modesty,
and I enjoy
the floral display.



maybe it starts with kiss
no
before that
there has to be a smile
there might be tears
or maybe all of this is wrong
it starts with an illusive feeling
a transient thought
and the smile plants the seeds
and the kiss helps them grow
into desire
but the second kiss
the second kiss
is the memory



simple kisses
skin yields
to lips soft caress
sometimes not so soft
slowly dragging out time
sometimes not
as timeless slides into fast
and furious
one time quiet
the next tumultuous
simple kisses never are



Consider for a moment,
a room with a view.
Landscape offered
pleasing to the eye.

Sweet scents wafting
through, nudging imagination.
Taking me to a different place
where timeless runs rampant.

Drawn somewhat from memory,
yet all is new and shiny and slick
to the touch. Dragging fingertips
along glistening thoughts.

Thoughts?
Not really. Maybe daydreams.
Dreams at least
encountered, make me smile.


This must be some independent
film. Emotion juxtaposed
with need.
Smile for the camera.


umami


taste of us
middle of the night
mid-fuck
cock almost ready to fall off
bruising our lips from kissing
her mouth tasting of me
my face scented by her
the whole room stinks of sex
and the sweat
creates a sheen as skin glides
in close contact
beneath the salty bitter sour
find the taste of her
sweet
always sweet
and together
savory
 
Thirty Three and a Third

The problem with old records,
old records playing
on my turntable,
is they have warped with age,
are scratched by time.
They got old.
The music didn’t,
or at least not to me.
Except now they are only played
on that classic rock station
that has commercials pointed
at thirty, forty, fifty somethings.
I guess that would be me.
But they are something special,
even with the cracks and pops.
Because of the cracks and pops.
Time capsule erodes
with my memories.
 
The problem with old records,
old records playing
on my turntable,
is they have warped with age,
are scratched by time.
They got old.
The music didn’t,
or at least not to me.
Except now they are only played
on that classic rock station
that has commercials pointed
at thirty, forty, fifty somethings.
I guess that would be me.
But they are something special,
even with the cracks and pops.
Because of the cracks and pops.
Time capsule erodes
with my memories.

You've captured that perfectly.:heart:
 
Yes I know Sorrow.
We have a nodding acquaintance,
or at least that is what I tell everyone.
Not willing to say more,
that we are more intimate than I would like
sometimes.

It’s not that we are lovers,
never finding her that desirable.
Nor are we friends,
not really liking her.
We are fuck-buddies,
when she can persuade me into being intimate.

She is a whispering siren
that waits for just the right time to approach.
Usually when I am alone,
drinking,
Or worse yet, drinking alone.
Finding me when I am most malleable.

Not a considerate lover, nights and days
become tortured and twisted
as the linens on my bed.
And it always leaves stains
that won’t come out,
both on the sheets and my soul.

When she has had her way and left me,
I found myself in that empty place
with that ache that isn’t,
almost a hangover,
nauseous and wondering why I bother.
Fucking bitch.
 
hear a song
feel a smile
as your lips
>>slide
>>>>glide
>>>>>>ride
across mine
slow down for me baby
I want to twist
my tongue around
a tango
sigh as you lie
and tell me
you love me
love me one more time
maybe I’ll lie to you too
and say it's all in fun
just a simple embrace
fortune
hasn’t cast me aside
 
Found

Heat waves rise from roads and rooftops. Traffic dies in stagnant heat as all seek shelter at siesta time. Barking dogs utter muted growls from shaded caves at hardy souls tempting tropical heat. Those that travel do so quickly, suffering no more than necessary.

Snow white sheers filter tropical glare yielding muted sunlight. Stately ceiling fans move stagnant air, low-pitched drone lends comforting background. Simple furniture, tastefully placed, speak of simplistic style. Cut various hued tropical flowers offer up fragrant hints and colorful highlights, offsetting austerity and stasis.

Where sandals flung carelessly meets vacant corner lends relieving disorder. House, otherwise empty, populated by muted voices, pitched low and quiet, coming from another room. Voyeur eyes see twined light and dark, blonde strands twined in brown curls fan out together. Mocha skin melds into sun-touched gold. Light colored sundresses puddle together, contrasting blue and white. Ivory sheets shroud feminine bodies, accentuating curves and lines. Brown eyes meet blue sharing sleepy, sultry affection.

Slowly moving hands play across cotton covered bodies in languorous, loving strokes. Conversation ebbs and flows in lazy motion through afternoon heat. Ruby lips whisper gently, trailing across tanned brown cheek. Both smile tenderly.

Lips meet sharing gentleness, whispering softly in each others voices. Eyes, once sleepy, start to smolder. Bodies, once sedate, press more tightly together, gradually increasing in muscular tension. Delicate hands disappear beneath ivory shroud, which both hides and signals gentle caresses.

Lips saver each gentle touch. Tongues dance in passion and desire. Dominance is slowly established as brunette shades out blonde. Sheets billow down floor-bound, as passions rise. Curves, once shrouded from view, reveal beauty and grace. Intertwined bodies offer more contrast of dusky dark and golden light. Burnished bronze melds in bright gold moving and molten. Eyes meet sharing passionate light. Chocolate kisses touch bright strawberries as breasts flatten and mold through each endearing embrace.

Lips separate to sighs from bronze and gold. Welcoming smiles signal deep affection. Red lips seek out hidden golden curves. Nibbling neck and earlobe, inflicting pain and pleasure. Slowly working down her frame, brown curls hide from view soft lips molding hard nipples. Answered in part, by slow moans and deep gasp. Answering groans sound out need. Bodies move in subtle rhythm. Cry sounds out, part pleasure part pain. Arched back reveals white teeth biting strawberries. Wicked eyes answer soft cries as tension continues to rise. Soft lips and wet tongue trail long golden curves. Skin velvet to touch. Long fingers twined in hair, give hints of guidance, but lie, as blonde beauty yields to bronze. Completely in control.

Golden limbs open fully to gentlest of touches. Revealing hidden charms, revealing secret desires. Voyeur eyes can tell, when blonde completely surrenders to bronze. Even though screened by brown curled curtain. Tensed muscles and low moans signal rising needs and desires. Nipples rise in heated state. Heavy breathing punctuated by languorous moans. Neck muscles tighten and tension glows. Golden body takes on rosy hue. Knuckles white, showing drawn out tension. Sensing approach to Nirvana causes haste in Bronze efforts to lay waste to Blonde composure. Moment of rapture is punctuated by screams followed by long drawn out sigh, savored by both.

Moments of triumph and moments of ecstasy are most meaningful when shared. Twisted limbs bond limp bodies inseparable. Smile kisses punctuate long moments of silence shared fully. Relaxation and languor are topics of conversation. Neither giving nor taking matters at all. Pinnacle is sharing without holding back. But these moments in time are no denouements to stories told, but interludes in life.

Rising to passion, blonde drapes over bronze. Administering kisses in appropriate places. Tasting lips, dancing tongues, caressing hands no there places. Cues remain silent but obviously practiced. Practiced, in fact showing delicacy and tact. But fervent and passionate. As bronze breath quickens and kisses become more urgent, more needing, more desired. Bronze neck is offered up to bright white teeth. Wordless sounds break out when offer is eagerly accepted. Bronze hands brush blonde tresses in softest caress. Speaking love, speaking caring, speaking need. Chocolate kisses are tasted. Sounds arise linked closely to purring. Loud gasps interrupt purring, as bronze becomes statue. Gold presses against bronze in most intimate ways. Spreading thighs offer entry to persistence and pleasure. Gold fingers trace lines, explore curves and enter darkened places. Bronze movement in time to rhythmic gold fingers, keeping time in measure to beating of hearts.
Movement and motion ebb and flow in time. Shadows creep across every window. Heat passes on once hottest part peaks.
 
ghost kisses.
no. wait.
the ghost of a kiss
is the desire for you,
wondering where
you have gone.
it is like i lean in
to kiss you
eyes closed in anticipation
and my lips find only air,
my arms find empty space.
left haunted by silent cold.
 
burning regrets,
no place for them,
on the char
of flaming words.
“I told you so.”
doesn’t matter.
tell me once again.
 
so what scent offered
from the chef?
acrid bite of anger?
sweet molasses of melancholy?
no the dish is empty
scraped bare
all that is left
is a film of something oily,
distastefully dirty,
that takes soap
and hot water to clean.
 
sequenced thought lost
skittering amongst dust
sarcasm always implied
incite betrays insight
lovers linger longer
misspent youth spent
elegance in sloth
visible in iniquity
sacrilegious ascetic wastrel
ashes tasting ashes
what dawn tomorrow
 
no
not like that
fingernails skitter across the tabletop
sequence - smile
sequence - blinking eyes
sequence - sigh
no don't
no don't let your lips touch mine
wretched sigh
tears shape my pillow
what happened
in dim light
haunts me in the night
ghost of memories
trailing fingertips
on wretched skin
scarlet
black and white
moonlight
washes out the color
 
So...
What passion becomes you today?
I seem to have lost mine.
Like a solitary sock in a drawer,
seeking it's misplaced, mishandled twin
I'm slightly flustered
and not sure what step to take.
But since it is the one black pair,
that simply means
the black slacks,
black shoes
are of no use to me.
Once could try to pass
with dark blue,
but even if no one else could see,
I would know.
So give basic black a pass
means no proper grieving.
I'm not going to the funeral
wearing blue socks.

----------------------

either glad or mad
maybe not so much mad
as sad
as the younger brother
slouched upon the couch
hat camouflaged by greasy hair
shamble coat gray
smelling of stale beer
and old cigarettes
even when just washed
no need for pity
just look at his steady-state stare
not home
distinctive sound
of a beer can tab
and the first slurp
drown out the mumbling television
seeking gifts for god
early in the morning
or perhaps mad
as a screeching voice
attempts to penetrate his malaise
half-full
half-empty
missile thrown her way
thumps against the wall and slides
to the floor
distinctive sound
of a beer can tab
and the first slurp
drown out the mumbling television
 
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