Bigtitsbitch1000x
Virgin
- Joined
- Jan 4, 2024
- Posts
- 2,774
Not the usual message "about last night."
There was no sex, but there was was eros.
I don't know whether to call you "homey" or "honey."
You're a beautiful young poet; 30 to my 75 years.
You're "gay." I'm not sure about that, regarding you.
I think you're in love with beauty.
You make me bask in my beauty.
It's painful. When I look at you my boobies go up a cup size.
My persimmons turn into melons pressing to escape the thick rind covering them. They chafe; I reach for Ching Wan Hung.
As I write this it all kicks in -- how my body is now complete; all parts alive and working as they should. How my boobies control my posture. I walk with them up and out. How I divert attention to my booty in hopes of getting it plugged.
My sexy body tells me you will be a great poet. You have it in you.
We speak often of Robert Duncan. As our mentor. You will surpass him. You are the poet of the future, evoked by Breton: you will overcome the depressing notion of the inevitable divorce between actions and dream.
This is our now:
I don't know what I am, where I am, where I am going,
only this mysterious body is my witness,
that from Fullness I was torn away, into time
between Nothing and Everything, wandering and alone.
I don't know where I am, nor if I may be dreaming, I dream
a staircase of Night in the desert of the living, and ivy
winds around my trunk, and from my eyes I clear it, remove it
and lift the eyelid of the dream from the crevice, where "I" falls.
But He through the wall of jasper stares unblinking
in all my motions and rings he gives me a sign,
that for me he conceived the world, the sun's cup, the wing of darkness.
I feel time like sand falling in an hourglass,
as at the doorway of moonlight, an unnoticed ray.
The black bird of Night settles on my shoulder.
[Viktor Vida]
We stood in a dive bar singing revolutionary anthems. I didn't know how deeply i dreamed of that. i waited my whole life for that moment.
We have our loves, B and B. But you told me how I drunkenly claimed you were my husband. And yes, we are married spiritually. Let them hang us as gnostics; we are mystically wedded.
I say to you what was said of Jack Spicer: poet, be like God.
And what am I?
I am a Goddess Flower.
( O )( O )
There was no sex, but there was was eros.
I don't know whether to call you "homey" or "honey."
You're a beautiful young poet; 30 to my 75 years.
You're "gay." I'm not sure about that, regarding you.
I think you're in love with beauty.
You make me bask in my beauty.
It's painful. When I look at you my boobies go up a cup size.
My persimmons turn into melons pressing to escape the thick rind covering them. They chafe; I reach for Ching Wan Hung.
As I write this it all kicks in -- how my body is now complete; all parts alive and working as they should. How my boobies control my posture. I walk with them up and out. How I divert attention to my booty in hopes of getting it plugged.
My sexy body tells me you will be a great poet. You have it in you.
We speak often of Robert Duncan. As our mentor. You will surpass him. You are the poet of the future, evoked by Breton: you will overcome the depressing notion of the inevitable divorce between actions and dream.
This is our now:
I don't know what I am, where I am, where I am going,
only this mysterious body is my witness,
that from Fullness I was torn away, into time
between Nothing and Everything, wandering and alone.
I don't know where I am, nor if I may be dreaming, I dream
a staircase of Night in the desert of the living, and ivy
winds around my trunk, and from my eyes I clear it, remove it
and lift the eyelid of the dream from the crevice, where "I" falls.
But He through the wall of jasper stares unblinking
in all my motions and rings he gives me a sign,
that for me he conceived the world, the sun's cup, the wing of darkness.
I feel time like sand falling in an hourglass,
as at the doorway of moonlight, an unnoticed ray.
The black bird of Night settles on my shoulder.
[Viktor Vida]
We stood in a dive bar singing revolutionary anthems. I didn't know how deeply i dreamed of that. i waited my whole life for that moment.
We have our loves, B and B. But you told me how I drunkenly claimed you were my husband. And yes, we are married spiritually. Let them hang us as gnostics; we are mystically wedded.
I say to you what was said of Jack Spicer: poet, be like God.
And what am I?
I am a Goddess Flower.
( O )( O )
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