Bantering with Octagons

[Dillinger]

The frosty pregnant peach winds up the Queen known as Freddie Mercury while riding a bicycle built for tea for two.

 

[perks]

sparkles reveal themselves as suicide silver fish, mating necromancers on tidal planes embalm me.

silvery rivulets spilling into the moat around my sand castle. I smell the stench of putrid history.

 

[Camille]

Ummm whats cooking? The bones of men make my loins ache, feed the beast, feed the beast.

 

[Dillinger]

My loins of historic proportions ache to sky dive into your canyon of disbelief.

 

[perks]

Canyon? Show me your history and I'll show you my faith.

 

[Camille]

Faith is irrelevant since we cannot carbon date it. I count time in strata of rock formations. The canyon is crying.

 

[tortoise]

Unclenching your Friday, unquestionably my day
Frosting on your leaches, the winter craves peaches
The pustules are radiant, their colors are gradient
Infinite hawk looping, definite mole scooping
The predator is killing, the underbelly is willing
the magic bunny stews latte, in the grass he will not stray
The sparkles are turds, in the eyes of Queen birds
The mercury has risen, in history's date prison
The canyon has loins when with carbon it joins them

 

[Dillinger]

I have faith. Faith in cock, faith in the rock cock candy mountain. Faith in the pussy canyon.

 

[perks]

Goerge Michael found faith in a glory hole. Where will you find yours?

 

[cymbidia]

Goerge George Geo G... whatever! Living loving alive in stone until it crumbles and cracks and rains sandylike into the bowels of the Earth, is George.

 

[Camille]

I have been George to become geo-politcal. I gorge on canyons of mass destruction. I have become Shiva destroyer of worlds. My bowels ache and I turn them inside out.

 

[tortoise]

The wicker the basket, the sweeter the aspic
The bowels of destroyers burn bright
A lark's tongue is flaccid, but never spews acid
In the hours of glorious moonlight

 

[Guest]

 

[Black_Bird]

Passive acid flacid moonlight from the
Ticks infesting Styx playing cool licks
While I ram and bam Tam and Pam in their GOOD GOD DAMN!

I will not eat green eggs and ham, said Sam I am.
Pick rick for your nick
and Tell Cid not to flip his lid over what I did.

 

[tortoise]

repitition preposition reparation preparation
hemorrhoidal asteroidal epiliptic analeptic
infestation pig gestation capitulation habituation

 

[cymbidia]

Dissidents deciscively deride the flaming brand of adherence to ANYTHING no matter mundanity.

 

[Black_Bird]

The mundane excitement: you've got darts in the board.
Pictures of Hitler and Roseanne, Both like sweet Jesus in Lotus.
I've got a clue, but it's invisable.
Hush.

 

[cymbidia]

Hush.
Comforting, silently calling, needing, soothing stroking.
Hush sugar.
Hush baby.
Glittering moondrops of seeping ease to you.
Hush now.
Hush.

 

[freescorfr]

carress soft whisper
elderberry, not irn bru,
kisses tender light
pancakes for the queen of babylon
slipped inside you sleep
between the sheets of sauterne sweet sweat

 

[cymbidia]

Tender light seeping: fuzzy, soft, small chicks nestling peeplessly in down pillows.

 

[sigh]

down down into softness fall
laying my head on a pillow of stone
larks sing in a meadow of moonlight

sway to the music of nightsong and gale
gift your friends with movement


give me time, cym, and eventually i'll catch on...i just love this thread

 

[tortoise]

Coyote and Mole Banter On

"Oh hush, dissident," the Coyote scoffed, "I've had my fill of nonsense.
You have no brain, and your taster's off, if I may offer two cents."
"Oh, offer away," the Mole did yawn, "your view is fascinating.
While you're whining and carrying on, my down pillow is waiting."

 

[Dillinger]

Sweaty sheet music of pillowed softness rings in the fuzzy kisses of Babylon. The forever chord is the bright lotus of repetitive moonlight. I am a whole.

 

[Simply Divine]

I like this thread!!

kisses brush flowerlike

sounds of the cock

melodies from depths

light shadows cast

 

[tortoise]

the ochre light of kisses dance
on the coursing shadows of doom
we often write with listless hands
over paper made in a loom