Tuesday, November 7, 2017

Keep Her Hungry

I do things to keep her hungry
But I never feed her
I don’t want to loser her but
I don’t want to keep her either
You see
I don’t see
What she see’s in me
She’s everything I wish a girl could be
I wish I could reciprocate the emotion
That she lays down, its like a potion
It makes me want to want her
It makes me want to flaunt her
But I can’t bring myself to do it
Its not fluid
Its doesn’t flow from me as likely
As it flows from her heart, you see
I friend-zoned her harder than JLaw did to Bradley.
But fuck man… fuck it solidly
Fuck it roundly into the square hole I created
Because one day this feeling of meh might be abated
Then she’ll be the girl I’ll need, the one fated
To bring me through my old age into the golden setting sun
In the meantime, she’s a load of fun
And I will
Do things to keep her hungry

To Listen to it Click HERE

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Wednesday, May 3, 2017

A musing

Today I am affected by a feeling that is undefinable. It is almost loss; but, not quite, for I never had anything to lose. It is almost hopelessness, but again I had no hope to begin with. It is most closely related to sadness, but I am not quite sad. Emptiness, yet there was no fullness. I am confounded. Unable to describe that which has torn my heart asunder.

Perhaps there is no defining it. Perhaps it is not a thing, or a feeling, or even a thought. Perhaps it was a passing fancy with no substance to it.

Whatever it was, I no longer have it (not that I had it in the first place).

A fantasy woven of ethereal threads of thought and feeling.

What is this thing growing inside
not to be shown but instead to hide?
What is this beast that rages within
yet has no vigor, nor any vim?
Why is there such an empty hole
there was no digging within my soul
Why have I lost so much sleep
for there isn’t e’en a tear to weep
Where has the key been taken
this feeling needs to be shaken
Where have all the locks been kept
They close the eyes that would have wept
Who is this shade that brings small pain
Not quenched by fire nor by rain
Who brings the joy and sorrow both
It is the one that my heart loath

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Wednesday, March 29, 2017

You Make Me Crazy

So fucking crazy. Just the thought of you makes me sweat. You stand to close to me. You touch me too much. You touch me for too long. God. I just want to turn and look up into those pools of chocolate you call eyes and tip my lips up to yours. I want to close my eyes and feel your soft full lips ease down onto mine. Hesitant. Then meaningful. I want your big hands to burn their way around my waist and pull me in. One on my back, one on my ass. Pulling, desperate. I want it to slide down the back of my thigh and behind my knee, pulling up, pulling me in, bringing my aching wet need closer to the hard evidence of your desire.

I want to gasp into your mouth and hear your answer. I want to reach up and pull your face closer to mine. Your lips slide down my mouth, nip my chin. You tongue flicks out along the path of my beating pulse and laves across my collar bone. Your whispered appreciation a symphony in my ears. Your hand moves up my hip, lightly, tracing, questing, finding my aching breast. Your warm palm covers my tender nipple, rubbing slowly through my thin blouse.

Arching, aching, needing you, inside. Clothes move, barriers removed. Hot ready flesh meets wet needy slit. Gently, excruciatingly, slowly. Deeper into me, deeper, I need you deeper. Slow rhythms to start, learning. Whispered pleas for more. Bruising fingers grasping, pulling, straining. Lips melding into murmured wants. Desire rising, higher. Silencing squeals of crescendo. Breaking tidal waves of completion wash over us. You burst, hot, deep, liquid pulsing inside of me.

Gentle. So softly you ease me down. Back to my own feet. I open my eyes and….
It was never you. All of it in my mind. All of it in the split second after you walk past me. All of it a memory of nothing. You don’t even know. And here I sit, sweaty, aching to the beat of my heart.

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Tuesday, March 7, 2017

WHAT IS POETRY?

Written for Nashoba, Because she inspires me to be better than I am.

WHAT IS POETRY?

Poetry is
A river of words flowing down

A Mountain of ideas built upon

The Bedrock of emotion that is moved by

Shockwaves of physical turmoil that are

The Soul reaching for

A Grander thing than itself.

Poetry is
A Grander thing than itself,

The Soul reaching for

Shockwaves of physical turmoil that are

The Bedrock of emotion that is moved by

A Mountain of ideas built upon

A river of words flowing down

Poetry is A Mountain of ideas
Poetry is A river of words
Poetry is The Bedrock of emotion
Poetry is Shockwaves of physical turmoil
Poetry is A Grander thing than itself
Poetry is The Soul


Poetry is

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Monday, July 29, 2013

Enough

I am not always secure and confident.
I am not always 100% sure that I am doing the right thing.

More often than not I am worried that I going to fuck it up beyond all belief.

I have never been enough for anyone.
I am always lacking something. 

I give everything that I am and want to get the same back.
That NEVER happens

I want to be someone's world. I want to be the first thing they think of  in the morning.
I want to be the person they masturbate to.
I want to be the light in their eye.

I don't want to be the part time joy in someone's full time life.
I want to be enough.

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