The Summons

I am a museum.
There flows under me a raving light
down the ravine,
brave bunny.

My palette shifts.
It has rotated
on Nature’s turntable
with Time-
turning and pausing,
perfusing and dotting
other canvases.
However grateful
but irrelevant,
with its bliss.

Finally this most potent elixir
comes alive,
aroused
by the portrait of
you kneeling over my shrine,
you straddling
these long thick legs of mine.

I think not about vulnerability.
for I am alone with one to love,
you and erotic instinct.

This is not surrender,
but a summons
for your pleasuring of me.

With me supine
and you on your knees,
you purr and sigh,
tower and breathe;
as I coo in the cool caresses
of your wet lips on my knees.

Into my thighs ribcage belly hips,
the invasion of your exquisite hands
scalds rays of pomegranate red heat
through my porous sands.

Like white coals awaiting a flame,
my soft flat stomach arches
into your teasing game.

In hot hands I feel your desire
indelibly soft, traveling
up thighs to hip bones,
up waist to rib bones.

Sliding down muscles of shoulders
across mounds of breasts,
pulling tight over hard nipples-
you know what makes me moan
and create a lava-like glow and flow
of bubbling red tides
beneath radiating flesh.

Your limbs comprehend
my body art
like no others dared-
petting my need and filling my desire
with the higher laws of gods and sex.
Reaching deep into art and marriage,
conjuring up lucid effects.

Flavors alchemize
infusing flesh with new life.
The brightest colors
ever tasted-
not just the reds, yellows, and blues
of tertiary spectrum,
but pomegranate, sapphire, opal, and gold,
vanilla, marigold, night, and emerald.
Urging me to paint your every inch
with their bold wetness.

Licking, kneading, scurrying, haunting-
your arms become wet azure soil,
your hands, my onyx black sculptors.

Your chest glows with marigold
as pools of pomegranate sweat
evaporate off slick concaves
and taunted, fertile breasts.

Your taut vibrating skin
soaks my brilliant colors
into its dark soil,
coalesces with the primitive
to recombine with my sweaty
disavowal of control.

When I can no longer continue
consuming you with my eyes
as I love to see.
Too caught up in the breath
and feeling you feeling me.

I will seizure with love,
sharing my everything.
For you to drink up
into your pineal spring.

You stay locked in
to me
until the waves pass.
Your riveted attention
rescuing me from celibacy.

Imagine how you please me
and I worship you,
how we make love.
Yes, in ten different ways.
We’ve only just begun.

 

Views: 84

Fortune

Fortune sits on my feet.
The weight of Her massive buttocks
presses Destiny, my toes, into the earth.
Squeezes their bulbous toe heads,
impressing into the formidable earth clay
their Bursting Point.

Almost squirts out their thick strings of flesh
exploding streams of red chocolate blood,
my chaotic mindscape all over The World.

Hanging from trees my disjointed idea,
lopping over branches the slop of my Love
for other creatures to divulge,
invest their lips upon,
gnaw off my willing chops-
since they’ve no place to sit of their own.
Have you?

Views: 118

misery

misery

Misery
roams deserted alleys.
Is gorgeous
in every city, blanketed.

A seductive gravity
ravishes, standing alone on a street corner.
She does not draw crowds
though every passerby and wall
slide her a sidelong glance.
Tall and willowy statuesque,
a voluptuous silhouette from collar
breastbone to pelvic pleat.
Her clothes are a sin.

Cruel confronting barriers,
she’ll climb your wall
before you heed wanton chances
to re-navigate Adam’s fall.

This girl is a woman who knows
why she pants and stalks the street,
what perineum beholds,
how to slacken her stack
then retreat.

Though when she enters your mind,
you alone in your apartment,
she is naked
for your scalpel eyes only,
bared rags of pristine flesh.

Why so prevalent?
Her bloodstains bereave smooth flesh.

As you shrivel into a plate of wrinkles,
all you can do is bemoan
that she did not come sooner.

unknown painting source

Views: 234