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Even keel

Even keel
the boat never rocks.
The sea itself could be mist,
wave incapable.
Walls with shelves,
threw paperbacks and
occasional hard covers
telling tales, stories, sagas.
Wow invocation.
Humanity
put on a platter,
ingest,
sink in teeth.
Blood & strawberry jam,
food always drips to my chin,
still absolute stillness.
Even keel,
half a century
instilled a hunger,
passion
is cerebral.
Name it palsy,
the heart,
at even keel.
No orgasmic intensity,
impatient patience,
stillness,
petrified.

Faster

faster, things never speed up
there isn't any particular rush
just always need
something else
staying too long
just detonates
the body though stays still
its everything else
that needs to pace
lingering explodes
its not a hurry and there’s no finish
light speed
it’s an ambition
snails generally I mush up
cruel, no no figuratively
literally avoiding
boom boom

Labour glorified

labour glorified

dub dub dum dum
walled in three sides to quarry heights
hands effortlessly dragging
implements, steel forged sledge hammer
and spiked annealed javelin in the other
heat waves off the stone wall
inviting strikes

dub dub dum dum
herculean might (bheema de taali (something like a high five))
springy sprite
the javelin tip wedged in
cracks made to impinge
speared with speed
the hammer muscle loaded
hits and cleaves
obelisks sheared piled
one after another
surfaces exposed minerals
glint
eye sparkle
from fractal infinitesimal
angles

Tripping

Tripping
the carnal duosome
on screen
seemed like me doing me

Waking
I know each populant,
bubble dweller,
is a construct
I fill in

Dreaming
is movement,
elevated chequered
pieces whizzing past,
drama of
fluid dance

All in all
desires being,
confined
slippery eels

Criss cross

Any line
then this propensity
to criss and cross

break the law
mostly feelings
not real breaks
more internalized
bendy things
I do not peddle hurt

This once & it is today
the overstepping bounds
to the outside self (better half)
causing blush excitement

but like usual the criss provoked
exposure
the cross a frown
but just a note, the excitation bit, genned
fluids pheromone heavy laced.

Pussy lube addled

Pussy lube addled
nostrils leading the charge
lip smacking form
putty to me hands in turn
me tongue putty to a clit

fuck the line
demarcate
steam up some mist

thigh muffled
world recedes,
multi orgasmic
wracking at
tongue tip
jizzed thru to me toes

Feeling of engorged
throbs
this I giveth
twist me to thrill
of the taken. Thralled.

shot up, the intellect
intervenes tagging adage
“I was born of that
why wasn't I that?”

innie outie whichever
I lack

Madeira

Madeira, grapes with a wreath, nnn.. no wrath

Color lends to the squished
acidity to wrap the tongue
each time every time
an expectation
aged vintaged
barreled and Bacchus fermented
Final vessels glassy & crystalline
prior to the palate being teased

Meandering as inebriated
prepare to hand over reins
in percentage
to Eros(love) , Ares (war) and simpleton buffoonery
(I have embraced her with open arms but I can't name her)
in parts
Spirits as reformist filters
they Manifest faults

But not for me
fruity ether as suffrage
is an assist to daydreams

Tripartite persona

Tripartite persona
of the woman
with my balls on her palm
when she is either with the sages,
rages or the ages

Sauntering with the sages; often times:

Moribund

Fangs in
now the coil
bone crushing.
Lungs attempt swells & waves
each a last, lapse, gasp
another tightening from the coil.

Sitr, stir, please stir
any limb
little digits caress the darkness
woo it a little
sing to it, lull the hurt
lullaby yes mother, yes mother

Break me or break the grip
rise life, sire strife
thumping finger correct
the inner vibe

Braille felt steps, climb
Serpentine see my might
oddly enough in a Germanic accent
“I am szmall but I am zstrong”

All compasses are not

Age: 8ish -9
Tail to sibling tasked off to the butcher.
Era was spaced out, tailor made clothes,
even get to pick
the critter for culling.
Unhinged the chosen chicken,
headless yet alive, rummage
in purposed smallish corral.
Constriction in my heart
noggin on my neck in a tizzy.
Crumpled to the floor, oblivioned.
Vegetarian interred.

Age: Teenish
When
all compasses are not.
It’s an arrow
from my feral instinct
to your heart.
Exuberance with a smile
to self.
Such confidence that I know
I will make it stop.

After, I stare at the feathered
corpse.

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