Posts Tagged Sex
Office Window Shadorma 6
silky fingers play.
Dark on dark,
rides in blue convertibles.
Take my mind away.
She blows softly with devotion,
cooling nurturing soup.
Would she blow beauty on me?
I would swoop euphorically
between her breasts,
her extravagant skin.
She would swoosh her satiny, fanciful hair
all over my eyelashes,
and my spirit would erupt,
twirling and bouncing about the bed
as if on fire.
Bring Me My Angels
Muddling through tar-faced crashes,
frozen, wrapped with paralyzed skin.
If the luck plows gracefully into me,
one of them smashes into my jail.
She smiles huge, her fingers dance
on my face and inject high-speed love.
Oh, the unexplainable thrust of joy!
They swing on delicate, perfect legs,
their fingers smothering me in green,
plush, sweet jelly and bandages of milk.
Their arms wind and wrap smoothly
around my head millions of times.
Millions of assurances of permanence.
Bubbles of my blood tell me it is okay.
Sizzling threads of my shirt say, king,
go wrap yourself with their bodies
and dine in the sweetest nectars.
My angels arch their backs and
their necks are the smoothest fur.
Their eyes sprinkle grains of love.
The sieve sweeps softy through
the gray of my mind, blubber lightens,
it starts to float and starts to charge
my frame with bolts of fused
shaking strokes from Picasso’s
brush, pulling all of the fog
deep into the fabricated carpet.
Losing faith in my god, I believe
in restoration for everyone save me,
but do not tell me angels aren’t
from the most special god.
My angels give me sparse,
brief moments of pure elation,
pure love, and without these
very brief moments, I would
have been gone long ago.
I want my angels with me,
wrapped around me with slick
juices protecting me from the
world forever, but my angels
are busy with chaos, fixing other
failures as heavily as they do me.
So my only wish is for these brief
moments to allow me to live.
Please, my angels, help me smile,
help me breathe, help me go slowly
in love. Breathe slowly in love.
Anticipation of Soft Playgrounds
Seething gray inches smoothly
Through big, West plates
Filled with faithful evergreens.
Morning is too soon, but
Swimming vines, gripping softly,
Simmer the stew of life.
Pliable comets of bodies of silk,
Velvety lotions of wild hormones,
Promise of a day with no other agenda,
Adoration blooming without fear,
Shaking with bright foreshadowing,
Not waiting for the blackness to
Smother and scare the gray.
Hoping explosive, calming reds of
Evening to come will fuse the old,
Broken grounds of love’s history.
Dreaming anticipation of
Cushioned, soft playgrounds to come
Will forbid unwanted guests of
Torture and hopelessness.
Knowing that hope and those
Brilliant, deep, blue eyes
Will conquer the meaninglessness.
Let her work, God, please
Let her cover me in warm chains of
Silk, comforting with blue waves.
Please let her protect me from
All of the evil, heavy swarms of
Vicious wolves who love to harm daily.