My earliest memory is either getting hot water spilled on me off the stove or a runover cat in the middle of the road on the way to daycare;
I’m not sure which came first, but the effect is the same no less,
I knew pain and death before I realized what breath was.
Education makes us, and so the days I spent face buried in ancient texts twisted my perspective,
Married to the genuflecting of tradition and extremist socialization strata;
I’ve become a master of my passions,
It’s easy to sit on my own hands and not react to the boiling in the blood that makes me seek affection,
But with all chains come the same perplexion,
There’s a mutiny roiling somewhere in that shattered soul.
Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Slam
Tagged Bible, bible study, breath, burns, coffee, dancing, death, education, Judaism, Love, memory, soul
Made her wet before the pet so softly digit parts her slippery silken sweetness, slipping in so swiftly as to almost be deceiving. But she surely feels it.
She sighs, her nipples erect, breathing in deeply,
Determined to feel every inch of the finger curling up into her g-spot as his tongue and lips twirl around her pertness, and moving north, find purchase on her right earlobe.
Gyrating in countermeasure to his circuitous oscillations,
Succinct pleasure running through her frame and station,
Caught in the world of elation as his mouth stops drawing her in physically and turns instead to poetry.
Writ in the way she arcs her back,
The joy on her face,
The sparkle in her eyes as they meet his and they speak more loudly than words ever could,
Saying sweet things, stating obviousnesses as sensual discoveries:
Posted in Love, Poetry, Traditional
Tagged breasts, breath, clitoris, collarbone, cum, cunnilingus, digits, earlobe, fingering, fingers, foreplay, grail, hard, hips, labia, meter, nipples, orgasm, pace, prayer, ribs, sex, tongue, tumescence, wet, womanhood
This is every sweet sentiment swallowed when I bite my tongue,
This is every strand of hair twirled between my finger and thumb,
This is the breaths held when you walk by, stuck in my lungs,
This is revelling still in your sighs and the bliss of its limelight and the dulcet tones after the song’s sung.
This is your smile but the poem doesn’t do it justice,
These are your eyes that tell me simply just this,
This is love that hits harder than any habit,
Which keeps me rolling yet in this as though I were rabid, how bad I’d love still to have it.
This is solitude pining again for purchase,
This is the thing in the world that makes all the trials and tribulations worth it,
This is even’song aching for the dawn,
When free at last, to take to task the fact that yet you’re gone.
Posted in Love, NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Slam
Tagged breath, dawn, hair, heartache, Love, smile, solitude, song
Gratitude at more than the convenience,
if more could just see this,
society being more like civilization than the rat race,
because we can come together and make the burdens go about face,
devout faith, there is goodness in all people,
and it only takes a choice to quit from being evil.
Evils, not Oppression, but a Test,
for without hardship, how else could one feel Blessed?
For jests and joviality when rough waters have passed,
because a new day comes, this is not the last –
cast fortunes endorses the working ‘gainst forces,
when they’ve blown through their courses,
in the rubble we stand, willing to offer a hand;
is this not The Master Plan?
Humanity harbored in the heart, in the pulse,
in the breath in our chests for we all share two lungs,
one heart and the same color blood in our veins,
standing together’s the only option that’s sane,
plain in perfection, for flaws make this world magic,
that we can find hope in the days that are tragic.
Posted in Poetry, Traditional
Tagged blessed, breath, civilization, evil, forces, good, gratitude, heart, hope, humanity, lungs, people, pulse, society, test
They formed a coven of two souls joined in one body,
the rhythm that they made could be described as rocking solidly,
shod in moonlight, robed in the breeze,
her quick exhale as his manhood he inside her eased.
They breathe, oblivious to the calm and cool eyes of shades that watch jealously,
having forgotten the warmth of skin, the flutter of a quickened pulse, the sweet stinging of delayed air in the lungs,
they count out in measure each thrust, revelling in the extended moment like a climber of
a ladder seeking out the next rung,
hang there pheromones between the lovers,
their sweat finding purchase on the other’s skin and mingling,
her nails upon his back that set his senses tingling.
Posted in Fiction, Love, Poetry, Slam
Tagged baptism, breasts, breath, cum, equality, fiction, ghosts, heaven, lips, moaning, quickened pulse, sex, silent song, sweat, teasing, thrusting, toes, tongues