It feels like an infinite breeze. Raging. Whirlpools of dust engulfing what could be but seems like the only left. And still miles out of reach.
Why is each step a stride and why does each petal die?
Like evening twilights or maybe the street lamps at the eve of dawn.
Flickering to burn but put out. That too after an entire day of exhaustion to burn it’s promised due.
The grass had a faint fragrance of the dampness of the once fresh roses that now smell like the youth in raw bitter myrrh. Of fresh new bodies crammed in between the peace of the old graveyard. That reeked of an overdose of white powder called crack and its itch.
Like the stale smell of spilt ink across paper which could have been the story of the corpse bride beside the major’s coffin. Children died of the plague and the mothers gathered them with love for the lost and mostly inane suffering. Wrung.
The horizon didn’t meet the sea anymore. There was a distance. Of grey. Dorian Grey. The sea was a deep color that reflected spools of light rays in every direction crisscrossing in random directions, bouncing over the sea like a military of serpents charging at a terrestrial army for war.
Why wasn’t it a rainbow after the sandalwood and thyme drizzle that blazoned the earth’s crust? Searing in drop at a time.
The news channels were a bleak promise of an awaiting disaster. The news papers reeked of death and destruction and threat and suffering.
Why would a poet want to write about making love or be bothered by the occasional whiff of carnal instinct in purity of real sin? When all of what would reek instead of epinephrine, were soggy re used cotton bandages to blot blood of skin before we put our kin out on bon voyage across the river Styx?
Why were we killing? Why were children to the old calling pills, happy and popping them like candy and sugar treats? And some of the one’s who didn’t picked up guns and knives that slashed through life, whether searing through the oxygen we breathed, ran bullets in swiftness of dismay; like the stench of a knife in skin of thy kith, of irony it bled as it ended together, him and us, in silence we walk away?
Is life so empty and wasted to us like a drink – a – rum stint by the bay?
But that was with fairy lights and women with hips like mermaids that ran ripples in the pond as you stepped into its icy cold itch and spread love as you decided to sway, with them! It was of music and bongo drums that throbbed in your temples that were now slave to the mystic gaze across the table right there, laughing in her moment with a memory of her past escapades?
Why was it always war? And NEVER the time to celebrate and make merry in stupor of a buzz and zing of crushed ice and the strongest of malts taking over your very body, stealing it from your mind?
Why did men come, only to leave beds? Why did they hold hands and walk away? Why was it not the Cuban cigar and smolder, lit after orgasms but only the smell of gun powder smoke? Cause you sold your soul to it? You won the war, my friend, but sold you soul to gunpowder smoke.Yes.
Are we so distraught like an earthen intricately sculpted pot in a desert? To just remove our clothes at the end of night and be two tired weary lovers that slept on different beds, and never thought of love? Because it was the other, we waited to love?
Fuck you, and you and fuck your Xanax. I could have a thirty of them and sleep like a baby and wake up the next day and do life instead of it writing me out. I could let pens re write over paper, piling onto written words and make a parchment of chaotic lexis and smear it across your bitter face and remind you that you’ll rot alone and never have her touch you, cause she’d be dead and you can call upon your crisp green notes and carry them in your pocket on a walk through the alien park, muffler and all, holding photographs or the skin that burned on your sinew of hatred and darkness of dismay.
Its raining outside like a shower tap was left loose and left dripping in its slowest by controlling and giving it only half of its original path way? We clogged our wells and now we cry for farmers ?
We beat the living shit out of the wild animals and put them in a zoo or now sneakily hit them with tranquilizers. But you stole, what’s theirs, you’ll pay. And now we play politics on wooden cedar and pine chair or rosewood, if you please its scent. Whatever happened to calling out each one of them and asking what they say? Clearing out your demons and drowning them in sin is like drinking to cirrhosis of the liver and refusing to drown yourself in the ocean and preferring to bleed to death, instead?
And I’ll live on in the ash of my unread parchments buried beneath the remains of human hate.
That will turn dust and blow away.
killing me killing you.
10.11.09
12.10.09
for the love of atala
And like painted pollen lines
on stole' and stigma
the womb of flower is called,
if word play was chess
I'd play all the way
and its what you like best.
lies,like the
the sweetest poison
if at all
of delusion
I'd indulge
because as we
scattered beneath the whole
universe of galaxies,then
and when we lay
entwined like a beautiful
constellation spread out in
its calm warmth and radiance
blazing sparingly
into the stale of cold,
painted onto the night sky
thunder choked
the swell of rain in the air
discreetly piercing across the
giant mighty high
of the big canopy of our hearth
the earth
as he bore the cross
across his chest
tallest of chapels shook
drowning in waves of
overpowering faith
in too less
for anyone
but his own breath.
and her favorite white
flowers
he lay on her red lips
and
if biting them to bleed
red onto the clear rose
was the only way to bring
her back
he'd go through
even though each
sear of skin
sewn on smooth of mouth
that he'd not even let
teeth prowl about
he'd bear upon as the
biggest curse
as a scar upon his wrist.
and as the flood gates
of dawn
poured onto the womb of nature
he held her cold body in his warmth
and drenched till dawn
he got out of her coffin
and raised it down
into the burial ground.
err,i give up.
i have more than 20 different incomplete drafts.
ugh.
bai.
on stole' and stigma
the womb of flower is called,
if word play was chess
I'd play all the way
and its what you like best.
lies,like the
the sweetest poison
if at all
of delusion
I'd indulge
because as we
scattered beneath the whole
universe of galaxies,then
and when we lay
entwined like a beautiful
constellation spread out in
its calm warmth and radiance
blazing sparingly
into the stale of cold,
painted onto the night sky
thunder choked
the swell of rain in the air
discreetly piercing across the
giant mighty high
of the big canopy of our hearth
the earth
as he bore the cross
across his chest
tallest of chapels shook
drowning in waves of
overpowering faith
in too less
for anyone
but his own breath.
and her favorite white
flowers
he lay on her red lips
and
if biting them to bleed
red onto the clear rose
was the only way to bring
her back
he'd go through
even though each
sear of skin
sewn on smooth of mouth
that he'd not even let
teeth prowl about
he'd bear upon as the
biggest curse
as a scar upon his wrist.
and as the flood gates
of dawn
poured onto the womb of nature
he held her cold body in his warmth
and drenched till dawn
he got out of her coffin
and raised it down
into the burial ground.
err,i give up.
i have more than 20 different incomplete drafts.
ugh.
bai.
29.9.09
Good night.
like crashing waves
that roll back and forth
like tongue on the hard
of rock
churning daft poisons
the pinkest of crimson
honey of flower
crashing waves
that roll back and forth
the breadth of ribbon
holding all of brevity
in two handfuls,cupped
in the flow of a ball gown
like water sliding down
majestic archs
sliding down, whiff of silk
intricacies and intimacied
like river through ravines
like salt in pleasured cries
through each step
rocking forward
and two shoes back
and the final lift
on the chandelier shadowed floor
swirled like rough laps
of mouth and tongue
legs wrapped
peeled across hip
sauntered across
upward
through mountains
of frost swollen buds
and valleys so deep
the depth is the want
of bloods race
lead down by trickles
of big drops of sweat
bosom bereft befit
hand cuffed
the cat curled upon
the ebb and fall
of the heat
between depths
of heart
and its cravings
lay across my chest,
I slept, slept.
that roll back and forth
like tongue on the hard
of rock
churning daft poisons
the pinkest of crimson
honey of flower
crashing waves
that roll back and forth
the breadth of ribbon
holding all of brevity
in two handfuls,cupped
in the flow of a ball gown
like water sliding down
majestic archs
sliding down, whiff of silk
intricacies and intimacied
like river through ravines
like salt in pleasured cries
through each step
rocking forward
and two shoes back
and the final lift
on the chandelier shadowed floor
swirled like rough laps
of mouth and tongue
legs wrapped
peeled across hip
sauntered across
upward
through mountains
of frost swollen buds
and valleys so deep
the depth is the want
of bloods race
lead down by trickles
of big drops of sweat
bosom bereft befit
hand cuffed
the cat curled upon
the ebb and fall
of the heat
between depths
of heart
and its cravings
lay across my chest,
I slept, slept.
20.8.09
the melancholy of romance.
and if each drop
of the most tormented
fall of rain
fell and drenched
those pearls pf sweat
that trickle down
the silhouettes of pain
it would be like those
words you left
unsaid
and i would bathe
in nothingness
and if each yawn
withheld
during those nights
that perturb the mind
in lost thoughts
of frozen memories
that your head
thawed
into my lips
leaving it bereft
of thine own
while you stepped back
just like the berries
left uncolored
by a coating of thick snow
I'd drink all your poisons.
and if pain was
only agony
your red bean
on my cherry
would disprove
those moments
like bubbles of faith
would burst
just
in one stoke of lightning
that colored
the flush on my cheek
as you gave rhythm
to my movement
and this is pain
for it shall remain
etched in my skin
for the depths of hell
are only the gravity
of the measure
of its nadir
for if hell
was the worst
I’d confess
To all,
That it wouldn’t be worse
than your leaving my womb bereft.
of the most tormented
fall of rain
fell and drenched
those pearls pf sweat
that trickle down
the silhouettes of pain
it would be like those
words you left
unsaid
and i would bathe
in nothingness
and if each yawn
withheld
during those nights
that perturb the mind
in lost thoughts
of frozen memories
that your head
thawed
into my lips
leaving it bereft
of thine own
while you stepped back
just like the berries
left uncolored
by a coating of thick snow
I'd drink all your poisons.
and if pain was
only agony
your red bean
on my cherry
would disprove
those moments
like bubbles of faith
would burst
just
in one stoke of lightning
that colored
the flush on my cheek
as you gave rhythm
to my movement
and this is pain
for it shall remain
etched in my skin
for the depths of hell
are only the gravity
of the measure
of its nadir
for if hell
was the worst
I’d confess
To all,
That it wouldn’t be worse
than your leaving my womb bereft.
16.6.09
hannibal
Those magic rings of menthol she exhaled.
Without using her fingers, she puffed away.
A breath, a curl of a lip.
The rings levitated in the air.
Vanishing in pendulous motion into the surrounding air.
She stopped tapped the butt to its end and crushed the cigarette or what's left.
A swig of ruby red liquor to start the evening, a round of red wine before taking swigs of white rum.
Beer was welcome as a snack substituting brunch in the time after evening.
And then in a thrifty yawn she entered into her room, tip toeing, she lived in her small apartment, quite small for all her belongings, the one's she had over time.
The plus sized shirt slid off her shoulder blades, it was his.
Or maybe hers, now in his absence and deficiency.
In thrifty yawns she moaned her last sound and probably the only meaningful one.
Cynicism kills, curiosity just becomes a habit that if not sabotaged leads to its occurrence that renders melancholy and thoughts of death to an extent which becomes pleasurable.
Good night world, as she cocooned in the thick layers of fluffy cotton a muffler the only piece of clothing on her body.
Apart from the cotton rug.
She held her belly and tightly clenched all of its lower.
Her second eye shutting, a trickling tear.
A drop of blood from the fingertip
or far worse from the throat.
Death knocked upon and she knew she'd choose life.
Being bruised was too much of a familiarity to be amused by a strumming guitar sans the mesmerize of the thunderbird, that got us in each other's arms.
The blues, oh honey , Meredith whispered.
And in a lullaby of a loving woman she shut my eye lids tight and clenched my soft skin, kneading it as I drifted into the world.
World.
Heh.
She woke up quickly, rolled tobacco in a rizzla and let out a puff after the light.
She always used a filter so as not to burn her thick pink lips.
She blew smoke above her head as she lay down.
She looked at the mirror on the ceiling.
Mirrors were a solace.
Sometimes iconically ironic of the past.
She drifted finally, she was simple, sleep saved her from the complexities of the forbidden mind.
The drop of wine across her neck trickled down drying across her bosom.
She looked outside of the window and her eyes shut.
In a last conscious breath she smiled and then curled her lip into a pursed line.
Heartbeats were made of those smiles.
Now they just put her to sleep.
As a habit.
Goodnight, world.
Without using her fingers, she puffed away.
A breath, a curl of a lip.
The rings levitated in the air.
Vanishing in pendulous motion into the surrounding air.
She stopped tapped the butt to its end and crushed the cigarette or what's left.
A swig of ruby red liquor to start the evening, a round of red wine before taking swigs of white rum.
Beer was welcome as a snack substituting brunch in the time after evening.
And then in a thrifty yawn she entered into her room, tip toeing, she lived in her small apartment, quite small for all her belongings, the one's she had over time.
The plus sized shirt slid off her shoulder blades, it was his.
Or maybe hers, now in his absence and deficiency.
In thrifty yawns she moaned her last sound and probably the only meaningful one.
Cynicism kills, curiosity just becomes a habit that if not sabotaged leads to its occurrence that renders melancholy and thoughts of death to an extent which becomes pleasurable.
Good night world, as she cocooned in the thick layers of fluffy cotton a muffler the only piece of clothing on her body.
Apart from the cotton rug.
She held her belly and tightly clenched all of its lower.
Her second eye shutting, a trickling tear.
A drop of blood from the fingertip
or far worse from the throat.
Death knocked upon and she knew she'd choose life.
Being bruised was too much of a familiarity to be amused by a strumming guitar sans the mesmerize of the thunderbird, that got us in each other's arms.
The blues, oh honey , Meredith whispered.
And in a lullaby of a loving woman she shut my eye lids tight and clenched my soft skin, kneading it as I drifted into the world.
World.
Heh.
She woke up quickly, rolled tobacco in a rizzla and let out a puff after the light.
She always used a filter so as not to burn her thick pink lips.
She blew smoke above her head as she lay down.
She looked at the mirror on the ceiling.
Mirrors were a solace.
Sometimes iconically ironic of the past.
She drifted finally, she was simple, sleep saved her from the complexities of the forbidden mind.
The drop of wine across her neck trickled down drying across her bosom.
She looked outside of the window and her eyes shut.
In a last conscious breath she smiled and then curled her lip into a pursed line.
Heartbeats were made of those smiles.
Now they just put her to sleep.
As a habit.
Goodnight, world.
15.6.09
Consume.
If all those petals
weren't shred
in heaven's broad day light
if only those storm clouds
were accompanied by fluff
and a repeating memory, sound
if comfort was lieu for agony
I'd shred what's left
of what's left after those
nights
if maim was stretched
and tamed to ride lightning
those lashes across the chest
a story repeated oft
often so many
its lost its diligence
its death.
if heaven would bear
the remains naked
of me oh me lord of me
in your courts of doom
I stand in shades of
birth and defiance
of its being
if every cut borne across
my mettle
shredding me to mold
to clay
in thimble hand's of
the potter
who forgot
what metal did lay.
I'd swear my pride
the fall was
an arch
the biggest of them all
arch angel
across the hoop
a circle borne across
my gifted sane.
You'd know what earthquakes
could bring upon the family
that nay
did supp that
very day.
and no one
left to dismay.
all dust and ruins
below those feet
the baby skin of faith
peel it off
in tighter grips
and blind all of it
that lay.
that lay ahead
was time
and tide
would they wait for man
what was the distant soul
raped and thrown
across the other side of the hill
would simple have to say
dearest, my dear
this is what you could see.
A cradling hand
turned
unto the fall
of all the hopes
pulled down
everydayliked bodies
in rubble
once across
out on the other
wasn't the earthquake
the day?
and then there regenerates
the will to drift away
to grow
bigger
than the very after
the day
sweet smiles
don't turn window
panes
they sooth its mighty fall
when the wind bristles it down, shut.
The smile comes to put it up.
A hand that touched the wood
the very in the whole
the whole of who?
who else,the holes
the rounds
the circles of it all.
I turn around
each time
before and after
the fall
the cano eh'rupted
leaving disrupted
this last conversation
of the family
who dined;
who's daughter would
tell them why
oh death
oh mother
i pace
across
pendulous
give me a new birth
and end this pain.
what pain.
that tame
cat
with a broken
ruddy nail
hidden in a cupboard'
across ol' mama's
grave.
dear gran mama
be safe.
it purred
and said
sleep tight
and walked away
again.
midst earthquake and all.
No wonder pussy cat's
get away
they're smarter
they know
which one's dead.
heh.
Fuck, I need perv therapy.
:/
Ok, I officially give up writing.
"??S:GD"sg
ok
kokokoko
weren't shred
in heaven's broad day light
if only those storm clouds
were accompanied by fluff
and a repeating memory, sound
if comfort was lieu for agony
I'd shred what's left
of what's left after those
nights
if maim was stretched
and tamed to ride lightning
those lashes across the chest
a story repeated oft
often so many
its lost its diligence
its death.
if heaven would bear
the remains naked
of me oh me lord of me
in your courts of doom
I stand in shades of
birth and defiance
of its being
if every cut borne across
my mettle
shredding me to mold
to clay
in thimble hand's of
the potter
who forgot
what metal did lay.
I'd swear my pride
the fall was
an arch
the biggest of them all
arch angel
across the hoop
a circle borne across
my gifted sane.
You'd know what earthquakes
could bring upon the family
that nay
did supp that
very day.
and no one
left to dismay.
all dust and ruins
below those feet
the baby skin of faith
peel it off
in tighter grips
and blind all of it
that lay.
that lay ahead
was time
and tide
would they wait for man
what was the distant soul
raped and thrown
across the other side of the hill
would simple have to say
dearest, my dear
this is what you could see.
A cradling hand
turned
unto the fall
of all the hopes
pulled down
everydayliked bodies
in rubble
once across
out on the other
wasn't the earthquake
the day?
and then there regenerates
the will to drift away
to grow
bigger
than the very after
the day
sweet smiles
don't turn window
panes
they sooth its mighty fall
when the wind bristles it down, shut.
The smile comes to put it up.
A hand that touched the wood
the very in the whole
the whole of who?
who else,the holes
the rounds
the circles of it all.
I turn around
each time
before and after
the fall
the cano eh'rupted
leaving disrupted
this last conversation
of the family
who dined;
who's daughter would
tell them why
oh death
oh mother
i pace
across
pendulous
give me a new birth
and end this pain.
what pain.
that tame
cat
with a broken
ruddy nail
hidden in a cupboard'
across ol' mama's
grave.
dear gran mama
be safe.
it purred
and said
sleep tight
and walked away
again.
midst earthquake and all.
No wonder pussy cat's
get away
they're smarter
they know
which one's dead.
heh.
Fuck, I need perv therapy.
:/
Ok, I officially give up writing.
"??S:GD"sg
ok
kokokoko
1.6.09
birthday week
The pack of wolves walk by
Ravens swivel higher skies
in the mighty dark plumes
cawing the most defying agony
The raven shrieks in harmony of against
the deafening silence of victory
Soaring the most higher of elysian
reflecting skies
In the bristle of wind against
blades of grass
tushe' ing through air
the eagle flew
ravaging life
Walked in all its might
a step
two step
then
Looked up
whisking the air
with a prod of the chin to gaze
at what lay ahead
a glint of fiery blaze
in zig zag mazes
borne across its back
the tiger stood
bathed in shattering silences
all so high
the phoenix shot up to the horizon
burnt by the passion of birth
And exhausting the womb of the sky
engulfing all of fire and then into the oceans
it drew a somber veil
to paint a misty haze of night
which was but the
darkest of black in vacuum
of destruction
its deafening mourns
not one near the eie
and this was what the passion of birth evoked
all of destruction
and heralded by a small glow worm
which warmed the ice sprinkled skies
And through the point of darkness
pitched in through the circle of life
Roared He,
piercing through silence
shattering the skies
its veils
its sublime cold beauty
to its best the radiance of warmth
shook his majestic mane
walked past
and all mesmerized;
lead astray by strength
now involved with its intricacies
walking by
in mighty strides
raking cool dust clouds from the womb of life
Ars est celare artem
Abyssus abyssum invocat
Amicus.
the underdog he was
till born
In gruff heavy breaths of elixir
Strode past the Lion.
Ravens swivel higher skies
in the mighty dark plumes
cawing the most defying agony
The raven shrieks in harmony of against
the deafening silence of victory
Soaring the most higher of elysian
reflecting skies
In the bristle of wind against
blades of grass
tushe' ing through air
the eagle flew
ravaging life
Walked in all its might
a step
two step
then
Looked up
whisking the air
with a prod of the chin to gaze
at what lay ahead
a glint of fiery blaze
in zig zag mazes
borne across its back
the tiger stood
bathed in shattering silences
all so high
the phoenix shot up to the horizon
burnt by the passion of birth
And exhausting the womb of the sky
engulfing all of fire and then into the oceans
it drew a somber veil
to paint a misty haze of night
which was but the
darkest of black in vacuum
of destruction
its deafening mourns
not one near the eie
and this was what the passion of birth evoked
all of destruction
and heralded by a small glow worm
which warmed the ice sprinkled skies
And through the point of darkness
pitched in through the circle of life
Roared He,
piercing through silence
shattering the skies
its veils
its sublime cold beauty
to its best the radiance of warmth
shook his majestic mane
walked past
and all mesmerized;
lead astray by strength
now involved with its intricacies
walking by
in mighty strides
raking cool dust clouds from the womb of life
Ars est celare artem
Abyssus abyssum invocat
Amicus.
the underdog he was
till born
In gruff heavy breaths of elixir
Strode past the Lion.
22.5.09
Optical Optimism.
And so I walked upon some dry leaves.
All crumbling to dust.
Wondering where all those mental handicaps had wandered.
And so I took a boat to the shore across
and swore to find
why rowing was of no use
as the angry river flowed by.
Were they lined across a grave?
the most wilted poppy
across the heart of the
cold intricate tombstone
that seemed to cynically remind
of how it adorned death
till it wilted away.
I walk past the ocean
letting all of my senses
to flit right above
the retreating tide
soothing my silences
drowning me in its still.
Across the expanse of crystal
and its playful lies
of light and water
stretched out to the distant sun
I looked under the ocean bed
and in empty oysters
that didn't bear pearls.
And as a flash of lightning
caught the eie
were perceived in my ear
in echoes of thunder
I once more looked up
to the heavens above
and noticed not the elysian lawns
but the grim veil
of the lull before a storm.
And then the cliff
and scented pine and rosewood trees
and then was the edge
and beneath lay eternity or what
the eie couldn't see.
A single stone
was never heard of after it rolled off.
And around the mast
fluttered strongest of linen
that still was moved by the breeze
and from the ship
I looked above
and before I knew the journey
was at the end.
So I still walked home
in dreary steps
and huddled inside a rug
watching rain drops
slither down the window sill
and breathing across the pane
in hot steams
doused in aroma of coffee
and then pitter patter
on the ledge
reminded me again
of thoughts of vex
And then lay sight
upon my eye
a twinkle in
the distant sky
and believe it
so,
because I tell
It told me
to stop finding
It said to me
If you look through
eyes of hell
of what's left
and the worst
It shall be what
you shall get
And then it broke out
into fire
and drowned into
the ocean
and as I watched
and stopped and stooped
I knew how
secrets could kill.
:)
All crumbling to dust.
Wondering where all those mental handicaps had wandered.
And so I took a boat to the shore across
and swore to find
why rowing was of no use
as the angry river flowed by.
Were they lined across a grave?
the most wilted poppy
across the heart of the
cold intricate tombstone
that seemed to cynically remind
of how it adorned death
till it wilted away.
I walk past the ocean
letting all of my senses
to flit right above
the retreating tide
soothing my silences
drowning me in its still.
Across the expanse of crystal
and its playful lies
of light and water
stretched out to the distant sun
I looked under the ocean bed
and in empty oysters
that didn't bear pearls.
And as a flash of lightning
caught the eie
were perceived in my ear
in echoes of thunder
I once more looked up
to the heavens above
and noticed not the elysian lawns
but the grim veil
of the lull before a storm.
And then the cliff
and scented pine and rosewood trees
and then was the edge
and beneath lay eternity or what
the eie couldn't see.
A single stone
was never heard of after it rolled off.
And around the mast
fluttered strongest of linen
that still was moved by the breeze
and from the ship
I looked above
and before I knew the journey
was at the end.
So I still walked home
in dreary steps
and huddled inside a rug
watching rain drops
slither down the window sill
and breathing across the pane
in hot steams
doused in aroma of coffee
and then pitter patter
on the ledge
reminded me again
of thoughts of vex
And then lay sight
upon my eye
a twinkle in
the distant sky
and believe it
so,
because I tell
It told me
to stop finding
It said to me
If you look through
eyes of hell
of what's left
and the worst
It shall be what
you shall get
And then it broke out
into fire
and drowned into
the ocean
and as I watched
and stopped and stooped
I knew how
secrets could kill.
:)
2.5.09
Pagan Thoughts.
Her bangle slipped and ran a quick swivel through rounds of itself, in itself, running directionless.
A sudden expansion.
The bangle withdrew and like a dying swordsman, legs cut, grueling to keep combat, it fell.
Swinging the sword in honor of death.
It fell on the cold mosaic floor.
Its rubies scratched in dust.
Glistening untouched.
In a mighty swivel of her hips, she walked, the water, from her hair contouring the midst of her wet thigh, along her dainty legs, as she walked to it.Lunging forward, in an arch of a mighty monument rich in sensual intricacies.She picked it up, pouted her lip in the tiniest circle, perfect for air to pass.
To blow off the dust.
In a silly twitch of her bushy shaped, eyebrows, she jerked her upper body in a cruise as she struggled to fit the bangle through her wrist.
A distant whiff of hot sambrani in the cool evening air.
Right through her moist hair.
And then she disappeared behind the shelled veil, separating a part of her room, to show the fresh flesh hidden and opaqued underneath it.
And then she dressed.
His breath ran out long back.
He survived long enough , to gasp his last words, left unsaid.
A sudden expansion.
The bangle withdrew and like a dying swordsman, legs cut, grueling to keep combat, it fell.
Swinging the sword in honor of death.
It fell on the cold mosaic floor.
Its rubies scratched in dust.
Glistening untouched.
In a mighty swivel of her hips, she walked, the water, from her hair contouring the midst of her wet thigh, along her dainty legs, as she walked to it.Lunging forward, in an arch of a mighty monument rich in sensual intricacies.She picked it up, pouted her lip in the tiniest circle, perfect for air to pass.
To blow off the dust.
In a silly twitch of her bushy shaped, eyebrows, she jerked her upper body in a cruise as she struggled to fit the bangle through her wrist.
A distant whiff of hot sambrani in the cool evening air.
Right through her moist hair.
And then she disappeared behind the shelled veil, separating a part of her room, to show the fresh flesh hidden and opaqued underneath it.
And then she dressed.
His breath ran out long back.
He survived long enough , to gasp his last words, left unsaid.
Thank you.
"This idoll which you terme Virginitie,
Is neither essence subject to the eie,
No, nor to any one exterior sence,
Nor hath it any place of residence,
Nor is't of earth or mold celestiall,
Or capable of any forme at all."
- To Lust.
"Was this the face that launched a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.—
Her lips suck forth my soul; see where it flies!—
Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again.
Here will I dwell, for heaven be in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helena."
- To Love.
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