PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

run from pain by diving through it
seeking to awaken from the cold
feel of its splash upon me
reach deep and wrap myself
in cloak of dreams
shelter from their sanity
know path of dreams
and wishes by the stroke
of their movements
as limbs animate
them as paintings
moving
dancing
upon the canvas of life
paintbrush
as lips
softly caress
painting the gift
of pleasure
watercolor
fingerpaints
color the air
red with
heat of
hunger as it slides
across molecules
of oxygen
to taste
moans as they escape
from ur lips..
tasted well and
washed down with
the sip of your eyes
as they mirror
the warmth
of the exchange
as our bodieds swim together
wrap your cunt around
my thrusting gift of
curiosity
as i seek the knowledge
hidden deep within unknown
flesh..
lessons learned in
warm comfort of my cell
companions bodies teach universal truths
shared with teachers and students
yet unknown to
the feel
of warm fingers
questing tongue
dancing heart
beating
against nipples
grazing hard
against tender skin..
pressed full crushed
into body wrapped around the gift of you

I want to be your ex-man because he had an opportunity to be with you. 

To spend time with you.  

To kiss you. 

To hug you. 

To look into those beautiful brown eyes to tell you he loves you. 

I want to be your ex-man because there was lonely nights you were home waiting for him and when he walked through that door your eyes lit up so bright. 

I want to be your ex-man because those times I wish were mine. 

I want to be your ex-man because he had an opportunity. 

Something you’re not willing to give me. 

Something you did not see in front of you as I stand. 

I want to be your ex-man because he was able to express his love to you.  

To hold you tight. 

To call you his forever in life. 

I want to be your ex-man because I want to know what it feels like to wake up and have you by my side. 

I want to be your ex-man because I know all the things he has done wrong.

I could do perfectly right. 

I want to be your ex-man because I want to hear you say “I love you. Baby without you I’m nothing. Baby together we can make it through.” 

I want to be your ex-man because for all the things you have gone through 

I know there was times you wished he would have hugged you and kissed you and said the right words. 

I wish I were your ex-man because if I was I would say the words you should hear. 

I would kiss you when the time is right. 

I would look at you and tell you I love you baby and that everything is going to be alright. 

I want to be your ex-man because you said yes to him the first time he asked you out. 

First time I asked you out I never was given a chance. 

So, baby let me be your man. 

Let me be your ex-man. 

Let me have just one dance. 

The knife cuts and the holder bleeds
All for love, but it's respect she needs

The stone eyed men foster madness
In their prey they nourish a seed of sadness

Black and blue is what they give
They care not for her soul to live

The nymph can't see colors, she craves more pain
Pleasing and pleading is her most walked lane

At night she sleeps and her bruises weep
But the cravings are wounds even more deep

Beauty stained with a Spanish whip
The beholder holds her reality's grip 

She wakes in chains
Standing up to gods
Thoughts so vain

Your body is like the the cab driver
grazing in heated seats, molten metal
amber amethyst. Your contour lines, your “hey there” sound.
lapis lazuli, the cool panama heat, the southern accent behind the driving wind, solely searching free pulsating breathless beauty grasping at the strands of windblown hair, perfection made slowly, powerfully
and also I enjoy the way that your butt feels when we boom-boom

I long for your patient pull
binding rage
cubist, tearing, latent force
your bracing arms supporting asunder the corinth columns of
killing fields of beauty, shouting matches burn my name, her words
filtered cannon, bracing fire, barring the doors to the speak-easy, leaving nothing but
yes, I scream, in torrid thunder, eyes assuming, tidal studded coursing veins
and also I like the way that the side of your butt feels when we boom-boom

You claw across the painted room
Muddy topsoil, free-range, pulsating ripples of desiring
I, reproachful, standing slowly, sonic waves around, around
the die-cast feeling. “As seen on TV”, but I can't forget the way it felt
on top of overdoses, panting sallowed breathless lungs
scuttling the perfection that is your sordid keratin and fetid bones and the way you look in those genes
and also that one time we boom-boomed in the park felt great and I was just thinking about it today

Your eyes on fire
printer's cases, carpeted wonder
the smell and sound of napalm filling my room.
All I want to do
is to do boom-boom.

Next to you:

Knight in shining armor:

Deliver unto me a menagerie:

an oddity so stitched by countercultures,

biting sarcasm coupled with plain-faced truths;

expanding wits without expense to figure. 

Buoyant in a steady stream of consciousness,

propelled through doubt by sheer logic, well-tended

and sought after when the room begins to spin:

paths would diverge and adjoin to guide us towards

each other -- if only life were so scripted:

we would trade conclusions and forgo the dance,

only to continue it by choice, later.