Twofold Times

Cute (G)

What a strange and twofold time

This hour of smiles and tears

When loved ones now and then all pluck

Mere moments from the years


When all recall not merely joy

But rancor, loss and pain

And somehow feel a common strength

When relived all again


The words that fill the whispers

That slip from trembling lips

May be all happiness and ire

All anger, fear and quips


Only now, this twofold time

This hour of smiles and tears

Do all the memories that we share

Come through the well-plucked years

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Goodbye Logan


Mother Teresa said we are all but a drop in the ocean and we need to coexist

For if even one drop was no longer there it surly would be missed…


I mentioned just the other day amidst the Wieners, war and strife

A 2 year old boy named Logan and the story of his life.


As best man at his parents wedding- I was taken by his charms

Yesterday, I’m sad to say he died in his mother’s arms.


I did not know little Logan, his mother or his Dad

Then why does the news of his passing make me feel so sad?


Many people I don’t know die each and every day

Why should a boy I never knew affect me in this way?


Perhaps I didn’t need to know him to offer him a prayer

Perhaps the little I learned of his life was enough for me to care


What if we knew something about everyone who dies?

Then we all would be affected at the time they said goodbye.


Yes, if we knew everyone who died today or his mother or his Dad

Perhaps the news of their deaths would make us all a little sad.


And in our sadness perhaps we’d find the joy and be delighted

At the thought of our shared agony and the hope of a world united.


For if we share our sadness with the whole of our mankind

Could also sharing happiness be very far behind?


Sure this may be a pipe dream—but it does have a certain charm

And it would help me understand a boy dying in his mother’s arms.


So goodbye Logan you’re not just another name who no longer exists


In 2 short years you left your mark…and your drop will be missed.

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Dancing in another space, unwilling to turn around,
Playing games, taunting this place,
Knowing your life is no longer a race to the finish,
All debts and debtors relinquished,
Laughing for a short moment while the time is ripe,
Watching your body lie still on the bed
While you can't help but feel compassion
For those left behind,
If they only knew your mind,
The beauty you now know is beyond the flesh,
You try repeatedly to tell them it's ok,
And that they aren't losing their minds
If they hear you, but only one or two take heed.
You wait for months, every nervous twitch seen
Seems to make them think you are coming back,
But I hear you...that it is way too nice where you are going,
And there is no turning back,
Some of us sense your desire to tell them,
And wish I could tell them for you,
We can only be here,
We cannot speak for you,
You must find a way to make them understand,
Or just make an exit and bid farewell to this land.



3:00 AM 4/20/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

People go into comas and last for years while their body is preserved by science. The spirit...waits.

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Cigarilla Girl

You're standin' outside, one foot tappin'
Arm tucked 'neath the other,
Smoke rings curlin', up your face,
lingering in light blonde dyed hair,
just waitin' for me to scent,
as our lips meet, and our legs twine.

Mouth sweet as sin, your body . . .well, just full of win,
Your teeth, lips and tongue, a burning wet trifecta,
Making me want to take you again and again.

Yet again.

Your hair full of a scent, that doesn't really belong anywhere,
But it somehow seems to fit you right,
Lying there, between us.

Cigarillo sweetness, sweetly dark and mellow,
Brings to mind, the silken sighs, as between silken thighs,
The gates to heaven are thrust open.

(And not just any heaven mind you,
Heaven that God his own self made, for God his own self,
All other heavenly aspirations made, purgatory by example.)

You whimper and cry, as shushing you I try,
My poor slob of a roommate crying inside her head,
As her hand pumps away 'neath tousled sheets,
Your screams for God making her weep,
As her cramped fingers prove understandably ineffectual.

The steady loudening of my growls,
As on the bed I prowl, taking what is mine,
From behind, fingers flicking, 'neath your lowest hair,
Getting you just right, right there,
Other hand clenched in short, tousled hair,
Arching you back, in time with the thwack,
Thwacking, as need meets greed and with every barely concealed scream,
you cream and cream.

The smack of my hand, as soft skin hardened,
Meets the taut skin, of ass and hips arching with need,
Lovely Whip-Crack! and you whimper and grind,
Halfway out of your mind, pain and pleasure lines that blur from being so. . .

Poor roommate's fingers, cleaner than ever and steadily weakening,
Peaking, an ever more distant dream, as two rooms away,
Your screams continue on and her follicles reach new heights of exfoliation,
Her pillows bathed again, with tears of questionable orientation.

God and I are synonymous, in your vocalizations,
As on us, your fingers claw out the braille of your need,
Which with thrust and bite, hair pulled tight,
I strive to meet, and tightly hold back this flood of seed,
With will and trained muscles strained tight.

You clench me and clasp,
With the hidden muscles in which my throbbing need basks,
And my mind is filled with such a need,
That it's so hard to think,
As in you again and again, I sink.

The alpha and omega, combine inside you,
Sin made flesh,
An angel with sheared off wings,
In the arms of a sinner,
And I make you beg and beg,
Please Sir! a mantra you cry,
As from me you try,
To get the permission needed to fall,
Into the well of mindless need,
Turned indulgent satisfaction.

Permission grudgingly granted,
A growled yessss near your ear,
Hot breath sinking inside you, your eyes rolling in titillation,
The longed for allowance,
To taste the rainbow colored spectrum of your body's,
Shuddering completion.

And shudder you do, as toes clench and thighs squeeze around me,
The little whimper laugh you give, as your hips flex and grip me,
Inside convolutions, silken warmth made palpable magic,
Magic turned into a roaring noise, you and your body the center of a vast universe of need,
And mine as I take you and make you, crave me more and more.

Crying for me to fill you, the where need not be released,
As release I do, where you poo, nary an off smell once emitted,
Or a strange substance felt,
For which great relief is dealt, to a mind traumatized by such in a distant past.

You whimper and cry, soft sounds of delight making me inward ask why,
As to softly and gently extricate myself, I try,
A few more slow thrusts, because even though my nut I did bust,
Leaving the heaven's heavenly sanctuary of your body is a trial.

Inwardly I laugh and smile.

Your slow fall to the bed where you bask,
The afterglow a sweet silken mask,
Much like the sweat that sheens both our bodies,
Satisfied sighs and little moans, making me inwardly groan.

I laugh and I smile, inside all the while,
As unfortunate roommate never did come,
A knockin' or otherwise, her sad reality gleefully so in perspective.

I was one of your best, on a list fairly long for your age if not that long at all,
And you could have been one of mine,
But you had to let your mind f*** with your head,
Thinking you were in love with me, shouldn't have driven you from my bed,
Or the arms, of a guy that valued you and still does, as more than a lay,
Even though that's how you often made him feel.

Your head is a mess, your heart a mass of confusion,
And your time spent thus far, lacking for deep introspection,
Though it's a road you seem to be taking, if taking too late.

Maturity above most your age,
Yet still a child in so many ways,
It was unpleasant, our parting,
Freedom for you break, the granting of, the severing of,
Maybe my mistake.

But being terrified of me, after the words you spoke,
a secret revealed,
As we lie in bed twining,
Your mistake and one you did nothing to rectify nor explain,
Not having the words your last refrain.

It seems a shame, our story seemingly finished,
Before many words were even set to page.

I hadn't expected, the white-picket-fence-happy-ending,
I knew you were no where near that place,
Inside the tumult of your own chaos,
But I did hope for, the time to see,
What our story could be, because I know you began to believe in happiness once more,
But you chose to run, hands over ears as you repeated nananananaana over and over again,
Afraid of that which you want but refuse to believe in.

Your hypocritical irony, a sad story you narrate anew, every day.

So I'll miss you in my bed.

I'll miss you curled around me in sleep, head burrowed into my back,
As I reach back, clasping your firm ass and pulling you to me tighter.

I just wish you'd dealt with me like an adult, shared the respect I always had for you.

But you've helped me realize a mistake it seems I am doomed to make,
The definition of insanity, as again and again I try, hoping always for a new result,
My flaw starts in seeing someone's potential, and ends in the need to help it grow,
With shared heart and nurturing hands, shrewd mind spent investigating the needs that bloom,
Behind shy eyes and eager flesh.

While my own become forgotten things, withering away in their corner,
As at the altar of your whim I pray.

Often satisfied with airborne saliva fueled benedictions.

The 8 hr tattoo I'll be getting, a final symbol and recognition,
Not of you, no, but of what you represent,
And those like you, that wander into my life time and again.

I'll bleed you out, under that needle gun,
And place an image of beauty over what you didn't even bother to miss,
Let alone acknowledge.

Heart beating in time, to the buzzing drone of ink covered catharsis,
As in my skin, remembrance will ever be carved,
A beauty that will never be wasted,
Never be spent,
Upon another disappointment in a life of one after another.

I'll bleed you out, as over my heart forms, gilded protection,
Affection in the detail, this picture so much more than a thousand words,
And I'll smile, all the while, because you will never get to see.
Just what it is, your careless nonchalance finally helped form for me.

Your absence simply makes room for someone worthwhile,
And in a few years, you'll look back and regret your sad apathy.

I know, for I was once a silly child, too.

And you never ever really forget, being a silly child, and what as silly children we do.

No, you never ever, really do.

May you fly again, my Cigarillo Girl,
On the wings you will obtain, if you ever deal with your personal shame,
And your fears of beauty inside or out,
Your stupid denial of happiness ever manifesting.

Your greatest enemy exists in your head,
A parasite daily fed, by the lies and negativity,
in which you'd rather indulge.

I hope that one day, you'll stop being such a coward.

The words I took back, I will give you once more,
As this is farewell, and I don't plan to see you again,
Because as much adult as there is, you still play the child,
My disappointment is. . . .more than mild.

Be well, enjoy the rest the new semester.

Feel free to leave my book in the mailbox.

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