Emerging From The Night Of Lost Souls

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Emerging from the night of lost souls
A rough morning with make-up in your eyes
Playing with fire when you dressed like Hell
You believed the Devil when he whispered his lies
Another Mardi Gras extinguished
But your heart now belongs to the man of flames
You don’t remember how your dress got burnt
Or how your lovely chest was branded with his name

 

 

 

*I wrote this for Halloween, but never shared it. So I swapped in Mardi Gras because of my superb timing… It doesn’t make as much sense, but you never expected such high notions from me.

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I’m Enthralled By The Details Under Your Dress

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I’m enthralled by the details under your dress
I’m focused on lace & the embroidered rose
I’m here to pay attention & relieve your stress
Whispers words that won’t leave your legs closed

A Goddess In The Rising Wind

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A goddess in the rising wind
Her loose dress blowing free
A majestic form hinted
Euphoric images come to me
I’m in awe of her beauty
A natural wonder beheld
The simple appreciation
Leaving me robust & swelled

She Stood In A Flowing Dress

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She stood in a flowing dress, but
I can’t tell you how It came to be
Perfectly perverted thoughts
That’s what she said to me
We danced & we kissed mightily
We loved through our pretty years
Now, toeing the very brink
Face to face with our mutual fears

She Was Leaving At 2 In The Morning

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She was leaving at 2 in the morning
A bad girl in a short sun dress
Tearing down the fabric of a dissolving society
She called the Raven, who told her –
“Leave the inauthenticity to the airwaves”

But I would always rather be with her
Forever was never long enough
Her hand no longer upon my skin
Yet, upon my soul
She left fingerprints

Typing, Hacking, Thinking – Smokin’ Hot

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Typing, hacking, thinking – Smokin’ hot
Typing your best to empty all thought
Pouring your soul into force upon the keys
Your woman walks past with a dress above the knees
Now you can’t think or type or stammer straight
The hell with with deadlines – this one’s gonna be late
You pray to the spirits of procrastination or whatever you think of
Burn this project right now, sacrifice it in the name of love

*previously posted on former blog

Those Matchbox Fantasies

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Those matchbox fantasies

Gunmetal grey panties with soft pink polka dots

She placed a stiletto in her wooden leg

Character assassination plots go all for naught

An Eastern European Gypsy

She’s hiding a switchblade under that dress

She’s dangerous down to her core

A beautiful woman – you don’t want to mess

Beware of their corrosive accolades

There’s no exoneration in the line of fire

She’s insolent about your theoretical love

In the end, she’s killed you with her underwire

You Tell Me You’re Tired

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You tell me you’re tired

& don’t want to put on that dress

There’s so much to do

That your mind is a mess

But I’ve made arrangements

& the kids will be away

Tonight is only for us

Let me take away the day

Dinner is almost ready

Take this wine to the shower

I’ll put on your favorite waltz

We’ll dance into the latest hours

*previously published on former blog

College Magnetic Poetry Vol. 1

I eat her peach, like it was a screaming bed
Rob lathered her pink butt, like I said
She urges me to lick the bare breasts, or no head
They want the mist under the dress, and she is red
I cry, but think those rose petals are like a knife
My woman moans as we fall with spring through life
Smell sweet honey like a purple forest o’ eggs
He sees my finger smear next to the smooth hot leg
Watching two girls waxin’ & milkin’ without you
The gorgeous goddess needs his languid tongue to be true
Deliriously drunk & a repulsive moment recalls an ugly day
I felt the beauty whispering lust, wanting to play
Sweat leaves my apparatus juicy and shiny, always beating it away
Frantic spray floods the luscious garden from behind
Trying to swim beneath a language o’ an elaborate mind
Winter crushes drool over lovely eyes
On top, producing no sleep as we lie
Together, eternity is an essential chain
Manipulating me through bitter rain
Mothers can ask to stop, but still get to blow
I pound your fluff and then must go
Getting shot in some hair is easy when you are not above
Shadows o’ their enormous size is what you vision and love

Circa 1998

*Author’s Note: I feel I should explain this mess. It was written in college on a buddy’s fridge with the non-x-rated magnetic poetry. It is horribly juvenile and I love it all the more for that reason.