Waiting and Wanting 

Licking my Brain

I see an image.
The mental clouds of the day shift and part.
Before me is a wet dream image filling me up with need.
Daring eyes, hiding the real truth.
But smiling more than her sin painted lips.
Her hair, free and wild. Like a storm I want to ride.
Delicious skin and porn star nails.
Her neck draws me first.
But I am carnal, and I feed on the whole view.
Slim, sexy and well formed.
She’s made to play.
I start to imagine how easily I’ll move her.
Sweet breasts in some hinting lingerie
The form flows lower, drawing me close.
The part I know I need is still not shown.
I’ll tear my way to it. To her.
And her sweet ass, wonderfully displayed.
Then the legs shock their way into my mind.
My body tightens to their silky smooth encasing.
Touched off with heels to kill.
I see this.
But my mind clouds again.
And just wanting isn’t enough,
To make steam from my flame.
Only the flesh made slave will free my blood.
And I will use and take and serve.
The day means nothing without its dark side.
And smiles and thinking are fakes without the kiss.

Pick.
 

If at first you succeed...

Flexing and moving, bones and skin finding new perch while the happy speaking spirit-like thing enjoys the etchy songs on the long wind.
It was in a wrecking yard, I hear, that the final moments of a dead but rich fool faded into the heart of his own dream.
Wanting something can lead to getting it. It isn’t easy to stay the hero if you’re hungry.
I heard tale of Phoenixes and I liked it. It was right. And it was clean.
Bobbing around, in and out of the thoughts of others, you get the rare treasure of slight experience.
So walk and float, the real and the ghosts.
Tonight, I welcome it.

Purrr-chance? 

The Way It Is

It had been a long time since I had felt.
Really felt.
So when I did, I took the chance and let it all in.
Now it all comes out.
The wet eyes are more frustration than heartbreak.
Because all that effort, all that hope, all that heart was for naught.
There were lots of good things and good times.
But under it all seemed to be distance.
A failing.
I try to remember the happy feelings or the passion.
And I can’t.
So I wonder if it really was there at all.
All I remember is the used, forgotten feeling.
And dying to get away.
But still trying .
Still reaching.
To something I neither cared for nor respected.
I stayed longer than I should have.
Longer than I had wanted to.
Because of something that is hard to explain.
I have explored this repeatedly in thought, as it is my way.
A good metaphor is the moth to the flame.
I was drawn.
And the smoldering of myself wasn’t enough.
To detract from the yearning for that light.
But the light is gone.
I am ash.
And now it is all out of me.

Truth is Obvious 

181 Nights.

Cravings of the quiet working into the nights to come.
Following this any further would be a silly game of a boy.
And his toy.
Flashed before, but now gone dull.
Kept the time, and grown too slow.
But why this hope?
Why this grip?
Just let go.
Just let it go.
All gone.
Moved.
Into something, sometime, new.
Chances and with depth.
Fewer teeth and more laughs.
See the past over there; it’s real and it’s better.
And near enough to almost touch is another.
But the shakes of now still do shudder.
Never dry hump a dream.

Boob Tube 

Lucky Horns

Slumming with a mind full of wet thoughts.
Busy without being productive, I fail to add to the world.
Little things need.
Little challenges poke.
Edgy bones.
Sharp skin.
Scratchy love.
There are other views.
Other eyes.
I won’t jump.
At least I don’t think so.
But it is sort of nice to smile and see it work.
As we all pick our paths, we see.
That there is someone else in front of me.
Even the road less traveled has squeegee kids.
Man the ramparts.
Blow the horns.