She is in the mood to arouse you and She wants you to reciprocate.
She has a technique she uses to spruce up her petals.
inject a colour dye
No doctors needed to take an oath
No need to hang dry and desiccate.
All she desires is to tempt you with her words.
She looks upon them as her Fire stoked Lords.
Simple and overused is tedious when used as commoner slurs.
So titivate is something She does.
It doesn’t require a zazen mind state to create an immediate demand for 1950 style Fords.
Take a dust feather to your ear, tickling it ever so slightly, a murmured breathe escapes – to let you know she is quite eager and indeed keen.
Arouse you with whispers of sweet adjectives.
Use words that excite you to shudder instinctively.
Now She needs to make herself seen.
Fluttering eyelashes – butterfly kisses.
Sensual and cute -tempting yet blissfully innocent.
Pure and light and dreamy enough to set your imagination to seek out. Whatever is in that mind of yours…
She wants you to know She finds you alluring
Which of your senses does she wish to tease out the most?
The ones that arouse mental fuckability from an agile, graceful host.
Often she craves a tidy up just to try out something new.
Freshen the vibe up.
Create dribbles from your lush dew.
Bubbles have more of more a rambunctious appeal.
Invite a sense of pure, exquisite fun
Her mind seeks out to imbue.
So to titillate you, she has to titivate herself.
Seems rather rueful
Please be curious about what she has in her mind –
Truth is her middle name.
Look by all means.
Dare is the name she gave to herself when she was born.
Feel free to question her too.
She speaks in orgasms when someone can make her laugh with their wit or indeed see a sparkle of hers thrown our carefree and unconsciously.
successful relationships are a honed practised recipe inciting those who have an inkling or some fledgeling clue.
Do not judge me
For my sapling survival
a birth of a scape goat to inscribe the words of a free spirit
With no country
I claim as my own
I am who I choose as my identity
No political movement can discriminate against my spirit
For I denounce those who cannot see the truth
In front of them
even when they kneel
The only divine death
With nothing to face.
The unknown scripture of abandonment sans fear
How many times can a man kill
With the swell of pride in his heart
The ocean stained with the sins
Of his foibles and ills?
A death wish
Mammoth moments sunken by the greed of this lot
Moby dick stood afloat
Whilst man’s morals were lost.
To the rise of egos
The wan of humanity.
The flag ships raised
A toast to a humans descent into insanity.
Without affirmative action these are mere words of profanity
Every time I write down words,
Ending in a half sentence with no meaning like this one.
Eventually the reader will realise I’m taking the Mick.
Every single word on this page
Each one is absolutely pointless.
Egg me on, I dare you
Especially as I’m clearly hard to ignore because you’re still reading this.
Elements are as tangible as these words transpired with indefinable clarity.
Ergo I must now go
Evening awaits , I anticipate clear skies
Early morning we’ll need to say our goodbyes
Evidently we all have lives to live. Thanks for reading this load of sh**.
Don’t you love it when a quote inspires you to write a few words to illuminate your own meaning to it?
My quote inspired by EE Cummings . See bottom quote. Have a fab weekend!
My hearts in my gut
My tears already fall in that tropical fashion
My body already heaves with my breath like a speedy version of listening to the tides pull back and pull in -pushing my head under the ocean and forcing me to taste the entire body of it’s salty tears
Great gatsby, watched the birds flying high,, then Mick Jagger ruined it with collagen his rub dub ( step on a feather) overload and a fish called wonder …..and a bubbly flute – could be a poke up with magic tab if it is a Manual – (booked up) ermm… Mario – lumber jacked it plumber whose coin with a blush flush niacin face yet
still, a top draw unless you gamble with a new song for the experimental …. pick up the dutch bells and call it a half score. Call it a four-spade (perhaps ditch) lucky clover…I see a bubble of incoherent babble about thereabouts: hearts bleed, spades are in need and the aces egos blissful ignorance they don’t know the. Once a (ponder) time from the ENDh no GGBE pollen (was hurt in this catastrophic verbal conspiratory once (upon a time)
Tell me what you want to know.
Rainy days included, storms do pass
Under the bridge the homeless huddle around a fire trying not to cause too much trouble.
Together their eyes vacant, some stumble some stutter.
Hoping society will give them a second glance, a second chance.
I’ve never done this type of poem. The format is straight forward.
- Title 2 syllables
- Description 4 syllables
- Action is 6 syllables
- location 8 syllables
- ending 6 syllables.
- And the final rule is that it can’t rhyme
it won’t hurt much
scrub off the scent of his odour
bleach the bath with your morning shit
love costs more heartache
Passion less magical
Cats demand cuddles
A clean page soaked in wasted words written in yellow ink
The music falls on deaf ears
Unread unopened books will let me down – or will it be my imagination?
I glance around the room of despair comfortably numb for three hours until a child smiles for her mom’s unfounded fears.
so inept by a blackened imagination
colours wither away, winter outsmiles
stilled yet not frozen. those exhiled frowns en route stragglers exhiled to Siberia.
I’m desperately desolate that these nightmares took the by pass . Limits to hope of revelling in reality once more spring
bursts into a yawn , light stretches worn out clinging onto last winter’s stained sweater.
A scream demands tending to kettle whistling for it’s masters attention
it begs summer to part with mercy & grace
so inept by a blackened imagination.