Remote locations Ignite and unfurl deep passions, As Pele and Kamapua’a Bear witness, shedding tears of joy.
Feasting on energies, Primordial and long forgotten. The Succubus Lilith devours Humble servants of the flesh In resolute embrace.
Up, down, beneath, above Through and through Bodies intertwining Beyond understanding. A tapestry of lust, Woven by Arachne herself.
The echo of desperation: A hand longing to grasp Harder… Harder. Harder!
((((((((( Resonates )))))))))
Through soft pine like Hephaestus’ thundering blow.
Warm breaths on soft skin Cries forever lost in a pillow Beating hearts, Trying to rip themselves From their carnal shells.
Symphonic melodies give way To carnal compositions Orchestrated by Pan, Playing the body of Syrinx In the form of a flute. Plaintive gasps and tortured cries, Frozen in time, forever… Only relieved by the echo of our love.
I haven’t felt human in a long time to the point where I’ve doubted having blood running through my veins A search for meaning in hard substances and things devoid of substance in cold sheets and soft embraces… But I’ve discovered myself, deep down, where no one wants to go a profound understanding of the duality that runs through my veins It isn’t blood that pumps into my heart but also Magic… Things yearned and learned from Goddesses past, and mothers of the earth, creators of life and all things. Like all humans, I doubt my humanity, for what does it mean to be Human in the first place?
Occasionally when floating on my boat of dreams, I become aware of the nebulous sea of regret rippling under my vessel. Am I living in a constant state of denial, Or am I simply appreciative of better times?
Occasionally my smile crisps itself into a stone line, And my thoughts race back to another side of my mortal reality. Am I just another memory to one of my memories, Or am I flesh and bone that can be touched?
Occasionally I hear the pitter patter of the rain on a tin roof, And it brings me back to a long ago place I once knew. Am I sure the sensory appreciation is real, Or am I simply a projection of a non-existent former self?
Occasionally I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, And it seeps down into my hidden soul. Am I truly awake and aware of my existence, Or am I merely dreaming…
This is a non-erotic poem, written in February of 2017.
emerging from the clouds the energy boy peers below the clear layers of existence, tiny hearts beating he understands why others break the rule to observe to document don't do it, they say never shifting yet here he stands, frenetic scribbling desperately deciphering their erratic thoughts and unnerving actions he cries, remembering how it felt to be human