Hobbies - Poetry - Anonn
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Shall?

    Shall I tell you of the line
    Running errands down your spine,
    Of those burning spots that linger
    Way behind my hungry finger
    Turning skin to scream divine?

    Shall I plague you with the touch
    Dragging craves of never such,
    Plucking nipples to your lyre
    Crushing breasts beneath the fire
    As you moan... too much, too much...?

    When your naked white of thigh
    Burns its lust into my eye
    Shall I whine my ripping sorrows
    To a world of bland tomorrows
    As we soar beyond the sky?

TextTheRealityOfDream

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A Moment In Time

    Let the hail
    come.

    Let thousands of stone carrying fists
    rip egg-sized holes through the tin roof,
    battering into raw agony the countless pounds of human meat
    once composing my body
    now sprawling in post apocalyptic death
    above yours.

    I feel fingers
    spider-web thin
    click back in place my scattered spine fragments
    then guide my reluctant hand for a last visit
    to that swampy battlefield
    and its millions of dead soldiers.

    The fire crawls back into its sun.
    The meat turns flesh once more
    and as I watch you put on those flimsy feminine undergarments
    I drop a canvas between you and the world
    turning to masterpiece
    this moment in time.

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Straps

    The colored dress strap
    falling off
    your shoulder.
    The white brassiere strap
    now uncovered,
    white on blinding white,
    you pull it off when it does not fall of its own will
    down to your upper arm,
    lying there, limp,
    docilely waiting for me to decide its fate.

    I watch your neck,
    thin, supple, a swanís tender shoot
    entrusting itself to my fingers
    as they slide down its side,
    touching your shoulder,
    my palm cupping itself on the warmth of the rounded corner
    refusing to continue before giving in to gravitation and desire
    and falling long your arm
    fingers hooking into the hanging piece of satin...
    pulling...
    it snaps like the dry resort of a starter gun
    telling... go!...

    Our mouths clash,
    teeth almost ripping through lips
    before tongues and breaths mix
    in the turbulence of imprisoned fury let loose
    as ravaging frenzy invades hands disjointed from reason
    and body parts disconnected from minds,
    a shower of cascading clothes uncovering the rage of flesh
    and exposing it to the sting of fire and demolishing dragons.

    My fingers turn claws
    offering your breasts the torment of vise
    while talons attached to your wrists encircle my nakedness
    pulling
    and as we match our swollen deformities
    we fall into that bottomless abyss
    ending in the death of a sun.

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Anonymously

    The door clicked
    behind you,

    Your heels clicking
    a dance known to you alone
    fading in haste into the noisy street,
    a huge smile
    hiding underneath huge sunglasses,
    rigid nipples
    hiding underneath a huge sweater,

    You sneaked away
    anonymously
    carrying a fistful of sun
    in your heart,
    you could not control
    the traitorous sunflowers
    springing up from the asphalt
    in your wake.

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Sheets Of Ice

    Sheets of ice,
    thin,
    transparent,
    cutting the gape between us to universes and sides and lives,
    thin,
    cold.

    You pressed your open palm against it
    rolling it slightly... trying to clear the view?
    trying to test its resilience to warmth, phantasm, desire?
    you pressed your lips against it... trying to help your palm
    or to chill that flame leaping from in between chattering teeth
    and threatening your eyes
    and reason?

    Fulmination, blast,
    fragments and splinters cutting flesh to bone
    melting inside gurgling red rivers
    while your reaching fingers
    groped for my throat, chest, shivering muscles
    and as we rolled amongst the screaming needles
    contorting into the thousand shapes of love
    sheets of ice poured down
    cutting our bodies to slices,
    to snips,
    to slivers...

    Forces unknown pulled us apart,
    our bodies howling our tongues squirming
    as sheets of ice shot up once more between us
    their hiss poisonous, deafening,
    my severed fingers still attached to your ankle
    with the fading taste of sunflower
    still between my lips
    never to forget that look on your face
    carrying the memory.

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Leaving

    I led you to the chair,
    there were others around... I think,
    never saw never heard.

    Pulled the chair out
    then eased it underneath you
    laying my palm upon your navel
    en passant
    feeling the smoothness, firmness,
    the screaming muscle underneath the cloth, skin, flesh...

    I squeezed your shoulders
    kissed your head
    pulled away to go
    when your fingers closed against mine,
    refusing,
    hurting me with so much innocence and might.

    I looked at their white slenderness,
    thin sprouts with a life of their own,
    with a wish...
    ďBe careful,Ē you wanted me to promise.
    I did not promise.
    I left.

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The Moment

    I left my window open
    probably.

    Didnít know until I heard the buzz... or hum... or what was it
    and my smashing hand froze mid way into the strike
    when I heard it again... the voice... hi.

    I crawled to the night lamp
    suddenly frightened... click... you were not a butterfly.
    Not a moth, centipede, mosquito, gnat, bat, elephant,
    not even a woman,
    or a story,
    or a fairy crossing a bridge,
    what were you?
    What are you?

    Hi... you buzzed or hummed or barked or sang or whatever,
    inspecting the white strain inside my chestís curls
    and the musty granite inside my frozen muscle
    and the screaming flame beyond iris and nerve and straight into the brain,
    testing my ageless rage and bottomless velvet
    before entrusting me with the nest
    clinging to the tip of my nose.

    For days no end I walked around cross eyed,
    carefully where I stepped and where I stuck my nose
    watching you brush your wings and cleanse your body
    and making love
    and winking impudently, loving.
    From time to time you let me caress your smoothness,
    with one finger,
    then shyly you fluttered away
    to hide beneath a cabbage leaf
    until the blush would fade away.

    We werenít of the same species,
    we fell in love disregarding the gap
    and the fact that one day my nose would probably fall off
    and you would need another nest for your heart,
    mainly for your heart.
    But until then you bit chomps off my nose, chewing delightedly,
    and from time to time wandered inside my clothes
    and while I held my breath afraid to crush you
    you would bit off other pieces of flesh
    looking for your speciesí delicacies
    and pleasure.

    It was worth the pain hearing, so few times,
    the squeals of puppy insanity
    once you would find a spot
    of ethereal delight
    and linger there for hours.
    I learned to breathe through my skin
    not willing to lose
    the moment.

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The Reality Of Dream

    She was exhausted.
    Mentally, physically,
    when was it that her head fell with a thump on the desk
    a pile of papers cushioning the fall,
    the one finger asleep on the key marked L
    filling the screen with flying one letter lines
    and beep beep beeps,
    her other handís fingers cupping one breast
    guided by that ghost peeking through the glorious haze of a restless dream
    asking for her heartbeat,
    her breath,
    her begging nipple for his begging hand?...

    It was way past midnight.
    The beggars met,
    unleashing the storm and the amok run and the sirensí song
    the ghost seeping into her fingers clutching at stretching cotton
    and tearing lace
    and pale flesh looking innocently at the world through a torn seam,
    the flowing Lís conquering page after page
    continuously yelling their beep beep beep war cry
    careless of electronic mayhem
    and of sweetness of smile
    dawning between lips
    and melting into dripping sugar
    molesting the pile of papers into irrecoverable mush...

    She shivered awake.
    Feeling his lips hastily departing back into dreamlandís impenetrable hideouts
    and hating that unavoidable forgetfulness
    cruelly dulling the momentary memory
    of beauty.

    Her almost finished report was shot to hell.
    She looked at the Lís filled screen,
    caring none at earlier-on wasted time of filling tables,
    and painting goals, and summing up columns,
    added ove at the blinking cursorís position after the last L
    and slid under the covers refusing brutal logicís demand to brush teeth,
    remove shoes, shower, wear pajamas...
    it would have meant removing his hand cupping her breast
    and his mouth breathing into hers
    and those tattered remains of garment,
    the only witnesses to the reality of dream.

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Fountain

    You opened your palms
    slowly
    not reluctant but rather playful...
    and the marbles started rolling out
    blinding in their intensity
    of immaculate burning light,
    hundreds, thousands, an endless stream
    burying your ankles, sticking to your knees,
    opening wings and fluttering above you
    only to close wing and pour down round your head
    down your neck, shoulders,
    between your breasts... oh, my envy burning...
    down your belly and thighs back to your ankles
    then opening wings again... crimson this time,
    and yellow next time, and blue next, and green, and...

    I leaned back on the bench
    watching the fountain of human light
    smiling in my knowledge
    of your heart
    from time to time stealing a few marbles
    for my dreams to come.
    So rich in your beauty,
    you wouldnít mind gracing me with a few of those marvelous fireflies
    asleep inside your dresses
    drunken on the flavor of your skin
    and the warmth of your flesh,
    I wish to hear their story, feel their sting
    and for moments few barter my meaningless humanity
    for the sake of tasting the drunken death
    of touching you.

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Escape

    Your breast
    escaping the prison,
    the white one of cotton or the red one of satin or the black one of lace
    and proud of its dare
    calling upon my mouth to pour songs down its flute
    and lick nectar off its flower
    and kiss linden flavors inside the downy softness of its pillow.

    I cover it,
    afraid of imminent death
    invading my body together with the scream of life
    once my song done and my drinking done and my loving done
    and ensuing emptiness filling my body
    with the misery of missing fire.

    You uncover it
    once more,
    you uncover both of them
    once more,
    and as the steel in your fingers pulls my face inside the secret garden
    I feel the life steering inside your belly
    touching me
    and holding my finger
    and telling me a story of happiness soon to be born
    and soon to paint your lips
    smiles.

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Flake

    the first,

    past summerís boiling red and radiant blue and green and purple,
    past autumnís boring brown and brown and brown and yellow,
    the first, the herald,
    a stain of white purity
    flake
    innocent messenger
    runaway from hordes amassing their strength beyond impenetrable clouds
    a child of crystalline immensity
    finding the child of flesh humanity, you,
    to offer the adventure of children at play
    and hearts on the soar
    and falling in love...

    you fell on your back, tired, panting
    after chasing each other down valleys and up hills and across torn landscapes
    eyes closed above a smiling mouth,
    palms open,
    knowing... afraid.

    it landed softly inside your palmís cradle,
    sighing its one ephemeral cry of love
    of warmth
    of death
    as its delicate fibers steamed and its filigree shrunk and its heart melted,
    a round blob of water
    rolling down
    and soaking into the frozen ground,
    invading hordes conquering your kingdom.

    you cried
    not for love lost,
    for love found.

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Sense Less

    Sightless,
    Tasteless,
    Never to smell your sweat, your skin after shower,
    your wine after making love for hours and days and lingering minutes,
    Never to hear your moan before
    and your sigh after,
    Never to touch the downwards of your neck
    and the around of your waist
    and the inside of your soft, discarded shyness.

    Sightless
    to seeing you hiding inside thin cotton against the blaze of sun
    outlining your form sharply on my retinae
    with a loving hand guided by an adoring god,
    Tasteless
    to the insides of your lips.

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The Tale Of Pale Butterfly

    This tale of a shy
    And pale butterfly,

    When blanketing night
    Embraces the light
    And silence pervades
    Through bickering glades,
    It opens a wing
    To dance and to sing
    And sweetness of summer the winter invades
    With flakes turning snowbells in shimmers of spring.

    Through morningís first light
    Still warring the night
    And shivering glades
    An echo pervades,
    The butterfly lies
    With wondering eyes
    A heartbeat impaled on an icicle fades
    And snowbells - an ocean, are born while it dies.

    The death of a shy
    And pale butterfly.

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Rendez Vous

    i set the glass on the table
    so that it will reflect the moon
    straight into your eyes,
    i paid a teenage band to dress as mariachi
    to pass by just by coincidence
    and serenade you just by coincidence,
    i let a pearl attached to a metal ring
    sink inside the cake
    to be offered as dessert.

    i waited until you did not come.

    the moon fell beneath the hills
    the mariachi snored away the night waiting for the coincidence
    and the pearl melted in cake acid,
    sharp nacre shards scratching their way down my throat.

    i stepped into the cake crumbs
    past the fake mariachi
    and followed the cockroaches trailing the moon.

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Thirty Two

    Thirty two kilometers to your mouth,
    I wondered at its shape
    its feel
    its taste.

    I waited in the car,
    I drank, ate something tasteless,
    answered a few phone calls
    each ring turning me into a knotted mess...
    maybe...
    no.

    I regarded the watch. Too late.
    Thirty two kilometers could have been thirty two thousand.
    I still wonder
    at its shape,
    its feel, its taste.

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Toesland

    finally
    a regard inside your intimacy
    your head half missing
    your legs drawn up on the sofa
    your belly overflowing with life
    and then... oh... your toes.

    I counted several times
    just to make sure I missed nothing,
    left to right then right to left
    then middle to both sides,
    no doubt
    all ten of them,
    small, pert, smart, enticing,
    luring like the most erotic piece of fantasy which ever crossed my mind...
    well, maybe one degree lower
    than the other fantasy invading me -
    the one of your belly, huge,
    stretching away in front of you and under my eyes
    the skin taut and sensitive
    pink and white and smooth
    and a little foot pushing out...
    I wanted to count its toes too but I never got to see it,
    it stayed fantasy,
    will always stay.

    I tested the image
    maybe they could disclose some additional information
    I tried to zoom in, to rotate, to crop
    trying to identify the small circles and whirls of toeprints
    to recognize them once
    when you will dance on a glass table top
    or on snow
    or on my naked belly...
    such disappointment
    no toeprints, no warmth, just pixels.

    I printed the image,
    black and white, so what,
    cut away your toes
    and placed them in my wallet.
    One day, I will want to make sure
    that this is really you
    and your beauty.

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Angel Dust

    tiny, like a grain of sand,
    tinier,
    chosen by natureís caprices
    to win the lottery of the sun
    to sprout
    opening tiny palms, tiny fingers
    tiny toes, toenails... a delicate flower
    bursting into the light
    from mama Madonnaís womb
    to open petals
    and put order into the chaos of a mad world
    with that most marvelous
    of first
    screams.

    mama Madonna smiles
    the excruciating pain
    so wonderful
    when you are being torn out of her insides
    to lie upon her chest
    your hungry scream
    conquering your disapproving scream
    your silence finally taking over
    when you find that swollen nipple
    feeding you nectar
    and warmth
    and love, oh, so much love
    unending.

    mirror, mirror upon the wall
    who is the fairest fair of all?

    asked mama Madonna
    the steamy mirror in the bathroom
    and the glass burst into a shower of sparks
    glimmering glittering glinting
    sticking to the liquid salt
    rolling down her cheeks
    watching your tiny fists
    open in welcome
    your tiny lips
    curving in smile
    as the sparks turn stars
    and sink inside you
    for once upon a time... so and so years from now
    to turn your passage in life
    a shower of light.

    night.
    beautiful mama Madonna tiptoes naked,
    bare-footed on the cold tiles
    shivers running up her spine
    as she approaches the soft alcove
    where even more beautiful you
    slumbers,
    thankful for the light adhering to your palms and face
    and refusing to leave so much innocence,
    the halo surrounding you
    reflecting in her tearful eyes.

    mama Madonna picks a glass jar
    and gently sweeps your skin several times
    collecting the light and dropping it in the jar
    watching it sink slowly
    to the bottom,
    layer
    after layer
    after layer.
    she knows, on communion day
    what her present to you will be Ė
    a glass jar,
    filled with angel dust.

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Between Dimensions

    you opened a door,
    you passed your hand in a downward motion
    and the door opened for me to come in
    before you sealed it back
    locking us in our own dimension
    I, and you, and a million flowers.

    and she,
    clutching at your shirt.

    you are allowed to do it, you told me
    waiting for my hands to stop shivering
    before they started opening the buttons of your shirt
    first the top one,
    then the one underneath,
    a few more,
    just sufficient.

    I had to wait some more,
    the shiver once more uncontrollable,
    then I slowly pulled out your left breast from its cotton home
    and let it hang down
    watching you guide her mouth to the nipple
    and then her gurgling smile
    telling it all.

    she was sated, asleep,
    I gently guided your breast back home,
    not before kissing it,
    then closed your buttons
    bottom to top
    then kissed your lips
    top and bottom
    waiting for your hand to move once more...

    wait... I suddenly bolted away
    returning with a huge bouquet of wild flowers
    and wheat spikes and thistles and weeds
    and laid it at your feet... now, I said.

    you passed your hand downwards again
    opening the secret door for me to leave your dimension
    and return nowhere
    allowing me to keep
    one flower,
    the one you just touched to your lips.

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Perfection

    she grips, grabs,
    gropes for the softness of your flesh
    and its calming warmth
    with the tenacity of grapples
    and the softness of grace
    lulling you to sleep with the song
    of toothless gums
    locking around your nipple
    and heart.

    tiny fingernails
    mark tiny smileys and tiny crescents and tiny blushing cuts
    upon your skin
    and you smile between the tiny punctures of pain
    aware
    of the beauty of it all.

    I click my wordy camera
    at the image adorning my imagination
    and print it here
    on the cardboard of the screen
    closing the window as fast as I opened it
    afraid to wake up
    your joined
    perfection.

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Closure

    the was
    that will not
    be

    the will
    that will never be
    was

    the count down
    way beyond the zero
    and deep into
    negatives
    the bigger the smaller
    and perfumes of life
    dissipate
    and the desert around me flowers
    with salt crystals
    breaking the sun
    to crumbs
    of frost

    I am closing
    the shirt
    the letter
    the door

    the pen

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Watcher

    I tiptoed into your life
    hardly feeling the tiles,
    hardly breathing your skin,
    invisible,
    not disturbing, not touching,

    I watched you yawning
    before blinking closed the gates to your soul,
    I watched you stretching in your sleep
    looking for the comfort of arms,
    I watched you showering
    as I glided with the tiny drops upon your body, inside your body,
    down to your toes and between them
    to the sewage,

    I tiptoed out of your life
    my chest one way, my head the other,
    acrobatics of life.

    From time to time
    I dare close my eyes
    and watch you... once more.

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