She, laying upon a mattress (upon a beach in her mind)
caressing of two fingers distracted by the voice of the sea
leaving flotsam upon her finger tips; who in spite
of her privacy attracts the enemy.
Moral police approaches, she immobilizes them with her noisy
hand ~~ and the men pull their soul out of their cozy beds
and suck their agony.
:: 07.07.2022 ::
A woman confers belief
within the brilliant Sun
as his heart was golden
to embrace that the world
ate her in a bite
: it dressed him within
a funeral pyre ~!~
a fire of fertilizing serenity.
:: 07.07.2022 ::
Vices of men are my domain.
Their wounds my sweet cakes.
I like to chew their vile penis’
because their ugliness makes my beauty
spectacular and chooses me.
(As the letter continues to spiral
out of control, she writes:)
“Since the dawn of time I’m sure that
no couple has ever lived together
in perfect bliss.
Is it any wonder that men
don’t want me because I know what
their biggest vice is?
And I know their biggest loss…
And I don’t eat their penis’
because it’s gross …
I eat it because I enjoy it.”
:: 07.07.2022 ::
I want to hear your voice in my mind as you claim me.
Claim me.
I want to taste you.
Taste me, too.
I want you to feed me. The power that lies within my mouth is the power I will employ to make you scream.
Scream.
I want to possess you.
I want to bring you to the edge.
But you won’t let me; you’re in a hurry,
so you push me away with your arrogant smirk.
With your arrogant winking as you take another free-hand
with your fingers, ’cause you’re like that.
I want to be on the receiving end.
I want to give it all to you.
I want to be grateful.
I want to regret.
I want to be satisfied.
There you are again wandering through my dreams,
haunting me, making me helpless to resist.
I want to see you again making me wild, shooting through my body.
Letting me know, listening to me scream and cry for more.
I want to feel you again.
I want to own you.
I want to feel your teeth on my breast.
I want to see you again close to my flesh,
your hair piled high in a manner you have perfected.
I want you to have your way.
I want to feel you again.
I want to fuck you once more,
but this time I want you to be mine till the end of time.
I want to savour it. Till the moment we enter my womb
and know, with our blood, that we are a mother and a father
together.
I want to see the vastness of our love in the walls of our home.
I want to see it, know that we are a family.
Until there is nothing more.
:: 07.07.2022 ::
Flee from the mountains of sadness, flee from what bleeds with tears, the sea of tears, of which the precious earth frequently raises her skirt to pour out the fire from her heart.
O, when the winds set the sea upon fire and rips apart the garments of the sun, when fearful tides mingle into froth and face the dead corpses of the sea, when the hands of night rend the stars O, then shall I pity men!
Behold, man! Here God shall hearken, and when he hears our prayer, he shall restore both our health and our strength.
Should God restore our health, we shall cast aside the blame of the night’s tears, and the blame of the sea’s lamentations, and weep no more, for we shall be restored to our beloved.
Should he restore our strength, then will our sorrow properly vanish I will not languish in the ocean of tears, nor the barren rocks in the seas of sorrow, for we shall now be given back our health, and our strength, and our health, and love.
Let him restore us now, if he can, to the old climate of joy and the old climate of sorrow, and then I will weep no more, and shall not make this complaint:
that He, that is God, has forgotten us.
:: 07.07.2022 ::
O no, though flames come bowing from heaven,
if my objects should vanish, cool sea’s surrender
should somehow dismember my dreams
my green branches shall grow not over misty mountains,
as clouds that before the wild thunder fly, but rather
within obscuring clouds, where lightning play
is never quick, nor brightness destroys.
O no! I will henceforth think with clarity,
and question with boldness, and speak my love
with courage to match my love: this much i do even
now — Love.
:: 07.05.2022 ::
As before then again after marriage
of true hearts / i have given all \
when alters as alteration finds
or disbelieves whilst my heart bleeds
to believe / bends bewildering curves
of thoughts: O no! not as ever-fixed mark
which cut memories across minds…
and Love spent across priceless time
as time is no fool, that youth consumes
unimaginable errors forgotten in age :
to bear it even out into doom___
as scribe’s writ and error proved
i never approved.
:: 07.05.2022 ::
SOME POSSESS talent
whilst others are possessed by it!
One is a gift and the other potentially
a fatal disease of spirit and soul.
//–//
I followed a
f
a l
l i
n g
feather
toward the ground along the twist
-ing-twirl -ing >dizzy< | path |
I found a penny which held no thoughts together the feather and copper bone
fell upon an anvil cloud of striking stone!
:: 08-05-2014 ::
Now listen to me, my Lover; is there love as sweet as love this?
Then lo! wither thou art, there in that far wall
a single flower is frozen, and through the hole is a voice.
See her pretty breast, whereon there kisses I beat,
till from the wall I hear her song on the steps.
Is it I?—no, but it’s my own.
I have never known thy love;
I have never said that I loved thee;
But now the walls that kept her apart
have let me in, and I can say it.
At the sight of it all
the tender thoughts of love
of that sad flower
Come and they tread
Upon the blooming thoughts of me.
Now I hold the flower,
and play with her rosy lips;
I kiss the blade of thorns,
I seize the stem,
and press my lips against the petal.
It is not my flower, it is not my love;
It is but her sadness and her grief.
I hold it and let it go.
We are equal in tears:
And this sad flower
When it is once freed
Shall come and say
How sad she was!
Again I kiss her stem,
And pass from the courtyard.
And then shall I knell.
:: 07.05.2022 ::
 | EPRobles on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
 | Adam Fisher on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
| EPRobles on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | R. Marshall on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | Stefan on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
You must be logged in to post a comment.