A fleeting wisp, enthralling, near,
Resurrect my essence, make it clear.
In shadows deep, a yearning strife,
Bring me to life, awaken life.

Amidst the dusk, where whispers play,
Kindle the embers, guide my way.
Veiled in mysteries, let me thrive,
Bring me to life, let passions revive.

Within the echoes of silent dreams,
Where twilight weaves its mystic streams,
Let the essence of existence derive,
Bring me to life, where souls survive.

In realms we glimpse.
What? – Infinity.
It’s the sun, unbound,
To dance with the sea.

Spirit vigilant
Let murmurs disclose
The vacant eve’s plight
And day’s extravagance.

Yo, cool Pan’s kid! Check out your head,
decked with flowers and laurel vibes, it’s on a vibe,
those eyes of yours keep moving restlessly, like precious orbs.

Your cheeks got some earthy specks, looking kinda hollow.
Fangs shining bright, your chest rocking like a sweet melody,
tinkling sounds cruising through your pale arms.
And your heart? It’s doing its thing in that belly where both sides chill.

Take a stroll in the night, easy on that thigh action,
the second one, and that left leg – keep it smooth.

:: 01.21.2024 ::

Hark! Attend, and with thy mind’s discerning gaze,
Behold the secrets of a soul ablaze.

For ’tis of love’s ambrosia I declare,
A murmured tongue, that only hearts may share.

The art of a kiss, on love’s ethereal wing,
Its depths surpass the starry evening.

As love’s flame flickers, vivid and divine,
So unfolds the kiss, a tale undefined.

In passion’s fervor, a tempestuous flame,
A fusion of lips, a burning, deep acclaim.

With stolen sighs and breathings intertwined,
Two souls aflame, in ecstasy confined.

Yet dawn does break, and passion’s fervor wanes,
But love’s soft embers in the heart remains.

And on those lips, where once the flames held sway,
A tenderness blossoms, as sweet as day.

For morning’s kiss, a whisper on the air,
Carries a love that frees the spirit fair.

A brush of fingers, soft as morning’s dew,
A vow whispered, ever steadfast and true.

So mark these words, and let them be your guide,
In love’s embrace, where hearts together bide.

For love’s true art is not in fiery strife,
But in the gentle dance of moonlit life.

:: 01.08.2024o ::

In the Maine mist, thick as lobsteater stew, a skiff slices the murky water. Not a peep from the oarsmen, just the creak of bone on bone, the sigh of rusted oarlocks. No stars for bearings, just the moon’s greasy thumbprint smeared across the sky.

They weave through drowned trees, skeletal fingers clawing at the fog, each gnarled branch a hungry ghost reaching for a taste of flesh. The river flows like molasses, thick with secrets and whispers of things best left undisturbed.

And still they row, these shadows in the mist, their destination as veiled as their faces. Is it a hidden cove where forgotten gods slumber, or a desolate island haunted by a shrieking wind? They could be ferrying souls to Styx, for all anyone knows.

The silence tightens, a shroud around the skiff. Each stroke of the oars echoes like a dying breath, punctuated only by the skittering of unseen things along the banks. The moonlight spills, revealing glimpses of faces etched with a primal fear, eyes wide with a madness caught from the river’s gaze.

No slowing, no stopping. Only the relentless rhythm of the oars, driving them deeper into the heart of the unknown. Where the river leads, they must follow, even if it leads to the edge of the world, or worse, into the waiting maw of something older than time itself.

For in the fog-choked arteries of this river, secrets writhe and twist, and answers are colder than the grave. And sometimes, the only way out is to row, row, row, even if it means rowing straight into the teeth of what waits in the darkness.

This, you see, is not a journey for the faint of heart. This is a voyage into the belly of the beast, where shadows whisper and madness blooms like barnacles on the hull. This is Stephen King’s river, and these rowers are dancing with the devil on water black as pitch.

Choaking upon the splinters.

:: 01.08.2024 ::

\

Can We Be Heroes Forever?

I am a meme — like a space invader
i adore and freak out Jesus, it is a holy
place to be… just you and me with your
electric eyes and wonderful spacesuit yeah

keep your mouth shut for all it’s worth.

In your electric mind we see: we’ll write it
all in a Moonage Daydream let me know you really care…
Let the forest eat and allow the skies to devour
and our heart –> We dream Out a Moonage Daydream and how
a holy place to be loving regardless of where we’ve been.

How I love your space-mind-moonage daydream.

:: 01.01.2024 ::