Tropical Desire (day 555)

Sunset floods over my reclined body
Memories flutter through my brain
Longing and romancing and warming my soul
Like rum on rocks filling my belly
On this tropical evening date

Desire spreads ’round me in audible sounds
Round and round, swirling deep
People look, people stare
It’s not the sun, no
It’s desire pulsating through and out
It’s eruptions calling out: loud

In this spot warmth never leaves me
Rum never stops filling me
Longing all over me caresses the tropical sun
And puts me into familiar arms of desire
That deliver me to float on

Ladies of the Night (day 521)

Standing naked amongst ladies of the night
No desire spreads between my legs
Save for deep warmth emanating from their porcelain skin
Pulsating waves at my shivering limbs
And throwing deep angles into my conscience
Collapsing all truths into forever gones
Knowing not whispers that get sent
As I turn towards the door
Looking back only at silhouettes
That shimmer in dim light
Rochette off the floor to ceiling mirrors
That grace the space where ladies of the night
Plot and seek revenge

Snake To Me (day 518)

Snake to me
Inside the only crevice left open after the fire
Dealing with long strands of clean green grass
Pushing out the insides of earth

Light the night
With flaming signs of decadent desire
Rapping madly at the doors of a heightened sense of security
Rolling quietly into whispers of time

And breathe
Like you’ve planned this night for ages
Sitting alone staring at the ceiling and imagining
Every last detail to the tee, notepad included

For the best is yet to come
Wrapped up in a warm cashmere
Pressed between excitable thighs of love

Ain’t Comin’ Baby Runnin’ (day 512)

You’ve got the look of a prowler with your leathers on so tight
Bounded by desire and your whistles blowing right tonight
I’ve locked myself into this room and I ain’t comin out
Run baby run, I ain’t the right breed for your sweet soul
Lavished in roses and smelling like the clean springs water
I’ve run through the wrong parts of town
I’ve held the wrong kind of jobs
I’ve pissed off the wrong kind of men
Now, I’m just a two-bit gangster
Rolling around in the mud on a cold winters day
Don’t rub my roots baby
Don’t come her rubbing my roots

Pull Yourself Together, Man (day 509)

Pulled apart by the systematic changes dropping down upon my tattered shoes that I’ve left long ago at a doorstep, never to return to. But oh, so lonely the walks have begun to become without the trendy flash flickering it’s way through the eyes of all the girls that dress in fur coats and hot sunglasses. Don’t destroy the value lines hidden beneath the coating of champion sauce. Don’t wash off that layer of adolescent desire like a grimy layer of sweat… It’s hard work!. I’ll be happy taking the easy road from here on out without the sanded streets killing my rust, man.

Take leave. Take the bust game and bat that sand bag into the earth’s green green grass. Take the short stick and walk with a wobble. Leave the bag of empty tricks alone and forget your wineskin on the counter in a house you’ll never return to.

Foreign music cursing through my veins alone on this park bench. The night that knows my name whistles through the trees with high contrast and annoying light flirts. But the howling wind lets my hair play an un-titled orchestra with pipes that haven’t yet been replaced for the newer, electric type. Oh, you thought we’d be upgrading did you?

Long lists of grocery bills folded into uncanny piles of forgotten trash leaving customary hand-swipes along the cheap bedroom furniture that just feels like it’s wrong. These same receipts that bought me happiness and bought me bitterness and bought me bills that make my pants heavy in the crotch with depression and soaking rage against this onslaught of commercial advertisements bombarding my sensories like a blossoming orgasm that’s been building for the past 5 months.

Greed seeping in like a like button on a risque photo with blurred out nipples. Danger alerts the drug addicts that wait along the edge of the street hoping for new hits but fearing the police that roam around the corners of the danger district. Hookers down the alleys pissing in paper bags and smiling with missing tooth grins, black eyes, and a faces that’ve been turned into a potato bags. Long sacks and cold nights and wet hair and shaggy beards and pants hovering around ankles with flaps of skin showing from places nobody wanted to see today.

When did you last shower?

Fuzzy Slippers (day 271)

If it wasn’t for this cursed intense desire
To see what is behind the door
To take that red pill with a glass of water
I maybe would have had a nice sleep last night
Listening to something nice and easy
Perhaps a small fire cackles in the background
Or the warm smell of tea freshly boiled wafts in
Warm, fuzzy pajamas, with nice slippers to boot

Desire (day 260)

Blown in with the leaves of time
Strewn out like paper discarded
Elapsed like the growing grass

But still there escapes no figurative talk
No lively-hood of lust that escapes the drivel
Onward and upward in a spiral inward
Left for the ransacking
Two lone bowls of fruit
Monotonous in content
But alive with desire in substance

And then the snow begins to fall
Pulling with it a breath of relief
Inward it seeks for that calming nerve

Spins of Sand (day 224)

Energy flows about like the spins of sand
Gathering around nipples, digging in deep
Flow like the wind and breathe like the groan
Bring with me any source of desire
Collapse with me at the end of time
Completely filled up from the pursuit
Sharing, giving, receiving, becoming
You, me, we, in a long dip down and glorious endeavor
Warmingly sharing the space for forever