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Finding it hard to ignore

last

Am finding it hard to ignore
The things i want to do to you
I’m finding it hard to hide
The way i want you

The rhythm is just right
And when you move your ass like that
I find it hard to keep my hands off
Stirring the devil within

I’m twisting and melting
Then you smile
And i burst in the seams
And the sway is just right

The waves move just perfect
When your peaks are taut
And my heartbeat is a mess
In sequence to the juggle of your perky breasts

You are naked
And i am watching the mirror
To catch a glimpse of you
And it jolts me to the core

It’s not my fault
You are naked
And i am perverted
Wicked even

Am finding it hard to ignore
The things i want to do to you
I’m finding it hard to hide
The way i want you

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Posted by on March 13, 2015 in Erotica, Muse, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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If you were mine for a day

if only

Darling
Wipe those tears
He is not worth it
Put up your smile

I love it when you smile
Because then i come alive
And the world makes sense to me
And the sky seems bluer

I’ll tell you one thing though
If you were mine for a day
I would make it worth your time
Heck, worth my time

I’d trail my hands down your neck
Massage the tension away
Rub some lotion on your back
Loosen up your taut muscles

Then I’d rub your feet
Slow and tender
With attention to each toe
Reveling in your smile

And I’d wash your back
Lingering on your tender parts
Giving attention to detail
Just to feel you shudder

If you were mine for a day
I’d tease your nipples hard
Trail my fingers on your skin
And my tongue on your neck

I’d take your mound in my mouth
Graze my teeth on your lips
Trail my tongue on your sex
Slow..then fast

I’d want your marks on my back
I’d want my name on your lips
I’d want my skin on yours
I’d want your mound on mine

If only you were mine
Just for a day

 

 
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Posted by on March 13, 2015 in Muse, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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Get off that fucking hijab!

hijab

Hold up a second darling. Don’t you think it’s about time to pause and reflect on the clutter? C’mon now, since when have you been a zealous bible-thumping bitch? Since when have you been a Muslim? I have nothing against this ardent religious freaks…I’m just concerned about you.

Last month you were a raging alcoholic. Tried every potent spirit you could lay your hands on. I remember how chapped your soft lips looked. And your hair was a mess too. C’mon honey, don’t take this road again.
Before that you were a football fanatic. Regardless of the fact that you just distinguish the teams by their jersey colors. Hold up, i have nothing against that..you can teach an old dog new tricks, if your record is anything to go by.

But this is where i draw the line. I am fed up with you and your gutter. Can you stop being selfish for a while? We no longer have time for each other. And I’m using the word “we” royally. Since you always crawl back right into my arms once you are done swimming the gutters. I always listen and play the sounding board. Even on days when smashing a bottle on your thick skull looks like a pleasant idea.

Not this time though. I love you to bits honey, i swear i do. But you have to kick that jerk to the curb. You ought to get some time for you. Look, your life won’t stop just because someone isn’t sticking it in you. You actually can get some without having to change your fucking religion. Did you know that? Now you do.
I won’t watch you take the winding spiral back into the gutter for another man. Not this month. Clean up your act honey-pie.

I don’t know how you manage to attract the projects, but you always do. And God bless your soul for always thinking you can manage to make them put you first, an exercise in futility if your history is anything to go by.

Hold up a sec now. get off that fucking hi-jab and wait…do you even know how to read that shit?

 
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Posted by on March 13, 2015 in Uncategorized, Writing

 

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Good Old Days

good

The good ole days. I am not old enough to use the term per se..but nostalgia doesn’t really care for age, does it? And when i hear your voice, i can’t help but go back in time. Look at me trip over my past. Wipe the look of disgust off your monkey face numbskull, it happens to the best of us. Judge me when you are perfect. Well, i read the phrase somewhere and i’ve been aching to use it.

Then your face comes to mind. And the movies. And the coffee. Always black. Six sugars. And the novels. And poems. It started with the poems. It ended with them too. Then we didn’t talk. Just miscommunicated our intentions in well-crafted poems that really had no truth. Others were true. The ones that held no meaning drove us apart. That’s what happens when tornadoes and hurricanes try to have a talk. That’s what happens when pride and ego try to dance together. That’s what happens when you come in on your high-horse and i can’t take off my straight-jacket.

But we never learn, do we? Every time i hear your voice, i am taken back in time. And you were different. You were.In a good way. I was in another world with you. Looking back i’m tickled. You were not the outgoing type. And i was a party animal. I preferred the sin now, repent later philosophy where parties were concerned. I just couldn’t quit it.

But with you it was movies and books. Poker and coffee. And music. Hip hop. I hated Eminem and you constantly blasted his songs knowing they pissed me off. Sincerely the guy needs to get a fucking therapist.

And then you. You and your laugh. You and your high-pitched squeal. You and your shouting. Well,only you can be so loud and still come off sounding adorable. You and you short skirts and bareback tops. You never really cared what you wore. Yet you managed to always look stunning in whatever you put on. Maybe i was too infatuated to notice if you looked bad though. I can’t be sure.
You were the party freak. And a sucker for movies. I remember us watching late into the night even on days we had exams. Aah, you and your wonderful cooking. We always managed to be raving hungry so early in the morning. And on the nights we got drunk, we’d wake up to brunch.

The good old days. Yeah. They were good. And not so old. The line evokes a cocktail of emotions in my dark, twisted soul. It’s sunny. Then it’s dark. It’s rainbows. Then it fucking rains unendingly. It’s happiness. Then i want to hurl my heart on the wall. It’s desire. Then lust. It’s love. Then wonder. It’s wishes. Then regrets.

Oh the good old days.

 
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Posted by on March 13, 2015 in Muse, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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Poetry

USA. New York. 1950.

There’s a certain poetry to his rage
The way he breaths fast
His fists curled tight
With a fire in his eyes

There’s a certain poetry to his anger
Swinging with reckless abandon
As fist meets face
And eyes turn to slits

There’s a certain poetry to his audacity
Then it dawns on him
He hit the wrong mark
And now he is a marked man

There’s a certain poetry to his helplessness
Tail between legs
Pride swallowed fast
Pedestal already abandoned

And when the truth dawns
He is left high and dry
With a straight-jacket that squeezes
Injured ego at hand

 
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Posted by on March 13, 2015 in Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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Rejection

I am learning about rejection. We haven’t been acquainted for a while but i can taste her in the bitter aftertaste she leaves in my tongue. I can smell her in the acrid air in the gutters. I am blinded by her in the glaring streetlights just when you wake up from a nap in your car.

I don’t really know her well, but i am slowly learning her contours. She is not well-molded. She is just lumped up together like an afterthought. She is ugly, i can give you that. She is not perfect. But when she rubs on you, she takes away a part of you with a cruel smile. She leaves her pungent perfume on you for evidence. She puts a scowl on your face and makes your spirits take a nose-dive.

She is the desperate cry of a baby when it’s sick and can’t express herself any other way. She is the piteous look of the beggar with a gaping wound on his foot. she is the dead look of the cancer patient who is fed up with all the needles, chemo and the unendurable pain. She is the feel of betrayal that overwhelms her when she comes home to find you in bed with the house-help. She is the emptiness that drowns him when you call it quits weeks before the wedding.

I am getting intimate with rejection. I really am not up for the arrangement, but she is seductive. I find myself falling for her cheap words and colorful promises. I find myself enticed by her slow trails on my body and whisper of sweet-nothings. I find myself in marvel of her craftiness. Then find out a while later that I’ve rubbed shoulders with her. Shared my food and thoughts with her.

I really don’t like rejection. But once in a while she comes and hangs around. At times i entertain the thought of her and the possibilities of what could be. But when the sun rises, i find myself bolting the door on her ugly face and rinsing my skin off of her scent.

 
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Posted by on March 11, 2015 in Uncategorized, Writing

 

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Eyes

eyes 2

I’d gladly take a bullet
For the depth of your eyes
Take a knife to my jugular
Just for staring

Magnetic?
Forget it
Hypnotic?
That doesn’t do justice to them

I’ve searched the world
For eyes like yours
I’ve rummaged books
To catch a glimpse of them

Sexy?
That’s too cliche
Bewitching?
Don’t get me started darling

Your eyes deserve a crown
A poem can’t do
They need a whole book
A trilogy if you may

Your eyes make me sigh
Your eyes make me gasp
Your eyes make my legs turn into jelly
Your eyes drive my imagination wild

They are piercing
They are deep
They are mysterious
Yet wild in a magical way

Your eyes are sleepy
Yet ignite fires
Your eyes are innocent
Yet make nuns whimper

Your eyes can stop traffic
They awaken desire in the frigid
They are ravishing
With unknown depths

Well random stranger
Allow me to indulge
In the perfection that you are
And unravel possibilities
That become your eyes

 
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Posted by on March 10, 2015 in Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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