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I did spend timeI did spend time
throwing my body over couches,
sighing deep from the belly
to sad music and murky martinis.
I was so heavy
I would crash land
at the bottom of long-necked bottles with
red stained lips.
But I have finished that crying now.
I'm standing, whole, in heels, somehow.
Calloused and glittering.
And I'm feeling rather cat-like down here off the wing.
Devils have romanced angels since the beginning of time,
charmed them stark raving naked in organized crime,
and they've all gone tumbling down, skirts in the air,
into forests of red fingernails, lost and impaired.
I met some new friends there.
And in this forest of frost
the burning between my legs has returned
stronger than stronger than stronger than
And it's become my new master.
In this forest of frost
I am the snow queen.
ima wear my black hood now,
ima wear my white boots high
find me some low-flyin angels
to join the dark side.
more or lessYou will wake up in a purple dress with one stiletto dangling off the bed.
The hangover is not quite as guilty without the boxers on the floor.
The custom is to wake up earlier than boxer boy
or brief, (depending on the club, more or less) and to venture to the kitchen.
You dont mean to wake up so early, but somehow you cannot stop thinking,
planning your morning greeting (It gets easier with each visitor), deciding what more you can cut from your diet, wondering how many of the drinks you bought made it to your mouth, rehearsing the pickup lines, wondering how many calories are contained in two ball-loads of cum, avoiding the stifled noxious
But this morning you are only tired, having been too unconscious to sleep.
You will take off your dress and shower:
Coney IslandOn saltine beaches, the leaches wriggle,
and the seagulls shriek through gum-stuck beaks.
3 whales beached over night.
In the feverheat of day, flies pick at their barnacles:
An exotic delicacy
for the shit-eaters.
Up the Skirt of a MushroomThere is a hunger in my guts
for things far too back in time
gyrate against and say I love you I love you over it like a watering can
to sunglass-eyed daisies.
Instead I will tread
(showing lots of leg)
in lukewarm fields
of screw-eyed susans
and try to work up an appetite.
DominateI want to be dominated
in a way that feels like emancipation
Pussy LickerYour boy-tongue scoops peanut
out of peanut shells, exaggerated,
while your eyes dart left and right, looking for a
looker to look and, once tongue-charmed, follow
you into tonights night.
Mississippi DarkA good man is hard to find,
like the perfect bitter wine.
Its got to be sweet but its got to be dark.
Its got to be rich,
dry and wet, feverish
The boy from Mississippi came to my town.
I was driving down a side street when he flagged me down.
Boy was he tall.
And boy was he dark.
I come to work in the city. There are more opportunities here.
You think so?
Who told you that?
He was a farmer.
His arms were like a farmers.
I could picture him sweating and drinking warm water, dreaming of cold white things.
A good woman is rare.
He pulled out his guitar.
Calloused Cajun fingertips
Plucking like hungry alligator claws, anxious tapping on marshy water logs.
I picture it under a magnolia tree,
Where the blood is the bark and the flower
and the heat brings out beetle-toothed sour.
He moaned through fat ripe lips:
So deep into the beat
Into the be
Green Prada Hemp Side BagWe spend a shameful amount of time scratching and licking behind the ears of models.
And whether it tastes good or not is of no importance
because we dont even really know what we were expecting.
The new usually suffices to amuse us
for a while,
or at least until the next time we are not full to the point of exploding in the driveway
like my aunts fat cat did.
In an entirely separate sphere:
We spend a lot of time stacking our books
with faces we recognize but cant put a name to
until they let us under their wing and tell us whose shit theyd prefer to eat
Waiting under the chicken for the egg
Judging books by their mothers
and mothers by their tyrants . I mean lovers.
Sylvia, you let him eat you out
of the picture.
The literati are just like the fat faggots
who stand under Andy Warhol
with Dixie cups
waiting for him to cum
while Jim Morison sel
EstateThis home is well-built
But it is roofless
And so all the furniture inside is grumpy.
We reupholstered our philosophy, but couldnt shake the rocking-chairs resolve.
Outside, to the open, un-walled pavement,
And longs for shorter curbs to cradle its cushions.
Walls are merely meant to impound when the roof is conspiring against us.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More