Malcolm James Furst
Words, words, wordsArchive for soul
tickle
peelingivorylusciousbottomkeys
andovertonesoflemonscentedknees
allredfromrubbingonthefloor
fromthecornertothedoor
tokeepthefloorandmysoulclean
Doyouknowwhatallthismeans?
Moments for Katherine
With only moments to live,
how would my day be different?
With only myself to give,
would you open your arms
and live for the moments?
Sweet, sweet Katherine,
sweet and tender,
don’t think about tomorrow.
Spread your arms
and legs
and heart
and soul
and envelop me
as if you’re trying to take it all in,
take me all in.
Stealing Life
I used to wonder
what it was
all about.
Then I did it.
I did it all.
Been there, done that.
Same old, same old,
a hundred times before.
There’s no mystery anymore
The only thing
I haven’t done
is steal your soul.
Rage
The rage of 1000 demons beats within my brow as I reach beyond self into self-awareness.
The demons express themselves not in outward appearance, but in the demolition of inner mindscape.
My soul is my only refuge
though it shelters me not always.
I oft seek solace in mayhem
find madness in solitude
yet, seeking neither, makes discovering either unexpected and painful
I shear these fears from the top of my psyche
slough them to the side
and pray that they lay where they are forever and a day.
Which gives me one day’s head start toward hope and happiness.
Is this living?
Or the slant put on everyday by my internal spin doctors?
That answer lies within my journey toward self-awareness.
Were I not on the path, the question would never have been asked.
Is the question, itself the answer?
Is the answer itself the question?
I’m a Poet
I’m a poet, wanna dance?
I’ll wrap my words around your waist,
my tongue around your ear and pull you closer.
Listen carefully,
I want to make love to you, press myself into you and dance inside of you.
Let me hold you in my arms until you stir my soul.
If I can seduce you with my words, I will seduce you with my words.
I’ve been places in my mind that you would never let me go.
Let me go…
You captivate me.
Mary Elizabeth Schwartz
Mary Elizabeth Schwartz
You are joy and gay in the light of mine eyes, but not a light ethereal gaiety, instead, a weighty, serious levity with “Perky Bosoms.” I have never loved a woman with perky bosoms, and though it may seem silly and objectifying, I would love to know an uplifted, firm breast as it juts from your soft, white flesh, your smooth, supple body, all curves and pressed passion with which or into which I would throw myself, heaving and thrusting, until I lay with you, joined in the heart having been joined in the loins, the lips, the finger, the nape, the spine, the mind, the soul. Touch me. Let me touch you and make you mine forever, at least for the moment.
