Lamenting or Self Pity

Glistening eyes wide as happiness
spread up from my toes.
Raced through my legs, heart, beyond and left
a trail of bumps, butterflies, smiles.

Frustrating, fleeting flashes to a time when warmth
spread fully to my breasts and fingertips.
Gasping, glaringly grand moments strung together
in a series of ever growing distance.
Desperate now to feel that tingling, teasing heat
once, at least completely.
Experience and maturity snatch and siphon
tiny degrees of bliss a year at a time.

Chaos and Life

I expected all these moments like numbers in a row.
Orderly and predictable, a steady even flow.
I've been placed in situations, and despite any fault,
lessons of pained enlightenment which my experience wrought.
Self pity is a cloak of shame; weighted, but I move on.
Cup in hand, sifting seas for order.  Hoping it's not gone.

Burning Boxes

Walk, talk, exist with
grace, purpose, delicacy, strength, class, harmony,
charm, tact, tenderness, respect.
Don't be bashful, forceful, silent, intrusive, argumentative, or loud.
A perfect resume for a navigator through oxymorons
on a precipice in heels with a hammer.
Work, but not too much.
Play, but not too much.
Feel, but not too much.
Have sex, but not too much.

Just let me be!

We are called earth, nature.
Our hearts crumble like coals
because magma runs through our veins
and burns your worthless boxes.

Omnipresent Context

Tickers, billboards, video, articles, television, pages... words!
Random compilations of thoughts expressed lacking poignancy
but profuse in drama.
Fear, hate, love - all meaningless
without omnipresent context.
How can I sleep when everything is always on?
Blinking, blaring, beeping, bouncing in the corners
of my consciousness.
Apathy bars the gates of hell with vacuous silence.

Gratitude

You carried your gun in the dust and the sand,
you bled and you sweat so I could make a stand
using words in my heart, giving voice to desire;
you protected my freedom by standing in fire. 

A Privileged Tongue

Morning, noon, or night, any time of the day
seduced by the aroma of your epicurean bouquet.
Simmering, sizzling, stoking my fire.
The longer it takes and I wait, grows my desire.
Meanwhile molten driblets brandish my skin,
this pop, trickle, and bite, driving me to oblivion.
Hot and hard enough, finally done;
I part lips and greasy ambrosia quenches my tongue.
Your salty, clear nectar delights and thrills;
your delectable meat never fails to fulfill.
Satisfied, complete, all my taste buds awakened,
Everything is better when it involves bacon.

Magnetic

Her trembling fingers held aloft
by strings of tension
and coursing lava pulsing to the tips;
pounding and throbbing,
stretching and straining
against an invisible barrier so thick
with moral anguish, guilt.
Slip or trip over a precipice
thin and tantalizing;
she'd fall from grace.