Back To Back

“You may not remember the time you let me go first.
Or the time you dropped back to tell me it wasn’t that far to go.
Or the time you waited at the crossroads for me to catch up.
You may not remember any of those, but I do and this is what I have to say to you:

Today, no matter what it takes,
we ride home together.”
Brian Andreas, Traveling Light: Stories & Drawings for a Quiet Mind

 

weheartit
Back to back that’s how we started,
fighting the whole world, we never parted.
Then came new life, shafts in the quiver.
We fired them off, our crops never withered.
Along came the wolf, death he swore.
He limped and lied to get through the door.
He consumed you with his intellectual abandon,
my back now unguarded, my heart saddened.
I tried for months to retake the hallowed ground,
but you were too far gone, never to be found.
Lost and spinning, exposing my nakedness,
I struggled grimacing, my life hard pressed
Then I saw her, evil disguised as purity.
Face of an angel, a heart that wasn’t free.
I came to her with my intentions pure,
she cast a glance and it was over for sure
All the passion I wished you to use,
now you found it, she was your muse
I drove on, looking at you secretly,
asking me to stay, your nakedness I see
To late, like fire spreading on water,
she flowed freely, around all your barter
Driving on into my own peril,
she would slay me with just one arrow
Entranced by her wiles, I followed her to hell,
but my back not guarded, I swiftly fell.
Barely I survived, held under the water of pain,
my lungs bursting to breath love again
Fire scorched and burned through all my nerves,
it never went out, smoldering in the curves
Struggle to gain ground, to get back to back again,
Back to back one day, I long for my friend.

Also published in Broowaha

08072010

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Conductivity

“Don’t only practice your art, but force your way into its secrets, for it and knowledge can raise men to the divine.”
Ludwig van Beethoven
conductivity – Physiology: The conductibility of a structure, especially the ability of a nerve to transmit a wave of excitation.
 

Sex. Simple yet far reaching, the thing an entity that saved my life. When, from the cold water of torture, imposed by pious and selfish parents who were none of mine, I thought I embraced death, it rescued me to find solace in pleasure and left me desiring one thing:


Just hold me, dammit.”


I feel her skin, alive with little raised bumps of electric excitement, her whole body flush  following my rough fondling of her curved silken form. I’m a voluptuary, my addiction to hedonism born not from the experience of sex, but by the absence of pain that occurs when I drive my fingers into her, seeing her writhe with pleasure, making me a master of the forbidden divine, the whole of our experience being wrapped in the coddling clothes of sadness. What’s it like to take a woman? To ravish her senses before the nakedness appears and we are left with the remnants of pleasure? A grand symphony, composed by a deaf Beethoven of sensual explorations. Like Beethoven, with a deeper sense, a sixth sense, I perform my feats of conductivity with the excitement of promise, like the cool wind and smell of rain before the storm. Sex is my slave and I make her perform on women, instructed by things that excel the imagination. Who would think the evil forced on me would find creative expression in the many and varied spiritual exchanges with women, both imagined and feigned, consuming and exclusive.


Just hold me, damn it.”


The chorus of women far and near, as with a thirsty hunger they lay their bodies down before the coldness of physical experience, echoes in my cry, a cry that goes unheeded to this day:


Just hold me, damn it.”


The orgasms that I give freely in this trick or treat drama are merely candy to lure you to the vulnerability of touch without sex. I want you to hold me in the long after hours glow of cigarettes, tossed sheets, and stained memories of nights passed away with so many strangers, cold and staring, all longing for more than what sex has to offer.


Just hold me, damn it”

257 – The Circles of My Hell

“In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within dark woods where the straight way was lost.” ― Dante Alighieri, Inferno  

“The path to paradise begins in hell.” ― Dante Alighieri

257 is a number not much to you

the circles they represent

drive the knife straight through

2 is Lust with its desire and evil licks

a graveyard cold encounter

killers touch of a feigned kiss

5 is anger and you know of nights

lovers wrestle their pain

angry sex and lust fueled fights

7 is a violent end of the two

bringing an end to the battle

blood stained hands all over you

The Fruit – Tasting the loneliness

“I can’t face losin’ ya, Riley. Yer all I got left in this world.”
That brutal honesty again. He’d peeled away more armor, and this time he’d exposed his heart.” ― Jana Oliver,
Forbidden

Words from a great author and friend, I thought you, my intelligent readers, would enjoy this:


I found this fruit.

I ate from it.

It was the most beautiful thing,

To be taken in small bites,

Taste in moderation,

Because a flavor so strong could destroy you quickly.

It was so beautiful, I couldn’t keep it to myself,

I had to share.

So I found you,

and we shared it.

But then..

You stopped picking it.

And I was the one left to muster a lonesome bite.

-R.S.L.S

11282011
 

Alone In The Company of Her

“The trouble is not really in being alone, it’s being lonely. One can be lonely in the midst of a crowd, don’t you think?” Christine Feehan, Dark Prince 
 

melissaharmonphoto

We smiled our smiles, kisses burned
Feelings rushed one way
For me not returned
This is how I find myself
Alone in the company of her

Also published in: Broowaha
11262011 

The Queen, Part 13 – Comfortable Violence

 

spiffynorthwest

The throbbing in my shoulder matched the muffled sounds from the headers of the car. Sweet liquid morphine and shots of Jack Daniels had their desired effect, easing my body and mind out the bowels of this craziness. It’s amazing how fast life can change, from dreary and boring to “What the fuck!” in a hot quick second. I noticed things were getting easier, surprises less surprising, and choices made by previous choices. Violence became a common thing, life and death, no longer fragile and precious, but cheap and forgotten. The only lives important were ours. It wasn’t the fight for life, because I had life and it never was this exciting or crazy, but it was the fight for survival. I know survival is life, but there’s something about staring at the wrong end of the gun on a regular basis that ingrained a grit, a hardness that’s comforting and that sedates the complacency experienced by the blue and white collared grunts, performing the same routine, longing after a little dough to buy a house or car, or the beautiful trophy wife. I imagine cavemen had this same excitement, and really, that what this was. Caveman style, fight for survival, kill and maim to push ahead and escape. Some men are born for this lifestyle, and for me? Well I didn’t know, but I knew that guns now felt comfortable, my aim was sure and not shaking, my stride confident with my queen by my side. I guess that even if I didn’t start in this “trade” it seemed that it grew on me. These thoughts eased me into another deep sleep, the lullaby of mufflers at 70 mph, and the comfort of cold steel pressed against my skin and delicious lips, parted slightly with just a little strain visible on her china face. Where this was going, I didn’t care and it seemed my career description was rapidly changing from my old mundane, back breaking job, but the goal was the same, that I might see her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside my Queen’s castle.

Angel, Part 12 – A Glimmer of Betrayal

We decided to meet again at a mutual friends house, and soon drowned our past in bottles of liquor, as was our custom. The party gave us enough publicity to dial in our emotions and be civil, at least for a moment. The night went smoothly, and our intoxication soon led to giggling and playing grab-ass for a couple of hours. The self-induced heaven I maintained was an amazing effort on my behalf, emotions in check, brain on hold. Of course, the sexual tension that always surrounded my Angel and I kept me going, “Hell”, I thought, “if nothing else I’m gonna get laid”. That seemed to get me through many nights with her, and, if I sorted them out then, I’d see what really was wrong with us. It’s entirely possible to live in my head, not checking the facts or figures or any reality whatsoever. But so goes this dance and regardless of logic and pain, which never added up to a positive, the door shut and in the darkness, our hands found each other. I breathed her in great gasping breaths, like a drowning man, breaking the surface a moment before unconsciousness. My hands ripped her shirt near off, her nails left tiny blood lines of passions anger. Our bodies moved so smoothly, wet with perspiration, sexual excitement, and hunger. As we satisfied our lusts with our fingers, our mouths, every part of our body became a playground, things that some considered taboo, seemed to possess us. Closing my eyes to the music, swaying with her sounds, wet and sighing sounds of desperation and passion. The light from the new day showed the results of our play. Clothes were everywhere, the mattresses separated and laid crosswise displaying the crumpled sheets and suggestive pillows and silken ties. That’s when I saw it, as she rode on top, driving herself on me with hard strokes of still drunk love, a glint swung from her neck, a glimmer of gold, a spark of diamond dancing just above my face. I’m sure she forgot she was wearing it, a symbol of her betrayal to me, a sign of success for her, his necklace pronouncing a conquest of my Angel. Yanked from passion, I couldn’t stop, I really couldn’t move, hypnotized by her sex, and violated by her betrayal. Oh dear God, my heart is stopping, I can bear no more, my mind drove itself to these newest depths of darkened morose pure and unadulterated pain. She saw it on my face, my tightened jaw, not from an orgasm, but, and she knew it quick, from that necklace. I could barely breathe, my throat dryly gasped out, “Why? Why would you wear that here with me?” But that was my Angel, that is who she is, no thoughts of anyone but her, no understanding of the repercussions of her curiosities. I was the fool. I made this whole thing up in my mind, I created the “us” from my own fantasies. She merely rode the ride, the ups and downs being a thrill of entertainment and nothing more. My reality, merely a fantasy, an old man wrapped in the make up and pretty things of her young world.

The End