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Marcus Thompson Poem
The manuscript of my life is written with fluid in shades of flesh and sepia bone
Its undertone is grown but can't birth its killer clone
And they attract like magnets to where the black fact lives at
Meeting each other with force Clashing fast then I react
To just how they truly feel And where they truly bleed
But hate filled greed has them registering flashes in synapses for each and every need
And desire that's unmet
Unkept
On, slept
And over swept
Slaps for the jester as he lonely sat in a corner and wept
Nobody likes to see the frown of a clown,
So suck [all that up fool] and smile while you drown
Deep beneath a living surface, just where you left me feeling down
Submerged in frustration and the confusion you've allowed on me
Expecting an overcome while tools and their uses evade me
No need in asking for help cause hear you'll pretend to not
So submerged here's where I stay. Lonely, drowning as I rot.
Copyright © Marcus Thompson | Year Posted 2010
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Marcus Thompson Poem
You're like the powdered sugar on top of my funnel cake
The chopped fresh fruits inside my favorite milk shake
The bowling ball candy paint on my Super Sport Impala
The sweet surprise when I bust my piggy bank and find a crisp, folded dollar
The sharp creases in my slacks when I'm dressed to impress
The pardon from the priest after a Catholic confess
The blue ribbon around my neck after a first place victory
The record breaking home run, "baby, you just made history"
The lights around the Big Apple
The crackle sound during a tackle
The Golden Anchors on a yacht
The back arching feeling when I've hit that spot
The "Home Sweet Home" mats at the door after a hard journey far from home
The best Travelocity deal ever presented by the "Roaming Gnome"
The one Golden watch in the case with the Silver chains
The Remedy, not just the anesthesia that cures your aches & pains
The Platinum record on a new, young musician's wall
The Red, Yellow and Orange colored leaves that pleases those in love with Fall,
The crackle of the fireplace on a snowy winter evening
The realization that you've made the right choice after hours of difficult reasoning
The joy of watching your son graduate
The joy of knowing peace after dealing with hate
The 4 to 2 & 2, summed up for a child
The gentle breeze of a summer's eve... Soft, caressing and mild
You're sweet, you're sexy, you're smart, you're fun and you're funny
You're the only bee's hive around for a bear addicted to honey
Like this fiend's latest hit
Summed up, girl YOU are the "ish"
You're hard for me to hate, and easy for me to love
You're more than just amazing. You're all of the above…
Copyright © Marcus Thompson | Year Posted 2010
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Marcus Thompson Poem
I sat & replayed your messages today
I LOVE to hear YOU say my name
If I could I WOULD make strong love to your voice Hold her close to me Until my heartbeat
sounds the same
She is the reason why I came
And while one rib less, she covers my shame
Like a vocal masterpiece if painted on satin & hung in a gold & diamond frame
She'd be that hall of fame photo that represents the best ever in the game
I sat & replayed your messages today
If I could I WOULD date her
And take her
Cry with joy - I'd live to make her
Wine & dine her
She's fine, her being is wrapped in "on-time" her,
or she Would get the best of me
and all that I have to offer
She's an angel that heals my drum beaten ears that are dying for a music that's softer
I sat & replayed your messages today
I imagine that she would smile with me as I held her hand
Dance the night away, and at dawn, together we'd stand
Thinking about the night before and how I whispered to her Vicky's secrets til she came out
of her's
And drowned in her love potion for sex therapy that gives healing like Cancer cures
I sat & replayed your messages today,
and If I could, I WOULD show her off like brand new Jordans or a rare Rolex
Your voice is AMAZING and makes my soul tremble and vex.
Watch me shake with butterflies like I'm dancing to her rhythm
My ears, soul, heart and mind with her are like a match made in heaven
I sat & replayed your messages today
because I just can't get enough of you...
And I always miss you.
I sit and replay messages of YOU.
Copyright © Marcus Thompson | Year Posted 2010
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Marcus Thompson Poem
I'd love just to taste your sweat on the tip of my tongue…
Watch as it drips from the tips of your body posed inches above my lips.
To slide my fingertips along the contour of your frame, feeling every crevice, longing to fill
every crevice…
Squeezing tight as I'm afraid to let go.
Thoughts of my skin pressed firmly against yours.
I slide my body, from my face to my waist,
Slowly and strongly along your wet floors…
Through your deep valley soaking and bathing in the freshness of what can only be
described as the morning dew from the dream of a goddess…
Hungry…
Thirsty…
Yearning for fulfillment, but forced to contain my beast of desire that has to live vicariously
through my fingertips, As I dream of them racing along your spine.
Let me drink from your mind’s sweet sexual wine.
Let me bask in your sunshine.
Let me cross your line…
Perplexed in a nexus of desire and interest, my fire intenses as I straddle your fences…
Let down your defenses and invite my soul in.
I desire to be much more to you than just a lover and a friend…
If I could,
your skin,
I would,
fit in…
And erase the threshold of space between us…
Indistinguishable will be us,
my body speaks your body’s English…
Junkie to your kiss, strung out praying my pusha re-ups…
Baby-girl, I need just another touch. Memories won’t please us.
Please, just ease us.
Squeeze us.
My knees rust when I see your eyes I become weak, count-down for blastoff and we bust…
And thus, it increases.
These fires of desires so fine and defined…
Let me drink your sweet sexual wine.
Let me bask in your sun.
Let me cross your line…
Copyright © Marcus Thompson | Year Posted 2010
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Marcus Thompson Poem
Her eyes open to a sunrise that fades in shades bright from its early black
Another day with the weight of the world on her shoulders and a void at her back
But she gets up and bares it because she’s strong and her soul remains intact
Stating that she’s more than amazing is none less than a concrete fact
But some kind of woman she is to hold in her arms a whole planet
The least it could do is make itself lighter and easier to manage
But reality is, and she persists, endures and she still stands
At the end of battles and wars, there she is with her heart inside of her hands
As a gift or a prize for only the luckiest man that will ever live
That woman is worth more than what she’s bargained for, so more than that I’d will to give
No gold, no platinum, no diamonds for this price can surmount or suffice
For she is worth my blood, sweat and tears in a glass with crushed ice
With my body served whole like sushi, uncooked in its truth, wrapped on a mound of rice
And my bones as strength to endure hard times, and I’d give all that to her twice
She’s wears priceless beauty like a Lily, appearing delicate and soft
Yet, stronger than her surroundings like an Orchid from the desert in a Paris city loft
She’s rare and well kept although daring and free
Committed to the bone, her roots run deep as an age old tree
She’s young and vibrant as a fire-cracker, yet private like an unsung hero
And even if her alias remained unknown, she’d still be my number after zero.
What a woman. What a beauty. And it’s unjust to see her bare her’s and other’s pain
It encourages me to will to fill that void on her back, and to romance her pretty brain
To enter her soul and exchange for it, mine and show her that I’m her soldier arriving ready
to fight
Through wars and rumors of wars, til death parts us before we meet again in the sky in mid
flight
But you see, if to believe is to have ever lasting life, then even physical death could not out
endure this man’s will to hold the stem of this beautiful Lily of an Orchid
And she’d tower above as God smiles with love as I hold her proud, up right, strong and
confident.
To her I would offer that. To her I would offer me.
But so beautiful she is as a Lily of an Orchid, wild, strong and free.
Copyright © Marcus Thompson | Year Posted 2010
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Marcus Thompson Poem
Immaculately made
her potter must be proud
Aloud, sings the heavens
As she slips thru the cloud
Her decent to Earth is gentle
Coaxing an amber rain
Golden is her color
Majestic is her frame
Caressing my reality
And extinguishing its pain
She came to that which I am the salt of
And she's my sugar cane
She makes me sing
A song that she has orchestrated in my heart
Resonating thru my soul
Desire to study her as art
Her body would be my canvas
On which I'd decorate, and illustrate a lovely picture to compliment this feeling
Brush strokes against her skin
Revealing the joy that she's concealing
Her voice sounds like summer in the islands Calming, warm and makes me want to undress
Yes... What a breath of air she is...
A breath of air that's fresh
Copyright © Marcus Thompson | Year Posted 2010
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Marcus Thompson Poem
When at dawn when I rise
I see her eyes and feel high
She’s my air, she’s my sky
And into her
I will fly
Giving all until I die
But until then,
Until that day
Like a kid in mud I will play
In her body that GOD made
From a breath into clay
And I’ll play and I’ll play
Until under clay I do lay
But until then,
I’ll admire
I’ll desire
She’ll inspire me to acquire
Things to make her smile, while my heart burns
For her like the sun’s fire
And with passion I’ll burn until [Death] is no liar
But until then,
I will adore
Her, and pursue her as my score
My body is hers and I’m her whore
And I will pour
Living waters deep into her soul
Until my end and forevermore
Because even death will not stop that…
Copyright © Marcus Thompson | Year Posted 2010
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Marcus Thompson Poem
When she hugs me, she fits perfectly into place, like she belonged there.
Almost as if she had been carved out of me, sent around the world and finally found her way
home.
Like taking a rib out of Adam to create Eve
She is my rib
And my rib fits perfectly.
Copyright © Marcus Thompson | Year Posted 2010
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