Two bodies…
wild whispering bodies,
intertwined,
touching,
longing,
stirring,
desiring,
trembling together.
Huddled beneath the warm blankets
with hearts racing,
softly,
silky,
hot,
wet desires of love…
romantic,
mischievous,
alluring,
climactic…
deliciously singing
of desire,
of love,
of life!
The Indeterminate Constant.
All That Is And
All That Is Not.
Antithetical Product
Divided: [Quack.]
Superpositioned Entanglement
Touched By All Motive And
Motionless, Massless ENERGY!
Indeterminate Everything.
As An Identity:
Hoarse And Melodic
Indivisble
Inconceivable
Indeterminate
*** QUACK ***
And Anti-Climactic?
Quack Quack Quack
-Gray Squirrel
06-05-2026
# My eight hundred Koalas, emblematic and
Innocent.'
Slaughterd..Reason being.? A bushfire.'
Because of.? Overgrowth.' How many times before has this occoured.? Never.!
Because.? Farmers used to graze the forest.' Thereby keeping undergrowth as just that.' And
manageble.' Why did they
Stop.? Sy-op.? Probably.? You see climactic disasters fuel the false climate
Doom management tale..To allow over control on all life aspects.' Here it enanbled
Enviro-mentalists.? To charter a chopper so the eight hundred victims could be slaughtered, because the bushfire had taken the leaf supply..therby presenting the
Possibility.? Of my Koalas
suffering starvation,.' All because of interference in generationly viable land management..By professional
Farmers.' No experts were involved ( or harmed) in the
Creation of this write.'
Its variable; real and valuble,
it effects the lives we lead.'
God alone set this in motion.'
Psudo science shall be revealed'
To be no more than squally-squeally
Newly made up, just like that word.'
Soon to be erazed..No lasting trace.'
Under the heavens,to be seen or heard.'
Nothing could be finer than to be deep inside your v****a in the morning
Nothing could be sweeter than my sweetie when I touch her up in the morning
When my morning glory presents itself at your widening door
Threading through your fair forest to enter your oasis once more
Rolling with my girlie in our bed so bright and early in the morning
Puckering up my lips to kiss your stiffening papillae tips in the morning
And then south of your succulent breasts I often long to go
To sip the ichor of your oasis in its fertile and full flow
Until finally we again come back chest to breasts and face to face
To merge in that one climactic full and frenetic embrace
From which we recover aquiver, relaxed and wholly spent.
A brief glimpse of heaven from above so generously sent
This engrossing eternal bliss allows us both to rise
To luxuriate in our fleeting moment of that pure paradise.
If I had a magic wand for only a day,
I'd make a wish and here's what I'd say,
"Nothing could be finer than to be deep in your v****a
Every morning"
I have been watching the reflective script of the above
Rocky and Bullwinkle show, its not a serious account, unless you go.? On
Climactic tangents of ideology.' Stratisfied in layers of
Polar opposite topography.' Ahead of its time, I do find,!
Its content worth study, as a window on climate lunacy.'
An antidote yet where laughs and jokes, aren't taken seriously.'
Which was a mistake.? According to the world we now see.'
And the antics some undertake.'
you’ve cast a spell on me;
your eyes shine brighter than any spotlight
and i’m captive on
the stage of your attention
your hair flutters around you-
the brightest confetti i’ve ever seen
your lips whisper those three words
that incantation to my heart
a quick tap of one-two-three;
your fingers are wrapped in mine
and the whole world still;
the earth is holding its breath
your lips whisper those words
that spell that will make me yours
but you’ve already captured me
long long ago
before the stage was set
you turned to me that day
the moonlight framed your silhouette perfectly
a paid actor for the climactic scene
you turned to me that night
a smile brighter than the sun upon your face
your lips whisper that one word
the word that makes me “i”
the word leaves your lips
and you smile all the while
staring, like i am the moon
and you the moth
with those spotlight-bright eyes
and that sunlight smile
you called my name that night
you whispered it like it was a secret verse
and
just like that
just like magic,
i was yours
Live music leaves me enthralled
as thuds of a drum, the intricate fondling from saxophone notes blast these veins
until intoxicated head convulses
when euphoric tunes pump in unabated--
jazz, R&B, wild soul, and rocking pop ignite
primal ectasy in the flesh...raw!
Pulse beat raised at 110, my torso gyring in motions uncontrolled--
the cortisol of anticipation surging through an adrenaline high;
cool the song- whips , oh more feverish my body trip!...just there,
Philip Bailey whams a falsetto
higher than high in climactic lifts,
my whole body possessed without Reasons on Fantasy's electric stage:
Another grasp of dismembered reality lures, where smokey thirst begs
for more notes...
this moment a cool fever of a thrill from a live concert rushes on,
where an elevated zing drugs my soul!
Swaying Sensibilities
In the sultry summer nights, wistful waves weave a seductive spell, wet and wild, while whispering winds waltz with wistful wonders, writing tales of tantalizing temptations, tip-toeing towards a torrent of tormented desires.
Scintillating sensations serenade the soul’s sensuous sanctuary, stirring subtle symphonies of sultry seduction, swaying sexy sensibilities.
Climactic contractions culminate and course through our corporal connection,
Pent-up passions pour into your pulsating pelvis,
Powerful primal prowess, pervasive pain, provokes penetrating pleasures,
Our hearts pounding, peak pulse pressures, panting and perspiring; covered in coveted carnal contentment.
-Edward
Night thunder arrives. Occult spacecraft descend,
hurl giant underbellies of sound downward -
climactic events galvanize grouting and glass.
The next boom is distant, yet lightning streaks
across closed eyes.
Backyard bones are starkly illuminated,
perhaps even scorched?
An astral mythology shakes its bright spears.
Is that the crackling of flaming grasshoppers?
Then on the roof, a thud and flopping of metallic fins,
is it an alien craft or an armored coelacanth?
For an instant, minds are thrown out of their skins.
Parallel lines collide; pidgins drop, stunned
by a siren sky.
From an upturned trashcan lid, an electric Venus
is seen rising from her ancient scallop.
She is sexually charged and triumphantly aglow,
about her, the fallen twitch on.
That sweet life in you
pulls me from the oven of self.
Think of me as a lump of clay
you alone can breathe life into.
If I should think of you, if I could,
it would be as two artists
completing the same image,
together able to co-create
one thought of perfection.
More than the language of hands,
more than the idiom of tears,
greater than the invention of self-idols,
or the swift climactic passions
that shatter but not mend,
is that one thought of love
within its holy moment.
No longer would we be
broken bridges between
blind eyes and mute lips.
but both the same center,
both the balance
and the fulcrum,
just as there is naturally
that symmetry of awareness
of flowers to the light -
just so.
Lava stiletto lips
drips Medusa kisses
transmitting stone corpse aperitifs
she slithetrs hither on
out of night sways of
narcoleptic nuptial napkins
snake strand locks of love
conceal couquettic tenderizing
fetish fantasies of climactic
carnivorous copulations.
Leviathan legs of boa bondage
clench my every clandestine thrunch.
Gonad groundswells of deep droning
desires-immersive of Eden's ego, forgo
an all atoned, permissable persuasions,
passions primitive, albeit death defying
defamations. I thus conclude a deciduous
daunting demise driven by perennial postulates
and hormonal harassed hecticals capturing
coital consequences, feverently focused,
freely formed frailties, neatly nestled,
innately interred, individually invested
by human happenstance helpings of
hepatic herbs of mythological memories
measured in manmade miniature statuettes
cold carved into rejuvenating relics
of our own Rock of Ages intent.
Suppose the barrage of apocalyptic theories is true
While time is forevermore drawing to its climactic end
What? my friend, … just what are you going to do?
Will you find some nutcase group with which to blend?
Spending the rest of your days in anguish and fright
While time is forevermore drawing to a climactic end?
Is it possibly true you are letting yourself lose sight--
Believing these conspiracy theories with no authentication,
Spending the rest of your days in anguish and fright?
Without regard for the danger they cause our nation
Creating fear, desperation, and panic throughout the land,
Believing these conspiracy theories with no authentication.
The greatest fears are fomented by lies gotten out of hand
Widely spread through an irresponsible social media
Creating fear, desperation, and panic throughout the land.
Better to study the ancient documents, the encyclopedia,
Suppose the barrage of apocalyptic theories is true
Widely spread through an irresponsible social media,
What, my friend? … just what are you going to do?
Everyone has an intrinsic curious interest in the climactic topic of ***********; Whether you like it, or not.
intoxicated by entwined souls,
breasts beating, breathing
in the amalgamation of us.
trust in lips, tongues, stress
of otherworldly communication.
neo-occasion of bare skin,
slightly shy, surrendering
to the shift and slide—
sensuality played portentously…
innocence irrigated…
blind.
intoxicated by the itch;
you scratch
my back like a kitten.
my feet and knees
find your warm precipices
of carnal knowledge.
together we learn
there’s an inner universe;
exploration
of mysterious habitation.
in practice, in habit
tingling of dendrites
over and over again.
intoxication’s jealous—
jumps for joy
at your touch…
knows where your headed
north or south…
intoxicated by extremes,
the shudder of sensuality,
shamelessness of dreaming
in your bed, calling only
your name, stamped
with approval— our’s,
story comes to
a climactic conclusion—
Your Welcome.
9/9/2021
“I'' Contest New or Old
Sponsor: Constance La France
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