your body is a garden,
with beautiful plants,
it's soft,
it's scent like snow.
hold me,
with every moveable part of you,
i’m addicted,
to your touch.
be happy for me,
don’t cry now,
tears can come, but let it be tears of joy,
happiness mixed with pleasure.
love isn't a sin,
yours is sweet,
mixed with lust,
it's flavor like nectar.
don’t stop, let’s not stop,
please,
we both want this,
desire led us here.
i'm happy,
you are too,
your mouth shows it,
i wrap myself in your love.
i'd never ask for anyone else,
even if we never met,
I won’t hurt your soul,
I’ll put you above myself.
deflowering feels beautiful,
i lose myself in your kiss,
i hope we have sweet dreams,
ones where we’re together,
and where we love each other this way.
(2024. Oct. 22.)
(title is "Untouched Virgin" in latin)
It was the Emperor's birthday.
The Coliseum was sold out.
All over the Cityyou could hear
The people laughs and shout.
First came on the animals
In the early evening heat'
Not much fun once They’d had
enough Christians to eat.
The came on the gladiators
All dressed up to thrill,
Because it was Caesar's birthday
They weren't allowed to kill.
Then came the speciality act,
The deflowering of a hundred maids
All tastefully laidout
Under transparent sunshades.
Out strode the proud Nubian
Dressed In G string and sarong
Eager to get started at
The clash of the gong.
First three dispatched with ease
He stiffened, clasped his head
And without further ado
Fell down stone deaded dead.
In the stunned silence
The promoters was heard to stay
He was fine at dress rehearsal
Earlier on today.
It being a little early
To send the crowd home
They had a little riot
And they burned down Rome.
The Emperor got excited
And quickly joined
Swaying to the flames as
He played his violin.
That's how the Empire ended
By contemporary description;
How different it could have been
With Viagara on prescription.
His eyes touched me in a million ways
his desire the sum of all my days
he was rubbed velvet between fingers
in a blind women's world, a fantastic singer
truth be told I wanted him to touch
that part of me that hurt so much
he gently placed me on a bed of roses
then turned me over for a hundred poses
deflowering innocence he set a shy girl free
reaching to arousal like a tumbling bumblebee
his eyes danced in the firelight that night
as he seized me, all dressed in white
honeymoon lovers at the wake of brawn
flushed by the moon they loved, until dawn
As the melancholy sang to me my sins.
The battle won through tears and pain
I've found the true meaning of defeat.
I've found sadness through deflowering
Lies, I found sadness through your piercing
cries.
I come as I am what a piercing phrase
I glazed upon my optional lies through hurt
and pain. I came I saw I conquered most,
I flew i grew I cried and boast. I cut I bleed
I cried many times, my pain is real but
you cant see without my eyes.
I was sung to that day, my strength comes
from within I committed defeat as i fell to
my knees. I was on I was off, but mostly
aware.The picture was taken, but the
flash wasn't there.
Flat On the ground she lays helplessly..
Tears well from her eyes as she sinks in her own pool of blood....
And as All efforts to scream, shout or at least pour out her pain in a silent whisper go in vain she watches as her much trusted vocal cords fail her again...
She watches them take turns on her , stealing her pride the only thing that made her stand out , deflowering her taking away her identity , her true self so she can STAND OUT of their way....
But With her blurry vision she gazes on the stars reminiscing about her yester days..
If only those memories can numb her pain , fade away her nightmares and let her sun rise again....
...the birds having nothing on you
each tasty morsel drips
deflowering of night
and day
where sun has chose to stay
close
your lips to mine
piercing the aire
beheld in Pierian time
kindled and caressed in kiss
late night hours waved
as arousals arrive
and reside
touches pulsed by rhyme
symphonically conduced
more than mere interludes
that never conclude
stillness our tune
ignition the flame
morning whispers
silent into eyes of Jade
hesitating, she breathes once more
meandering Elysian fields of gold
crispy emotions smogged sans thoughts
dripped solutions damping draws
on the innocence of the naked ape
bathed her in flaws, flap-doodles create.
A stride.
Moistened feet pasted
prints on fractured lips
on the terrane tried
corruption of texture
deflowering structure
yet she celebrates celibacy
turning suitors down;
"I'm a virgin"
her chant, her song
forgetting the sexual congress
colonialism had held with her in her bed.
19:10:07:08:45
My Lost Love is Fine
her rose petals once pluck
by some other muck
it made me once want to chuck
being run over by her truck
my heart twice moon struck
at the muckers running amok
her audacity rises and suck
for those deflowering schmuck
yet here i now sit in near pond, stuck
escape being her sitting duck
my love for her once awestruck
to a sad effect of her potluck
dear, winds now howls my good luck
connie pachecho
1/03/18
So pristine each drop wrapped tenderly
by clouds as air into water processed.
Why a diamond shaped of natures play
or of gravity earth awaits, greedily
life yearned for its fall from grace.
Longing for its purity Man restless,
salivating for the angelic virgin to descend.
Unspoiled, unsoiled, sweetness itself only
God can create, a gift free not for man alone
but every living thing with desires to quench.
Alas! the greed in you and I, it was a gift...free.
Reached we have, into the space of angels,
we bastardised the very food of our souls
for can our thirst be quenched by oil or gold?
Answer ye to God when our time is done.
A virgin so pure God sent for our pains to endure.
Slashed, burnt smoke of 'acid' we returned.
Legacy left we are sure, but the poser imminent
when facing our Procurer; were we party to the
deflowering, the raping of that virgin drop of rain?
T M Ioane (April, 2014)
Cherry Bomb
gross and red
deflowering natures way
cherry blossom pop
~*~
Have yourself a Haiku Contest
:) SKAT :)
Like a balloon, happiness soared high
Like a sword piercing through the blue sky
Deflowering the virgin power of gravity
She roves every commune with dexterity
I saw her parched on a tree
And the birds chirped and danced in glee
Heaven of alves, made reality
She roves every commune with dexterity
Upward she soared and soared again
Invading Lord's sanctuary without bargain
Angelic fingers plucked guitars in uniformity
She roves every commune with dexterity
21/07/2011
By:Joseph Osita
For Francine Roberts' "happiness is a balloon contest"
She was there for me when I came of age,
but when, for a girl of unlocked doors and
a missing father. in flight down the stairs,
an intruder pursuing, no dagger in the chamber
of non-connubial rights. "Bad dream," she said,
when summoned home from a tavern tryst
to calm her child in torn pajamas, unsafe ever after
in any man's arms. Yet, she was there for me
with the sanitary belt, its necessary napkin,
my gentle guide into the world of women,
when the blood-flower broke its bright red stain
on virginal sheets, auguring deflowering.
Her pretty clothes?--borrowed, as if
a mock stepmother in the mirror on the wall
restored my fall from the favor of our king.
Lucia, (not "di Lammermoor"), she did not stab
the bridegroom, or go mad. Blonde to my darkling
Carmen, queen to an unseated princess,
whose sleep went forty years, the prince blind-
sided, the slipper shattered, the horses
harnessed, the child become a woman,
asleep, asleep, in her glass coffin.
Between The Devil and The Sea
( Scylla and Charybdis )
Cosmetic the creature cover girl
is accessible only at night
a picture female in her temple
laying askew on an alter ego
A de lux harlot in romantic rough house
a fetish target
frivolous nymphet with a rampant phallus
And the sinister will follow strictly incognito
In her sticky sexual paradise
blond peroxide sensuality comes by proxy
No virtues abashed
a blow up doll as she lays in prostrate sultry action
her deflowering for titillation
she is said to have a thing for perversion
this ageless angelica this strip teaser
the Molotov cocktail of her own euphoria
Down in the bawdy boulevard men ape their ardour
all mouth to mouth with the call girl
a fondle or a blatant grope
She’s a clock work courtesan to keep her from destitution
to feed the kids she considers herself to be an acquisition
smiling for the gratuitous exhilaration of playing the other woman
vogue with her etiquette indiscreet in the burlesque
self esteem is held between the food the warmth
and not much else
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