In night's chance, my eyes found you,
and my heart saw love.
Since, my heart fantasizes
your heart had glanced back!'
Noli me tangere
The elderly man with sad brown eyes
Sat on the terrace looking at the sea
Unable to face up to his many failures
He fantasizes and overestimates the
A few times, he was a success
Neighbors thought of him as harmless
Until someone tried to take advantage
Of his friendliness
But they were met with the coldness from
His icy silence left him alone
The old man doesn’t know he is cruel
He sees his manner as a self-defense
He is, he thinks, the ultimate survivor
As sanskrit simmers
upon the splintered mind
of savaged souls
the evolution of emotion
eloquently enters the environ
of your vulnerable virtue,
entreating the crying heat of your heart
to hasten no more
towards the shadow of shame,
Her Shadow sang the sorrow
of a suppressed sweetness,
a love forbidden in the phobia
of the world's dervishing dystopia,
sanctuary was not in her heart,
it belonged in her heated nerves
the expressway of uncompromised courage,
Her Shadow knows how her skin sweats
when the Damned dismiss her love,
Shadow knows how her eyes sting
from anything mean to her sincerity,
her Shadow holds her tears
in hands of ivory,
fantasizes that rage is beauty...
J.A.B. 2023
A side of me fantasizes
another portion of me marvels
my everything desires eternity
Her tears are squandered waters,
like blood shed from an innocent man.
If misery was to be defined
It would be her bareness covered with garments.
She fantasizes in colors
But her realities are in black and white
As if to say her existence is tedious.
She adjured the heavens to eradicate her
For she was worn out from breathing unfiltered air.
It came over her,
like a woman enthralled by a thousand demons.
She would grip her lips
In order to keep her sanity.
And when she least anticipated
she would fall down on her knees
with blood gushing from her mouth.
She glanced at the mirror
And at that moment, she realized
she was her own executor.
He's not hers
But he's perfect for her in every way
He's not hers
But he knows someday, he'll go away
She fights with every ounce of energy
To make him stay
Subconsciously knowing, eventually
He'll go away
She admits constantly
She loves him more than any before
She so fell hard, and honestly
He's it for her; nothing more
She plans her future with him
She fantasizes a life
With him
To be his wife
He's not hers
And it will hit like a ton
When he's gone
And she's just one
He tries to break away easy
He's finding it impossible
He hopes her pain occurs briefly
But it's a terrible obstacle
Her world will crash
Her dreams will shatter
He will feel like trash
His words will only make her sadder
Love is a b*tch at times
Learn from it; take note
It's the only thing that's both
Poison and antidote
Her pain is his only regret
He would absorb it all if he could
His future, without her, is set
Do everything he can? he should
Love is a b*tch and he's not hers
He hates these questions without answers
His path is already chosen
So with a bitter tasting spoon
He'll give her the poison
And hope she gets the antidote soon
Her stage is set
lighting casts a soothing glow
he flirts and fantasizes
his desires will soon be known
a game, a tease, each other pleads
playing as they please
until both bored you see
tossed aside with yesterday's ride
real hearts relegated to cry
waiting and withering within reality
lust just a fake faux pas
so seemingly innocent
requesting of peace for pause
herein lies love without feelings
an euphoric exhilaration
not explained to the weak
driven and determined
foraged but not forgiven
in a monolithic
multiple personality twist
As I am lying down in bed alone
my spiritless body rolls in bed and
once again I reach out to my smartphone
I click an app and see someone blond.
On busy schedule, I always
check Instagram on a daily basis.
And I always see your face every day
Your posts fantasizes like an oasis.
I wonder if you look at my pictures
and hesitate on liking my photos
I wonder if you see me in features
My heart broke down when I changed my bio
I'm always drowning in a square ocean.
In your Instagram with emotion.
RUIN OF LISA
He cannot will himself to look away,
Though she is as small as a rose,
And pretty with thorns and all.
Having many suitors that stare.
Her smile shines so fair.
And her eyes dart back and forth,
Like the dust devil that follows him.
Her terracotta colors enamor all,
but he desires to steal her away,
to place her above his open flame,
so he might bore into her like the sun,
and have none that touch her behind
the reflective glass. Of wine he sips
her sweet sensational subtle lips.
As the seasons change his lovely Lisa
becomes whatever he fantasizes, artsy
with scarves and sunglasses, at the fall
and rise of the procurator’s temperature.
6/28/2017
Romanticism
This poem was written a day ago as my husband and I travelled down a highway of all places.
Please rate and comment.
Darkness looms within ones eyes.
Is it love or lust hidden in disguise?
Forever searching his face, she fantasizes.
His lips, his hands, gentle caresses, she stands immobilized.
His touch, his tongue.. mmmm they tantalize.
Her eyes now covered unable to see, she then realizes;
It's time to play, her mind so disorganized.
Does he follow a playbook? Their moves becoming synchronized.
His mouth traces the curvature of her spine, ice between his lips, so devine.
Her body reacts, back arched her release denied.
Deliberately sliding her arms above her head, tied to the bed. This, her demise.
Moving to her legs, parted appropriately, silk bindings wrapped, unable to move.. hypnotized.
Sweet sweet torture, unable to contain. With a sly grin she's penalized.
His firm hand connecting harshly, she squeals in surprise.
She begs her relase,
he's now inside.
A whisper of concent he allows,
An exquisite fire within her extinguished.
She submits, a ravenous animal now alive.
For ages, probably for prolonged ages
They have been waiting for the ecstatic pearl
Collages of pomegranates in bends and edges
Are on the toes to get into the whirl
For ages and ages the two hungry clouds
Have nurtured their myriad colours
Explosion of passion in retiring from the shrouds
Two fantasizes colliding in tremor
For ages and ages the starving crimson words
With the pen and paper set dance-like
Waited in the molecules of curve in the swords
Tonight they are getting into the crushing of psyche
Touches of silk and strokes of electrons
The birds at mad bites into the pineapple
Inbox is flooding with cloud nine neurons
Moments mesmerized in moonlit maple
The horses from Harappa racing fast
The fountain opens its wonderful floodgate
The ship tossing along with the mast
Tumultuous tempest in the Ithaca strait
Go go go Owl plunder your moon
Let the black beauty put on maroon
________________________________________________________
July 31, 2016
My mind fantasizes
A lot sometimes about the Sun
Rising to the sky's ceiling,
Constellations drifting at night like
Holograms during my birthday....
Month/Date of Birth: March 2nd
Date of Publishing: 09/08/2015
DON’T BE AFRAID
I live to please you,
I live to see the best in you
You and I are the best match
Havens have open mountains
Heavy rains ought to end us
But don’t be afraid
I have created tents to keep you safe
The safest place for you is in my heart
Where only my thoughts and blood play
My blood oozes with oxygen and love
Don’t be afraid this love is forever
I have devoted all my love to you
The clouds have surrendered its beauty for us
This is all for you
So don’t be afraid
This is the love that children will fantasizes
This is the love that you wished for
Your wishes have come true
The (not-so-little) mermaid stares down
between her scales,
to the spot where the sun don't shine.
A look of concern dawning on her face,
she can't help but wonder
(not what it might be like to have legs
Or to walk and run)
but what it might be like to have a p#$$y
or who-ha if p#$$y is too dirty.
She has v@***@ envy.
For although she has been
blessed with a bodacious pair of puppies,
or tatas or breasts if puppies and tatas offend you.
She feels incomplete with out the who-ha
or c##t if who-ha is too clean.
She saw the word in a dirty magazine,
that her friend gave her,
and now whenever she gets the chance,
She swims to the surface,
and stares at the pictures
of women spreading their meat curtains,
or showing off their honey pot, if meat curtains is too pejorative.
She fantasizes about having that bearded clam between her legs,
About taking her fingers and parting those luscious lips
Perhaps fishing around down there
Although she doesn't know why men use that term
The v@***@ is not like a fish
It is more like a flower.
She stays in that spot,
studying and staring at where all life begins
envious that she herself
does not have a heart-shaped box.
She walks along the stage
Looking at him
And him
And him
With her deadened eyes
He looks back at her
Every one of him
And fantasizes
Perky breasts
Milk white thighs
He feels
What’s familiar rise
Music plays
She feels the moments press
Skillfully
Removing her dress
He screams
He whistles
He wants more not less
Five dollar bills
Tossed at her feet
More from him
And him
She starts to feel the beat
Moving through her like a wave
Is she the master
him the slave?
She has her money
He’s left to crave
Dreaming of the place she closely shaves
The music stops
She puts back on her clothes
Looks at him
And him
And him
The ones she loathes
Hates who she is
Her stage name Rose
Takes a bow strikes a pose
Her act is done so off she goes
Wonders about next time
How many of him will there be?
Each with that hunger
It's not her they really see
They want pleasure
Yet inside are empty
As long as they come
she will never be free
Each practiced move
is her high heel misery!
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