Orgy Poems - Poems about Orgy

I prefer to gaze at my Eden through this veil of screens. There, the miracle of sun and bloom explodes with delight over my stoned edges. But...ponder me first before venturing once more unto that breach, for there, in the bowels of hosta and fern lurk the humping beetle larvae, phantom chompers, and coal ink gorging rot, all in roiling orgy, within my manicured...

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I won't get drunk in a orgy ethylic dream ... nor burn me in spiritual alcohol ... I don't desire evolutions illusion of smoke life! I don't wish to fall into the ruse of wine, rum, sugar cane brandy ... Today I dream awake ... I said goodbye to absinthe addictive madness ... to delirium tremens and its cruel face ... Today another emotion further pulsing permanent...

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Autumn Orgy at Trump Resorts Promises virile indoor sports But what will they find On Donald Trump's mind After they auction off his shorts?...

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Rich devil fashioned a money net dangled it over forest of chrysalis awaiting the emergence of innocents. Dragged a kaleidoscope of butterflies off to a hell hole called orgy island. To fondle their wings for a little awhile then vomit them to the slag heap pile. Rich devils -virgin powder on their fingertips. Will beg and barter for freedom... again. Karma chants they'll spend...

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Sent Back to Grow Cold and Fear Darkness Running through Hills, Island Hopping and Writing about it. Spoke funny, Dressed in high Fashion Dancing upon Horses - Slaughtering men and Growing kings. We Painted fields as Grain Packing coal using Women, not slaves but Damn Close. Remember the Water? Found land below. Sending plans to dispatch, those Bound with All Our Excuses. Worship the Sun, Sacrifice good soldiers, Cut ties with Earth, Find no answers to...

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There’re seasons for singing and seasons for sinning, Both of them can combine: A feast for a glutton is only beginning, Naked slaves pour out the wine. The eunuchs are dancing, the minstrels are playing, When the Black Stranger arrives, But dukes are too drunk to hear all that he’s saying, Pawing at dead peasant’s wives. The crimson cloth curtains are suddenly ripping Down...

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i wish i could die for the pine in your eyes, for the tease of your breathe, for your luscious lips, dripping wet. In night seasons i boast of no defenses when you come to my senses,dripping with passion; crushing the last vestiges of modesty from my mind. Now, drenched with the dews of desire`s plea i sit alone by the river-side. i listen...

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I pine for your kisses for your touch, for your plundering arms, ...

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when the fiery stars hover their spears over the dim forests, and the burning moon makes love to the naked sea, When springs spins the pasture around and the Nightingale stays up all night, When the murmuring river has a few of us whom it whispers in the ear, When no one is around but you and me, ......your ochre lips i have to kiss...

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