From this angle the bushes do not conceal them.
Are they hinged or unhinging?
Each body is a prison gate for the other,
both seem stuck together by a pungent lip spit.
Feathering fingers pulse-play over gulping skin.
Greedy eyes zoom in,
unbuckling muscles sift and trowel,
modelling the creaming and palpable.
This public act despoils the evening
yet it also sweetens.
I feel the need to rut,
to suck inward all this carnality,
to sup upon this liqueur of spiced flesh,
even though my cupped hands
remain regretfully or not,
unsullied.
My passion is the silent attachment
Granted with each enchantment
On that day my soul grew thrilled
My heart love and blood do spilled
In a kingdom full of lovers
Once upon a midnight amorous
And the binding never hating
My spirit, soul, and mind debating
The addition brought such sorrow
'It's that coupling,' I muttered
The empowerment brought such sorrow
But in the fact that it was clucking
As the noose around my neck unbuckling
My passion is the silent attachment
I crave the accessory, affective appendix
Much I marveled this gone romance
Never more shalt we dance
Involvement - involvement - involvement! Ne’er a second chance
to more the committed charm chatting
to the constant debauches and the battling
So sure,
Still yet to be warn me about the amour…
Love of
7/27/2021
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Narcissism
A good day the mirror in the hall said I looked smart
except that, I was bald and had yellow teeth. No,
do not do this the mirror said when I was unbuckling
my belt feared to be whipped said I had nice skin.
The feminine said of me mention lipstick it would not
come amiss; she thinks happiness involves makeup
I flexed my arm muscles and them mirror was mortified
closed its reflection and went blank I walked into
the vacant space turned around my god, who is this old geezer
preening himself?
prisoner of retribution,
he was buried under a salt lake,
elusive, his crotch,
not far from stings of wasps,
the blood spills,
he would wonder how to catch the truth
in black river,
wrapped in imperforated causes,
leaking with curses,
black conjugation of greeds,
with the grief unbuckling the grudges,
uncut wounds, festering under the skin,
the stink starts scything, he starts
folding the denials, in self praise
SATISH VERMA
prisoner of retribution,
he was buried under a salt lake,
elusive, his crotch,
not far from stings of wasps,
the blood spills,
he would wonder how to catch the truth
in black river,
wrapped in imperforated causes,
leaking with curses,
black conjugation of greeds,
with the grief unbuckling the grudges,
uncut wounds, festering under the skin,
the stink starts scything, he starts
folding the denials, in self praise
SATISH VERMA
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