Masturbation
13 November, 2006
Author: Rick Ryckman
Every night I am married to my iron bed.
As I am laid out like the linen!
Lumbering thoughts swiftly boomerang.
My words rush in with the wind as my circus whirls.
My thoughts so black they bind me to the night ---- I cannot hide.
My mind is ravaged by sweet nights, hung out cold in its winter.
I transgress through my years.
I have dangled my pendulum, and the last bastion of my soul.
Who will be the one to tremble at my doorway?
Whose essence will arouse my feelings?
The first fluttering when my heart went on a journey all-alone.
The kiss of an angel ---- which my heart will swallow.
Your hands find me like an architect.
My flinging heart imploded with love, and lost its breath.
Weaving me among the stars and shooting comets.
Whisper softly ---- and cup me to your breast like a crying child.
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Comments on this poem/writing:
David Russell (92.25.11.67) -- Saturday, October 11 2014, 02:43 pm I have a strong picture of your dream lover |
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