04-24-2012, 11:19 PM
I don't write as many poems as I used to - when I do, they're now usually very short, and usually metaphors for sex. Here's a couple.
"God"
[I]You collect at the back of my throat, and your body names mine in the dark,
Make me bleed like a girl, something pitch black that you fumble within,
The night is so big, and your face in the light of the television:
That, that must be what God looks like.
"Killing My Boy"
That, that must be what God looks like.
His mouth was open when I set him on fire,
And he needed no eyes to catch the light,
His arms revolved in a smog of particles,
Scream as raw as prayer and drowned out as I
In a Startling shimmer of time collapsing,
And when it is over, he's in my head.[/I]
"Kissfelt"
Your thumb turns the page of my lips and my chin,
Uprooting the gasp of my eyelids in full bloom,
A mouth of yours collects my jawline, and the shiver tells.
"God"
[I]You collect at the back of my throat, and your body names mine in the dark,
Make me bleed like a girl, something pitch black that you fumble within,
The night is so big, and your face in the light of the television:
That, that must be what God looks like.
"Killing My Boy"
That, that must be what God looks like.
His mouth was open when I set him on fire,
And he needed no eyes to catch the light,
His arms revolved in a smog of particles,
Scream as raw as prayer and drowned out as I
In a Startling shimmer of time collapsing,
And when it is over, he's in my head.[/I]
"Kissfelt"
Your thumb turns the page of my lips and my chin,
Uprooting the gasp of my eyelids in full bloom,
A mouth of yours collects my jawline, and the shiver tells.
![[-]](https://gayspeak.com/images/duende_v3_local/collapse.png)
