- Mar 19, 2001
- 2,627
- 33
holding myself above you
sweat jumping from the cliffs
of my desires to their deaths
implanting themselves into your
soils to be reborn rebirthed and
resuscitated as a moan from
deep within you /
/ I watch the sheets bulge between
your fingers that clutch them as if they
can keep you from hovering outside of yourself
to view a moment of release /
I watch in envy because the man's orgasm
is so primitive...pump pump pump...
guussssssh...there it is, a salty gism on your
walls that drains to the back of your leg
and is reborn as a not so stubborn stain
on the sheets...it doesn't even have the fortitude
to stick around
the female orgasm is like poetry in motion
(but so far beyond that tired cliche')
from what i see it's like walking barefoot through
morning grass and letting the birth of a new day
shape your existence for the next 24 hours
or innocent toddler crayon markings on a white wall
...unadulterated beauty
that quick breath you take before the tightening of
muscles / the electricity of choppy moans before the
one that eclipses the worlds silence / the grip you
place on me that places me in the direct path
of your gratification is undefinable / leaves me
envious of your ****oris
sounds crazy don't it...
a conscious man knows that within
that sacred temple are 8 thousand
nerve endings that send pleasure
to you
ASAP
how can a man's pleasure compare?
(c)2002 blakverb
sweat jumping from the cliffs
of my desires to their deaths
implanting themselves into your
soils to be reborn rebirthed and
resuscitated as a moan from
deep within you /
/ I watch the sheets bulge between
your fingers that clutch them as if they
can keep you from hovering outside of yourself
to view a moment of release /
I watch in envy because the man's orgasm
is so primitive...pump pump pump...
guussssssh...there it is, a salty gism on your
walls that drains to the back of your leg
and is reborn as a not so stubborn stain
on the sheets...it doesn't even have the fortitude
to stick around
the female orgasm is like poetry in motion
(but so far beyond that tired cliche')
from what i see it's like walking barefoot through
morning grass and letting the birth of a new day
shape your existence for the next 24 hours
or innocent toddler crayon markings on a white wall
...unadulterated beauty
that quick breath you take before the tightening of
muscles / the electricity of choppy moans before the
one that eclipses the worlds silence / the grip you
place on me that places me in the direct path
of your gratification is undefinable / leaves me
envious of your ****oris
sounds crazy don't it...
a conscious man knows that within
that sacred temple are 8 thousand
nerve endings that send pleasure
to you
ASAP
how can a man's pleasure compare?
(c)2002 blakverb