Intoxyc8me's blog: "Views from the Nite"

Paint Her in Words by LateNiteFantasy© I paint her with words, Rather than brushes, My fingers will not easily hold. My eyes can’t see the colors clear, But the description in my memory, Take me back to her youth. A fine lined porcelain face, With ruby lips and azure eyes, That danced when the devil took her due. How can any oils or color capture the love Of her? Or any brushstroke let flow Her kind and gentle ways. I paint her with words For word are all I have that flow Upon the canvas of the mind.

I am all eyes: Light blue, almost as blue as the sky, large, round, passionate; long, thick lashes – women envy the size of my eyes, the quality of my lashes. A smiling woman once called me “blue-eyed boy.” The world comes to me through my eyes. I dare you to look deeply into my eyes. (Though you say you can’t; its just too intense.) I might just mesmerize you. I might just see you. You might catch a glimpse of my soul. I will surely see yours. I am all mouth: Full, curvaceous, kissing lips – Women have envied the quality of my lips. A woman once said to me, “I wish I had your lips.” And, I replied, “Go ahead, they’re all yours!” And, I puckered. And, that’s me with the charming, flirtatious response, and blushing because I can’t believe I just said that. I will always be a teenage boy in baggy men’s clothes. If I went blind, the world would come to me through my mouth. I would suck it, roll it around, wrestle it with my tongue, savor the taste of it, swallow it, eat it. And, because you are a part of my world, I would devour you too. I will always be a teenage boy trying to steal another kiss from you. I dare you to let me give you one of those deep, wet kisses, one of those good kisses. (Though you say you just can’t kiss me like that at the drop of a hat.) You will be consumed. You are forewarned. I am primal: I am always dancing to unconscious music. I am a seductive dancer. I dare you to dance with me; (Though you say you can’t dance; you just can’t let go.) I will enchant you. If you dance my blood dance, you will lose yourself in the moment; you will lose yourself in me.

Sometimes I write with my eyes. Sometimes I write with my mouth. Sometimes I write with my blood. All of my poems are me, And I write me for you. If you don’t read them, then I might as well be dead. But this is mostly me: always smitten with you, always in love with you. All of my poems Are love poems to you, (even this one).

turtle tongues of love by LateNiteFantasy© this gold morning lifts me magic blue turtle tongues murmuring about the irrelevance of the motion of stars a trial and error criss cross of meaning and movement (deliver me from evil oh yes deliver me from the loud bright clowns of heaven recalcitrant angel-elves tip-toeing through dawn demanding higher meaning demanding a shelf for mushrooms demanding a self-reflexive conundrum of self-doubt) who knows the anvil of stasis who knows the peacocks of passion drowning in a bathtub of desire gasping like puppies round-tummied on the verge of ecstasy deny me nothing please and please let me have the terror of it all

you are a river i plunge my hands into your breasts i submerge my head in the deep pool swirling between your hips each leg a branch each toe a tributary i try to swim your length i sink in your unfathomable depth the liquid stars the wavering moon you

my burning touch penetrates and ignites you until there is a bonfire blazing in each cell and you are consumed i reduce you to ashes and my hands recreate you replacing all thought with refreshing sensation and my mouth silences your whispering soul then you can feel It the pulsating darkness filling your void with celestial flesh and you come to your senses alive with each breath every moment a lifetime each exhalation a death

in a dream he came to her as a bear: she was afraid at first, then she looked in his eyes and she opened herself to him. he smothered her in his musky fur: the fragrance of wet oak leaves, of mushrooms, of pine sap, of pink clover and purple thistle, of Queen Anne's Lace, of wildflowers without names, of wild honey, of blackberries, of the sifted sunlight speckled with buzzing, of the wind heavy with clouds, of ten thousand quivering green things, and the soil moist with dew he was careful not to scratch her with his clumsy black claws, as she tangled her fingers in his matted coat, their grunts and growls gave voice to their pleasure under a bright Ursa Major.

senryu: nipples quandary by LateNiteFantasy© tight revealing shirt: nipples -- is it ok to look or not?

while a sword rusted on a dry mound of cool moss suffused in moonglow effervescence stung by aerial starfish i was smoldering in lunar embers wondering what her... trying to remember what her... skin tasted like under the endlessness of bright star-flowers blooming in an interstellar nothingness as dark as rich black dirt i was smoldering in lunar embers wondering what her... trying to remember what her... skin tasted like and when the gray morning murk was being burnt away by a celestial rain of flaming petals i was ablaze in a solar bonfire knowing what her... remembering what her... skin tasted like like morning dipped in honey