Jawadato - November 10, 2025
Beyond the lands where the rivers pour into the boiling red sea,
Your castle stands in the sand, guarded by mollusks and the urchins,
Waves fight my resolve, preventing me from laying siege.
Away from the broken twigs on the ground up into the strongest branches of the tree,
Your hearts displayed in copious sums, taunts of the strangest of dreams,
Thorns bloody my hands, leaving me hungry for a single nip.
Through the whimsical clouds and past the bright white debris,
Your sisters bless me with their smiles, such pretty little gleams,
Philos overwhelms my senses, making me cry out in a plea.
Innocence, darling; must you have abandoned me?
The answer finally comes, with chuckles and in glee.
Foolish boy, are you still chasing after me?
You can never touch me through that monitor screen.
To be a child again first you must learn how to, fully breathe.
Jawadato - November 10, 2025
When restlessness befriends hunger in an arbor,
Deranged may the thoughts be of my untidy mind.
A character’s path set in ink by the author,
Visions of volition still simmer in between the lines.
Needless of speeches not uttered or conclusions undiscovered, an addict I remain, high on your vice.
For your smirk is the silence before Nor’easter,
Quiet as carillon bells that are well fitted.
Thick is the haze that drapes my mind against winter blisters,
Waking up to the thundering hymn of summertime crickets.
Sane are the ministrations only what made real, by your soothing terror that leaves little room for protest.
Chasing after your mantle in a tripping daze,
My fall is beyond trust and perfectly through.
Hues dance across the mirror of your gaze,
The whole world comes into the frame of my view.
Your eyes shine bright and amuse; find me in vain but green, under the glory of the morning dew.
That what may very well be called sweet home,
Thatched neat and swell out of my honeyed distress.
In the idle hours pain itself must tranquil the whole,
When the body’s needs surpass that of mere congress.
Directions I exhaust and many a path I explore; firm yet remains the leather that forms the bulk of my necklace.
Words they come bally and puerile in jest,
Words they come with lure and with rush.
Much is what is owed to you and the rest,
Let them burn in your flame, turning to ash.
Canvas which remains laid, white and bare; blank for you who is the artist holding the brush.
Keepsake or barter away the worth of my heart,
The battles, they take place within your constricting grip.
Please accept this apology that I offer you in curt.
For the improper cascade of my quivering greed.
In gluttony may the flesh rise and fall for it is your presence what I inhale, what I breathe.
You assign the roles neatly and in levy,
On the cotton, patterns follow the plans.
You wield your needles in thrusts so lovely,
The role of thimble I play in deviance.
Primed yet stashed away spent, in the adornment loge, preferably well lit under the lamp.
Though scarce I remain still in ingot,
You hatch me anew each time out of clay.
Do I mind, I think I may truly do not,
As long as I am blessed with a lasting stay.
Lighter grows my head the tighter are the restraints, such pleasure there is to be felt for the prey.
Like the cyclic hand that returns to the midnight,
Persist the frailness through each of the rends.
You respond cruelly to the ill of my invites,
Allow any bones to break that remain unbent.
Feral is the nature of your influence but your lap kindred, only to the soft curve of the moon’s crescent.
Command and in lief I shall make the penance,
As long as I am once more to be found.
Wrapped tightly in your arms, in the shadows we dance,
Or me kneeling, under the cover of your gown.
The stench of Venus overwhelms my senses; futile yet remains the evidence on my face of a frown.
Red is what all that you tend to harbor,
Heed in humor the voices that I fright.
I want you deeper still and I want you darker,
Let the mistral extinguish all that remains alight.
Spin me with laughter and into the night you usher; dark playground which does not suffer the blight.
I hear whispers and feel the nibbles that fervor,
The hunger that burns out of the lips on my neck.
Are you danger? Or are you my silvery savior?
I dare not ponder or begin to tell.
For what it is worth and all that is unholy; pleasing curses set me ablaze until all of me has gone to hell.
Three twinges by the chest atone the heretic,
Two whole oceans invade my lungs.
I drown in lust, oh the odor of ferric,
One in the AM is when; you bathe in my rust.
Clean blood is the price to be born of your dust; from death you raise me, above the vistas so vast.
Tender heat hides deep in your bosom waiting to spill,
Ice sharp teeth shred the duality far apart.
You stun, each and every single time you consecrate a kill,
Vicious, you remain a doll even beyond the mar.
The doors that I search, what peace the mind seeks; can only I be made whole, through tending to her.