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Read MoreBecoming my quill's poetic voyeur tasting the fly in the ink the dark side of my hors d'oeuvre listening to silence whispering in my ear as if lusting scorpions crawling my back among the shadows in my mind's oasis...
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Read MoreIn the darkness of your poseythe cunt's thoraxwith it's sleeping tonguewhere the shadows dwell with the breath of your soul dripping a staccatoon my blood-stained Nikeslistening to the voices singing"Bring your love home to me"
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Read MoreA wise owl of veiled memories dreamless sleep shadows deepeternal dark lusting your marrowand petal posey of labia's lipsstained with coffin's mahoganysweet scent of decadent glaciersmelting in my arms
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Read MoreApothecary of decadent dark shadows and tablespoons before the cold moon mortar and pestle powdering my labia with two interludes of wanton celloa modus operandi between my thighslistening to Mantovani's, "Unchained Melody"and feeling your tongue kiss my soul
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Read MoreShanghai in the 1930s, known as The Wicked Old City of the Orient's Babylon. Where villains ruled, and exhibitionists danced. A perfect place for a wounded heart like Slade Garrison, PI. Opium was the rage and the booze flowed...
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I don’t know, I am trying to piece it together.
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Read MoreAs a body of rose becomes my ghostof fragrant petals for my loving hostas the attar weeps of wilted thornsgenuflecting to your pure heartFor my blue eyes on trellis adornedof love spawning the crystal dew for a moment in...
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Read MoreIn the wind shears of my mind holding on to the quill with the gall of the screaming louse and the flea. With the quill of my tongue getting under your skin, caressing flesh. Naked beneath the leather collar...
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Atticus Abbey and
DampKitten are now friends
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Read MoreTouching me with your black lacecold cold thigh accentuating lust giving me a little haunting tweakmemories of our naked tango with fishnet and heels in paradiseand orgasms on a different plateau with a whore's wet kiss just you and...
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You have an excellent sense of meter, Adagio. I don’t run into that frequently. It’s accentuated, actually, by the lack of rhyme- which can occasionally be detrimental to a piece. Instead, you rely on consonance and alliteration.
This is sultry and stimulating
xoxo
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Thank you. I don’t rely too much on rhyme because I am not gifted. I scribble.
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Thank you kindly.
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Martinis are ‘licious
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Read MoreFeeling the thorn of the quill masturbating on my soulas your tongue tastes me. My cunt plays succubusto your cock's stiletto. In my analysis non sequituras the candles crowed loudly. With the weight of thewildebeests lashing my wrists in...
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“the thorn of the quill masturbating my soul” — amazing imagery and so original. I can feel that, and the stiletto cock.
Haunting poetry…xoxoxo
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Thank you kindly.
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I appreciate that… seriously.
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You’re welcome. It’s good to see you over here, Adagio.
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I think my welcome is worn out on the other site.
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Why would you say that?
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Why would I say what?
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Why do you think your welcome is worn out?
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Read MoreThe shadow felt like an emery boardagainst my lusting flesh dark of tonguewith chatoyant jalapeno green eyeshemorrhaging decadence for my lonely dripping from its depraved oystersnaked shell screaming, "I vont yor blod" rinsing out memories with Selsun Blue swinging...
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Love the Dracula quote… and the jalapeno green eyes.
I like the presentation of this piece, the format and concentrated description.xoxoxo
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I try to be a little different in how I approach my writing.
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Read MoreWith the haunting decadent kiss debauchery's fragrant crescendo's rapture whispering the dark's indigo of pleasures through the pane of shadows as seen through the orgies of undies poetically charmed of the vegan's tofu stripped lashed bound with silk in...
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Whew… that’s a brain spin, baby
The painting is cool-
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Thank you.
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You’re welcome.
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Read MoreWords from angels with cloven tonguesand naked flesh reflecting the soulwith a modern-day Mona Lisa complex scorched decadency seducing the corpseof my cock's diseased manifoldwith their muted breasts and labia majora
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Ah, you brought this one over for sure… I remember it. What if De Vinci painted the Mona like this one?
You’ve got to watch out for those cloven tongue angels. -
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Writing is a challenge to me.
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