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thegitksan
09-27-2008, 01:23 AM
remnants of arsonist's fire
that scorched my heart with words.
your bitter touch, you bird
of flame, awoke desire.

metallic songs of sex,
electric blood and heat,
your cries of lust so sweet,
strobe through my numb cortex.

you beautiful phoenix proud,
your labial, fiery tech
has rendered my mind a wreck;
my soul's an ember-cloud.

erotic charcoal girl
of subtle haunting scents
of nighttimes too intense
the ash of guilt's a-whirl.

girl of erotic charcoal
that embers and flame have built
let go your shame and guilt
consume me, body and soul.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
um, mostly trochaic trimeter, with some dactylic foot thrown in for variety. Written for, who else, a love interest.

thegitksan
09-27-2008, 02:07 AM
"Don't be so shy", said the midnight bard,
As he coaxed a word from the reader anon.
"And if I bite, I don't bite hard!"

mazHur
09-27-2008, 02:25 AM
remnants of arsonist's fire
that scorched my heart with words.
your bitter touch, you bird
of flame, awoke desire.

metallic songs of sex,
electric blood and heat,
your cries of lust so sweet,
strobe through my numb cortex.

you beautiful phoenix proud,
your labial, fiery tech
has rendered my mind a wreck;
my soul's an ember-cloud.

erotic charcoal girl
of subtle haunting scents
of nighttimes too intense
the ash of guilt's a-whirl.

girl of erotic charcoal
that embers and flame have built
let go your shame and guilt
consume me, body and soul.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
um, mostly trochaic trimeter, with some dactylic foot thrown in for variety. Written for, who else, a love interest.

Nice!:)

thegitksan
09-27-2008, 03:30 AM
Thanks!

thegitksan
09-27-2008, 02:55 PM
Anyone else care to comment?

thegitksan
09-27-2008, 10:57 PM
With thanks to the "The Rider" for inspiration.

Who needs the grace of god, he jeered,
when I can ride the autumn wind?
It's immaterial to reach
for moon or star when time's the same:
forward or backward: no difference to me!
I slide down parabolic curves
from peak to pavement, back again.

Your momentary grace, o mortal man,
falls round your ankles, clumsy heaps.
Pile it up, drag it down.
Wait for spring. I don't care.
'Coz I can ride the winter wind,
and spring don't matter, summer neither.
Who needs the grace of god? I ride.