Silken touch A gliding hand Ecstatic rush A swollen gland Boiling over My cauldron's yearn As digits touch My passions burn ******'s nails Dig so deep With careless blood My eyes do weep And as they clasp My hooded pole They shift and shake Love's cajole And then comes liquid To the top Please carry on Do not stop No one knows Such salty joy Only me ******'s boy But shame spurts out Onto my belly It's time to go I'm Henry Kelly
OHHHHHH SHIIIIIIT Ponders, do the LYT!!!!!!!! Me, Scan, and Trev!!!!!! Buzzing for this, let's release it on our next mixtape.
My brain needs my nose to bury itself, in a head of sweet black hair, and needs my hand to find her breast, to take away my cares; My mouth ? it needs another mouth, to have their own mini love affair, I need a chance for my lips to lay the lady bare. My touch needs silky skin, for my fingers and my tongue, My eyes they need new memories, that last for everlong; My heart needs to hear that twang, like lullabies, melodic in her whisper, I so need to express myself, My soul, you see, it has a blister.
Dawn, and the sunlight comes. The air is light again. But the night is not over. Not over for lovers. A boy and girl are hand in hand. A Princess and a Romeo. They walk along the shore. The boy satisfied, there will be more. No barrier the dawn. He tall, relaxed and cool, Her a blue eyed black haired beauty in a black summer dress, Neither needs to try to impress, Instantly drawn to one another, a perfect pair perhaps no less. He holds the girl's hand tight. His hand shows hers the passion, he to her later might. Two would be lovers seeking to abscond from the day With a union. A bond. They walk, propelled by the breeze, propelled by the light, Propelled by the vitality of life, Soaring like a flying kite, Joined by the quick setting bond. The bond made by the night Made by the dawn Made by the late walk along the shore Made by the mutual attraction The passion which promises them beautiful action The bond is with their hands In their hands, of their hands, By their hands, Trying to make them one Trying to convey his intended affection for this sweetie hon With fingertip action Like lovers they clasp, they squeeze, they writh Firm and gentle, they duck and they dive Creating the bond, intertwinned. But then an interruption came, Unexpected and a shame, The bond paused until lunchtime, To resume again in bright sunshine. But the suspension of its creation grew, Through mistakes which he would later rue, The bond was frozen, that was it, Stopped at that, with just a flicker lit. Would the bond made be enough ? Had Romeo done his stuff ? Was a meaningful connection made ? Enough to prevent her recollection fade ? Could their hands' romantic dance Withstand fate and circumstance ? That little bond, so quickly made, so suddenly lanced, Versus perspective's realistic retrospective glance. They saw one another again Later than planned, than they'd expected then, And the bond was still there, not gone, That bond created; built to be built on. He saw it from how she moved in her approach, Her friends saw, when he looked at her, it was in them both, She approached with slightly nervous excitement, The look in his eye - of his heart leaping - was his indictment. It was a near perfect intervention of fate, Bringing them together again, worse never than late, But he was not the same that day, Not in the same way, And with little extra bond-guilding, Our would be Romeo, left the building.
Yep. We are all poets at heart, and we should all have the opportunity to display our inner talents. RobSpur must be applauded for sharing his delightful prose with us. What is the LYT?
The LYT is the Lebwoskis Young Team. We run Glasgow's underworld, have moved our Nigelshire Ops to London, and our Global Expansion and Arms Trade is now up and running in the Middle East. The LYT Army Council consists of ****** The Dog, The Stodgy Jobbie, and The Man Who Stole Your Heart, Scan. We're notorious for ordering punishment beatings and our signature move is The Gingy Love Tunnel where our victims our splayed on the ground with a gingy bottle shoved up their farter. Paul, Barrie Lochrie, Simon, Allan, and Iain have all received The Gingy Love Tunnel after badmouthing the LYT on GC. Stodgy Jobbie has also ****ed Patience, but it was ok with Iain as it was done 'for a bet'. Looking forward to your poem about us, Ponders. We are thinking of employing you as our wordsmith on our forthcoming mixtape, "The LYT: Love Anthems Volume 1.0"
. I'll get to work after Young Dracula has finished. If you ever want an extra member, I'm your man. Any excuse to hang out with Scan.
I lost you in the breeze. Lost that to the wind. Lost pleasure to the sky. Lost together to the earth. Lost fulfillment to the ocean. Lost comfort, to eternity. Lost joy and despair, discovery and loss to the Gods. Lost the story before it was written. Erased, crossed out, taken. Before it was created. Before it was tasted. A feast, never eaten.
This is still a work in progress as I'm having some trouble with the metre and phrasing. Suggestions Ponders? Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
