Hee Yer!

Baby ni crazy lah!

Memang crazy!

Memang tak habis habis over the top can't stop till the clock bops the scooby do bee plop... too hot to crop the top the tip the tone giving me blip blip blip the pulse and the pound... the thumping sound of heart holy whole...

"The true quintessential exotic flavour of hot and spicy" - Sharron

 

Thats right.. you got it.. Yin and Yang.

 

All natural and all yours baby!

 

Goddess; Terrorist

My blood is overboiled.

I’ve wanted to fuck you for months.

You.

You goddess.

You, woman of my haemoglobin.

The woman who lives in my frozen gazes

I am so taken.

Absorbed by you.

When you walk by like a dancing Medusa.

Keeping me captive in my own body.

I am turned to stony silence.

I have wanted to kiss you.

And taste your tongue on my breath.

And I can’t move.

My cock is rigid like a judges gavel.

Oh goddess.

Release me.

I see you in every upturned smile.

I feel you as warm winds graze through my shirt.

And caresses my body like a lover’s exhale.

Leave me alone oh goddess.

You with your spells.

Your potions.

Your lotions between a woman’s loins.

How you seep weep wild make my untamed eyes wander all over a girl’s body.

I am hungry for you dearest goddess.

Feed me!

You scream.

I say, I’m trying oh beautiful gorgeous loving lusty drumming dramatic Dulcinea.

But how can I trust you?

You don’t even tell me your name.


And when I speak of you… your children disown me.

Call me names.

Wound me.

Knife me.

Scar me.

Scold and slap me.

As if I’d promised to hurt them to disrobe and disbar and shame them

And what am I doing?

Do they know what I’m doing?

How I feel?

It is I who is humbled

Hushed

Stupid

Dumbed at their feet.

And buried in their breasts

And finally breaking down.

Almost wailing.

Inhaling.

Exhaling.

Clinging so hard.

Like a teary babe.

I am nothing without your affection

that

you carelessly toss my way.

Scraps, morsels, from the heavens.

And in my scrambling desperate days and nights… I hang on every strangers desires.

Hoping to worship at your temple

My darling Goddess.

The creator of a luscious love so haunting possessive inescapable inevitable

That I will return to you.

In showers

In spurts

In sprints

In solitude

In rooms

In beds

In bathrooms

Behind curtains

Under stairs

Over thresholds

After midnight

Before sunrise

And when you greet me.

I shiver

I shudder

And I am reminded that I am nothing without your embrace.

Take a look at my aching heart O goddess

My wet small face.

And tell me you love me too

With you and without you

I am your poor servant.

And serve you

As surely

As a desperate lover seeks your pleasure.

And you leave me gasping for breath.

From my first yelling scream

To my last exhale.

My final death.


All as time crawls

Like a snail in the sun.

Drying

Ever

Drying.

Leaving you my dusty remains.

A stain on sheets.

A whiff in the breeze.

Because of you O goddess I am here.

And because of you.

All this lusty life is explosion eruption and then all gone.

corriander chili garlic pomfret

turqoise coloured rooftops

powdered with

that wild wash

of bubble white

and

under

this liquid horizon

the

crazed

swishing zoom

and

then

fresh netted

they land

banging

and applauding

the boat decks

and now

sauteed

with

pungent

garlic

and

sweet

onions

and

dusty

corriander

and

liquid

red

chili

all

simmering

stirred

merged

hinting

of thyme


and

now

wafting

with

spice
and caramelized

dimpling

a fragrant hillock of steamed rice

ode to my shoulder

For waving

for turning

for sweeping

and
twisting

and
pushing

pulling

lifting

for
tapping

for all

that free men

have never truly

acutely

praised your name

your name

that

elavates

our good cheer in a raised palms or fists

in an upburst sweep to the heavens high

your name

that humble

quiet

fragile

enclave

that

subtle

niche

where

blood

mesh

merge

with

bone

and

burning

wants

and needs all meet

where

hands

and

arms

and

wrists

rely

so that we quietly perch

in thought

to silently smile

or artlessly cry

you keep us

to our

every

everyday

needs

and we concede

we miss you

we ache over
losing

your

humble

servitude to our desires

only

when we are torn from you...

You

are

an act

of creation

so

delicate

and sure

and pure

for all

the years

you endure

our self inflicted toils...

you are patient with me

when i throw you around

like a rag

or a brutish stone

when you are the secret spot where arms slip comfortably into succulent silky shirts

you are that players joy in seeing flung summer spheres

you are the beginnings of a batters pride and certainty

and when you are gone

all in ache

then

all

i remember

in awe

was your wordless humility

thank you my friend

my companion

till my useful end

who speaks so little

yet comprehends

me for all my

done deeds

understands

that in my

abuses

i hurt myself

and break

this

health

into

morsels

of gratitute

which i must learn again

to enjoy

one movement at a time

one movement at a time

till

everything

is


still


once

more.

Mi Todo Al Final...  

One Armed Non-Bandit...

For the past 21 days,

I have had my arm in a cage.

They call it a sling.

But where my arm resided

was what

wild birds

are put into.

When they should be flying... instead are losing their feathers.

Or even worse,

where they are captivated

until they start to even forget what the sky looks like.

Well this,

was my arm.

I fell

and the shoulder smashed out

into the world

like

an

exclaimation point.

And it took all the kings nurses

and all the kings men

to put

me

back together again.

And now my cage is broken.

My once wild arm no longer wilful.

And it cautiously strains

to peer into the world.


When

once

a time ago

it was peerless.

a sweeping statement...

I'd written a long note to god

about being happy that i wasn't broke

it's funny how something like money

allows you to be comforted

like the comfort

of knowing

you'll

pay

rent

or food

and not be thrown out

to the streets yet another month

living paycheck to paycheck

is it zen to worry about such things?

is it zen to think

"oh no, i'm going to die from loneliness and a bad living environment"

what do zen monks do in squallor?

One thing i think they do is... clean.

They take a broom and sweep.

And as they do, the mind is dusted for cobwebs too.

i need to clean my mind as frequently as i can.