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Monday, October 17, 2005
when nights are quiet but not peaceful
and sunrises hurt your eyes
the promise of a better tomorrow
is another lie...
for every tear that falls, pounds
it reverberates without any sound
no one to hear, no witness
they fall in vain...
the womb feels empty
eventhough there's life.
Posted at 03:32 am by bohemian spirit
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Wednesday, August 24, 2005
A yellow candle is lit every night
I watch her from above
as her lips slowly move
and her eyes shutter close.
Her innocense fills the room,
there is warmth.
Your heart slows down,
embraced by the life of her presence.
She whispers to the wind,
asking that her message will be relayed,
that her silent plea will be heard.
I wonder what her prayer is...
What does her heart desire?
Tears that look like diamonds,
droplets of hope or despair?
I want to know her secret,
as she looks up to the heavens.
Her soul is talking to angels
and she breaks into a sweet smile.
She opens her eyes,
she stares...
Her soft eyes gazing pass the
glowing flame between us.
Why is she familiar?
I look at the yellow candle,
the fire is consuming the wick
and with one slow blow
I put it off.
Posted at 02:34 am by bohemian spirit
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Thursday, May 26, 2005
Note: Erotic Poems Compilation
Style of the new moon
stirrings of new love,
scratches of nails scarring my firm breasts.
At times I eye them
at times I yield,
as poor hands cover
treasure dear as life.
Again
I knew the act of love.
The joys of dalliance,
fill my thoughts
wrapping me around with
shudderings of delight.
Safe from the eyes of vicious friends,
I hold a gem as mirror to my face.
I lower my brow that none can see
and then with tender care
I study the love bites of my lower lip.
Posted at 02:36 am by bohemian spirit
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Tuesday, March 23, 2004
Note: Erotic Poems Compilation
Return often and take me,
beloved sensation,
return and take me
when the memory of the body awakens,
and old desire again runs through the blood;
when the lips and the skin remember,
and the hands feel as if they touch again.
Return often and take me at night,
when the lips and the skin remember...
Posted at 07:11 pm by bohemian spirit
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lapsus calumni
sub rosa
Trust me
It's Paradise
This is where the hungry come to feed
For mine is a generation that circles the globe
in search of something we haven't tried before
so never refuse an invitation
never resist the unfamiliar
never fail to be polite
and never outstay your welcome
just keep your mind open and
suck in the experience
and if it hurts
you know what... it's probably worth it
you hope, and you dream
but you never believe that
something is going to happen for you
not like it does in the movies
and when it actually does
you expect it to feel different
more visirale
more real
i was waiting for it to hit me
i still believe in paradise
but now at least i know it's not some place you can look for
cause it's not where you go
it's how you feel for a moment in your life
and if you find that moment it lasts forever
odi et amo, quare id facere
forasse requiris...
nescio, sed fieri sentio
et excrucior
Tiny Dancer
Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand
Jesus freaks out in the street
Handing tickets out for God
Turning back she just laughs
The boulevard is not that bad
Piano man he makes his stand
In the auditorium
Looking on she sings the songs
The words she knows the tune she hums
But oh how it feels so real
Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can hear me
When I say softly slowly
Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today
Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand
There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart's desire. The other is to gain it.
George Bernard Shaw
Love's secret verily no one man knows,
Though each in lore of loving deem his wise;
Love's like a meadow all aflower with spring,
But in the shadow autumn waiting lies,
And the wise bird is half afraid to sing
A vanished song unto a vanished rose.
HAFIZ, a power strange to touch the heart
Of late hath stolen subtly in thy song,
Though thy firm reed unwonted pathos blows;
Her praise it is, and no new touch of art,
That gives this grace of tears unto thy song.
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