An obstacle, that came between
Him, and ourselves, and it.
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Leah Sublime,
Goddess above me!
Now that I have cooled to you
Let there be gold of tarnished masonry,
Well Sir, 'tis granted, I said Dryden's Rhimes,
Were stoln, unequal, nay dull many times:
Come to Sunny Prestatyn
Laughed the girl on the poster,
Cass was the youngest and most beautiful of 5 sisters. Cass was the most beautiful girl
in town. 1/2 Indian with a supple and strange body, a snake-like and fi
Carefully she opened her tunic with one hand and offered me her warm soft breasts as
George was lying in his trailer, flat on his back, watching a small portable T.V. His
dinner dishes were undone, his breakfast dishe
Look where we worship. We all live in the city.
The city forms- often physically, but inevitably
Real as a dream
What shall I do with this great opportunity to fly?
Snakeskin jacket
Indian eyes
But the artist sat the nude model on the table and moved her legs apart. The girl hardly resisted and merely covered her face with her hands.
Amonova and St
So much forgotten already
So much forgotten
A tearful tincture washes
Cabbage-green skies;
[Rochester had to flee the court for several months
after handing this to the King by mistake.]
And Something white and wavy
Was standing near me in the gloom
Alas! if I think of her, my throat becomes dry, my hand falls back, my breasts harden and
O my lover! I'm the parched earth awaiting a union with you
O my lover! Take me in your arms and let our breasts meet each other
by God, I don't know what to
do.
Love again: wanking at ten past three
(Surely he's taken her home by now?),
I cannot change, as others do, Though you unjustly scorn;
august 1968
e.cleveland ohio
Between your sheets you soundly sleep
Nor dreams of vigils that we lovers keep
Why am I so frightened
To say I'm me
The Sun revolving on his axis turns,
And with creative fire intensely burns;
Jehovah buried,Satan dead,
do fearers worship Much and Quick;
or return my napkin, whose value
doesn’t disturb me, truly,
But oh, I suppose she was ugly; she wasn't elegant; I hadn't yearned for her often in my prayers.
by Ovid
85 lines, 1 comment
A spot of poontang on a five-foot piece,
Diminutive, but room enough . . like clay
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