!!¡¡!!¡¡!!¡¡!!¡¡!!



C'mon baby, don't be shy!
Oh, how fast the time goes by!
Don't come up for air to even sigh!
Don't argue it, don't question why
It feels good, and that's no lie!
We feel like our hearts can fly!
I'm your girl, and you're my guy
The passion's there, my oh MY!
We're so lit up we could cry!
Together we could touch the SKY!
Yeah, kissing is a contact high!


Watch those hands tho...
don't you TRY... O:-)


SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/5/2015

Baggage within
      trappings of illusions,
love packed away
  in neat little compartments
gathering cobwebs at
     makeshift improvisations,
dusting intermittently
      if by chance a light
           should shine,
never wholly untangling
    the snare
mid a labyrinth of
      transparent entrapment,  
as violin strings continue
      to unlatch the same old key

She is a mass of contradictions,
smooth curves and sharp tongue,
soft skin and hard thoughts,
happy mouth and sad eyes.
An alluring curiousity,
she travels with the freak show;
under constant scrutiny.
Beauty struggles under
harsh lighting,
grotesque truth
brought to the fore.
Free within a cage
To which you hold the key.
Redundant wings now used
To cover her face.

I’m what they call a,
“Functional.”
I still shave
And later scratch the burn atop
My, “apple.”

I’m what they call a,
“Functional.”
I wake up. I go to work.
I hate copy-machine jams.
And I hate my boss.

I’m what they call a,
“Functional.”
In China, poets often drink.
I drink,
Therefore I’m in China.

I’m what they call a,
“Functional.”
Which doesn’t excuse,
It creates my, “excuse,”
At the least, to wander.

And I’m what they call a,
“Functional.”
If I weren’t, I’d never sleep;
I’d never live, never dream,
And’d never know you.

You may say the shame is mine,
But I wear it with a pride you can't imagine,
And my head will never be bowed.