She walks by wearing blue stockings in the rainy afternoon
Her youth is like a tender dream
She wears a pair of adolescent stars from her ears
All her boyfriends, when they speak, sound like cool rivers
In the sky-blue of the day
She smiles
The way lilac bushes crush petals into joy

Spend time with me sister! The sister I know I don’t have, a confusing passenger in my mind, that continues to bleed upon the apple-peels in my daydreams, where has your real reason for being envisioned burrowed? Is it not beneath the coal-white heated sands of my misbehavior? Or in the convenient pleasures of misjudgment. Either way your whisper wasn’t loud enough for my distracted eyes, those mobile shells recording the affairs of a race in which I am far behind, far too interested in spying on the obvious I often rest.

It began somewhere in the distance, amidst the hidden clamor of those already engaged in ****** flight! Some fair-skinned legs in night-drapery began to slowly spread open for us, encouraging my thoughts with softly white-winged smiles, flying out from under the treasured curves of playful thighs.

I took heed with not as much ease as one might speed…

I began to recall what I had first seen, after taking a seat in the back of this local coffeehouse. Musing in the corner, I watched in secrecy as the female fruit peeled off the liquid layers of skin, of which mother nature never intended for her to wear. Yes, she had disobeyed with religious fervor in choosing her own clothes!

Fierce whips of love light
Dance in front of my eyes
Opera of our souls
Slow majesty curtain of the ******
Can never bleed and stain our pure hearts

We approach people admiring sunsets
Ignorant of their beings
We love them like statues moving
Slow, physical, vivid bodies

What am I?
But a wounded storm
Slow, cold winds of apathy
Yet, I boast in having the heart of an eagle
Running through America’s screaming woods of our time

Her nail polish sparks
She’s dripping makeup tonight
Slow kiss conducting

A hunger for each other in the sweet winds
often blows a feather-blade against the skin
While glances shine off our bodies like
soft whips in the heart of sin

I love your licentious mouth
in waves of honesty spilling diamonds
An open language without shame
While embarrassing truths bleed out the games:

False arena in which we prey
upon another’s confusion, confusing the sane and
insane jewel of our wonder?

Dream unions celebrate
Fantastic communion for a
Strange orbital beauty
Which punctures the stitch
Of familiar reality and fortifies
Faith in the unknown

Pink walls outline the hormonal oceans
To peel back the secrets of wet
flesh against swimming pool corners
through waves of swelling libido
that crack the senses against the reefs of water-love

Golden and ****
Now it’s your leopard smile
Their velvet evening

© Matthew Goff

Pink walls outline the hormonal oceans
To peel back the secrets of wet
flesh against swimming pool corners
through waves of swelling libido
that crack the senses against the reefs of water-love

I have given my senses full range along the ****** planes…

I am the prince of voyeurs, who favors an elegant hand
with female grace on my favorite space of sacred fingers
that come down with soft, sliding strokes on the phallus of day
******* sacred fluid, that spells out and signs
invitations on the silk sheets of evening
anxious to fold itself into letters of perfumed language
which absorb the night of its juices
leaving an imagination soaking wet

Inside the day, convulsions sweep me within the circular tide, whose currents endlessly root themselves along the shores of disappointing sentiments. Abandoning a singular precision, in using reverie with a blade to carve out the jewels with splendid contour, fashioned after the exquisite role of the past, I have failed to attract the elegant throats around which I stalk the beautiful endlessly.

Above all let’s escort desire into loving waters
Our prayers will suffice among the waves
Celebrating in kisses our gentle revolt
Putting faith in the tides and our wet embrace

Liquid churches you might say
float along the ocean
We who throw parties in the sea-spray
are known for our fluid devotion

While on a beach, when she kissed me with the urgency of a sensitive poison, I could not help but scatter across the shore-lengths, the households of my heart, allowing room only for the remedy, I looked beyond her and forgot to make room for her smile, that went unnoticed fading as a shadow on my face.

Fierce whips of love light
Dance in front of my eyes
Opera of our souls
Slow majesty curtain of the ******
Can never bleed and stain our pure hearts

We approach people admiring sunsets
Ignorant of their beings
We love them like statues moving
Slow, physical, vivid bodies

What am I?
But a wounded storm
Slow, cold winds of apathy
Yet, I boast in having the heart of an eagle
Running through America’s screaming woods of our time

I need to turn these days
into attractive dust
moments left abandoning
a selfish recreation
of secrets employing
their own role in
a landscape of desperate longing

like an angel whose inconsistent stability
will disappoint the
courts of categorical righteousness
tossing into the wind of verdicts
a rebel leaf that will
someday find its way
into the bedrooms of anxious jurors
showing once and for all
the impermanence of contentment

Secret worship in the eyelashes

My rebel heart style is with her
Like the rings that hug her pale-white modern fingers
She speaks an independent light-blue flare
A caring intelligence with personality rare

Her black sweater rip and so her smooth shoulders slip
Into the air where my senses flip
A design for soft plans on her neck
And soon levitate toward my favorite lips

let’s imagine summer girls in golden clothes
o how many of them dressed up like soft fires!
Black streets will melt under a trace of warm steps
While passersby offer sun-buttons and light-drenched smiles

Today, in lovely flames, many females now flooded
Celebrating in slow strides, the yellow-dances
Wandering aimlessly with wild winds in their hair,
A choir of sunbeams off their tongues flash the air
While, singing they begin a most tranquil street-fair

She wears a crown of raindrops
Beautiful sad
Rebellion tragedy
Pretty moon shines young moonlight
Desperate dreaming

Paul and Sara met through autumn winds
Society stabbing
Kissing while exploding romantic goals
Sailing through parental wishes toward better shores

© Matthew Goff

Seated at the back and black corner of a bar, small flickerings of red glass-light contain themselves within translucent shells of volcano candles. They are too passive a gang on dark tables contemplating my boredom. They serve our temporary needs to visualize at night.so many of us take their quiet radiance for granted. I wonder about my evenings and the continual secrecy that adorns them. I can only guess that they might match other people’s time spent wishing privately.

I could appreciate her today. I had been watching those golden gestures compliment the frame of elegant houses. And for moments alone on a reflective sidewalk, I had forgotten what my face looked like. Yes, she was a whistler of pastel importance. A type of language only significant when the island pores of sensitive humans bleed open shamelessly and without counsel for their tears. The afternoons have a style all to their own, and I remember glass.

There are certain flowers
Pretty exquisite by your house
In your garden
Moonlight flowers
Lift their dancing slippers
Up from the soil
And like satin brushes
In these dazzled hours
Slowly paint your name in silver
Across tonight’s
Black and star-studded blouse

let’s imagine summer girls in golden clothes
o how many of them dressed up like soft fires!
Black streets will melt under a trace of warm steps
While passersby offer sun-buttons and light-drenched smiles

Today, in lovely flames, many females now flooded
Celebrating in slow strides, the yellow-dances
Wandering aimlessly with wild winds in their hair,
A choir of sunbeams off their tongues flash the air
While, singing they begin a most tranquil street-fair

Like a dark-blue angel I walk these streets asleep
Spilling water-thoughts for my sky-blue girlfriend
And with much ease splashing about a serious desire
To express the fluidity in my style of loving her

With her pale-white precious face of a place
Upon that space the moon introduced a sister-image
And in winter’s name with delicate snow-like fame
Dressed my lover’s hands in white cotton gloves

I, a lover obsessed, tonight again despise
Need I endure a thousand deaths each time?
I know my pain is well deserved and
Like blades tie down an equal right
To balance this heart against this life

*** lights up an empty mind but
Unlike mine enslaves equal time

Naked actress are you from my tribe?
Company of lovers cast aside for
Spilling sensual rhythms in their strides

The ****** heart plays a part divine
Although confusion sleeps in the sublime
****** spent too many different times

Our bodies enslaved under this disguise
Longing for someone else’s touch tonight
Misunderstanding in pursuit of empty skies
Oh *** instead of leaving you behind
Color my thoughts with rainbow light

© Matthew Goff

To pursue an unnatural passion
more sacred to me than any other life lived
Is an adventure
Hung over the palace of desire like a dancer
Head thrown back
Like the slow flash of a jewel
Her limber body bent
Her waist hugged by voluptuous shadows
She almost dangles
Like *** the play of kittens clawing invisible velvet lovers
With one arm raised
Held within a hand of indifference to everything else
That which she imagines for herself and her beloved

It is simply now a choice to feel naked. She feels it’s appropriate now to undress for the public which will soon follow her lead. Into the night, they will tear apart the conventional moral creed with ritual dance steps resembling tiger speeds!

Nocturnal tides are with her
A surfer at night
She surfs the waves
Through glitter too
She belongs with the ocean
And gives salt water kisses

To pursue an unnatural passion
more sacred to me than any other life lived
Is an adventure
Hung over the palace of desire like a dancer
Head thrown back
Like the slow flash of a jewel
Her limber body bent
Her waist hugged by voluptuous shadows
She almost dangles
Like *** the play of kittens clawing invisible velvet lovers
With one arm raised
Held within a hand of indifference to everything else
That which she imagines for herself and her beloved

Are you anxious, my dear evening? Are you not my closest friend? (Where is your cousin, my memory?) Can you not wait until that one afternoon, when we will pounce upon the horizon, like cats in heat, and tear the sun apart limb from limb? We will leave its sensitive shine to sweat upon pathetic days no more! Yes, the evening is a villain I’m proud to call my friend. Her ways allow much more room in the playground for mischievous  lovers, than those dull afternoons spent thinking about breathing. Where is your cousin, my memory? She has served a type of convulsively appreciative use for my feelings and continues to parade around my daydream swing set. Nonetheless, she has always remained a spectral participant in my life, pregnant with regret, and punctures my comfortableness with the sweetest of stings, leaving a taste with me she knows I’ll never forget.

What is there to know?
America
As well as other lands
Other than the strength of an eagle
To endure
And celebrate in flight
All the world’s obstacles radiant in our eyes

To adopt ourselves
Those rough carvings through the air
But take for our integrity
The grace in the leopard’s stride

While all the while
Sink our velvet fangs
Into the feast of happiness

Nothing short of emphasizing jewels and love!
Every day the parade of all things wonderful

While on a beach where
An elegant tribe of
Young ladies in tight
Lime-green dresses radiant dared
Bent over to kiss
And so destroyed a sandcastle hallucinated there!

I know of pink corners in the mind: Forest of sweet perfumes, whose travelers lend a hand to the ******* of sunset and its nervous mapping of amateur stars. There is a moment’s history in the certainty of salivating worlds: An odyssey for lovers who play cards at night and whose ideas for strategic foreplay are used like stilts. Hovering over a table, soaked with invisible juices, they are found flirting with each other’s secret personalities—heirs to the hormonal vibration of wet thoughts.

Her waist hugged by voluptuous shadows

Orange afternoon
She is dancing through the leaves
The autumn dances

I know of pink corners in the mind: Forest of sweet perfumes, whose travelers lend a hand to the ******* of sunset and its nervous mapping of amateur stars. There is a moment’s history in the certainty of salivating worlds: An odyssey for lovers who play cards at night and whose ideas for strategic foreplay are used like stilts. Hovering over a table, soaked with invisible juices, they are found flirting with each other’s secret personalities—heirs to the hormonal vibration of wet thoughts.

Let beauty influence the architecture of thought

Nocturnal bride yours
Look she wears stars from her ears
She hands out flowers

O pure Sagittarius in light-blue dressed
Your outfit hugs kindly those delicate *******:
water-flowers the moon sprinkled down on your chest
On a sky-pillow your neck how gently it rests

Cloud of porcelain-white asleep in your perfume
The life you breathe into it a slumberous tune
Disrupts a cluster of stars happily may they resume
a ring of memories alive and with us soon

She still speaks to me in ways familiar but with her glance sends over the light weapon of our memory in love. There are many sparklings in my head which have for themselves one name and her special touch alone. The movement in our kissing slides a satin wave from our lips. Oh sacred style of missing her lowers my palm collecting icicle-heart drips.

Feather-weight kisses he always misses with equally soft wishes for them it’s not fictitious.

As I lay back against her chest
Her arms around me hug the rest
Like bedside angels do their best
To calm the winds now laid to rest.

I breathe her in soft landscapes of airy music. To embrace her is to step into a castle made of blue fireworks. The scent of her neck sends me falling into the sea of lovely intoxicants. Her face is my favorite place to gaze at. She is the spectacle of any simple space.

The moments are lovely here as I approach her awaiting smile, glistening from just having said everything in blissful glances.

I rise again
From rough American ashes of the past
Like a dark brown eagle
With eyes full of his loving blonde girlfriend
I strike slowly
Gathering the momentum of love
Through the satin country of my fantasies
Do I strike with new care?
Or finally slow explosion sparks illuminate the air
Lanterns of disgust
I whisper darts into them
And swing from wild branches into the cities
I pass by with ruby eyes
And smile at soon to be saturated citizens
The crowds sparkle because they’re in love with
Something before I got there
I’m lighting matches everywhere
Trying to start bonfires of awareness
And fierce love inspiration
While pointing out the most tender stars

Our country alive with tiger eyes
And swift yet sometimes slow
Gorgeous human behavior

Herself

Every night I lay into a pink sleep, which is the secrecy of her arm’s love for me. There is a solace for me in her eyes… if only I could live in their reflections forever! A landscape of exploding glass-works, that trickle wet stories down her beloved face. Into my dreams, they will fire an inscription of dazzling intimacies, in soft-blue storms of light. I want to run away with her down private roads, that glisten with the unrest of heartbeats.

© Matthew Goff

I need to turn these days
into attractive dust
moments left abandoning
a selfish recreation
of secrets employing
their own role in
a landscape of desperate longing

like an angel whose inconsistent stability
will disappoint the
courts of categorical righteousness
tossing into the wind of verdicts
a rebel leaf that will
someday find its way
into the bedrooms of anxious jurors
showing once and for all
the impermanence of contentment

Secret worship in the eyelashes
Empty mirrors those eyes?
Or are they full of beauty and personal religion?
A heart that beats fast religion for the visual
Slow explosion
Glamour rain
Falls with the radiance of jewels
Upon the eyes
The satin of sparks
And I worship with **** breathing
A soft devotion like this can distance the heart
But one’s beauty is one’s happiness and excitement
An excitement competing with the world
A world where few things dazzle us
And inspire us to push our appetites into
The velvet arms of dawn
Or maybe that’s just the opinion of our
Worshipper of wet skies

California lights
Shining strange on the boardwalk
Blowing bizarre kiss

Train tracks there for crossing
Train tracks I always imagine the danger
Train tracks crossing with flip-flops summer cute
Train tracks rust and memory
©

My rebel heart style is with her
Like the rings that hug her pale-white modern fingers
She speaks an independent light-blue flare
A caring intelligence with personality rare

Her black sweater rip and so her smooth shoulders slip
Into the air where my senses flip
A design for soft plans on her neck
And soon levitate toward my favorite lips

Satin explosion
Girlfriend feel the fireworks
Hug like dynamite

Yes, she was a whistler of pastel importance.