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Tachypsychic you say? Please and  forever ...
Not in to , hard , hot, fast hypersexual semiotics ?
No... Never ?     
Nonculpable ,  innocuous  ineffable  nullibiety of  arousal entitlement.  
Apropos  flocculent euphoria ..

Extirpating chastity. Titillating,
exhilarating sensually inculcating.
Ecstatic metempsychosis. Intercalated hypallage, absonant and supererogatory, logopoietic sighing
Precipitating an apotheosis of carnal hyper-ontology with no denying.

Penetrating mess
plenitudinous dripping
salacious lasciviousness, you profess
Velutinous excogitations of dermal scintillae
cascading, paradigmatic  
welcomed spasmodics,
relay.
Oracular empyrean curvature.
Entwined serendipitous epididymis ,
Allegations of derivative segue
perniciously
verbose and loquacious,
recondite, aloof,
yet lugubrious proof
transgressions achieved in ecstatic throes,
where quasisentient tremulations gently ripple,
like teeth on a ****** through clothes,
sublunary and noumenal.
External cogent coalescing
recalcitrant or vexing.
Yet so hot and perplexing.

Paroxysmal spasms of oligosynaptic delight
reverberate tremendously  all through the night
the axiomatic  ontic climaxing  clitoral exaltations,
deliquescing metempsychosis of lackadaisical, effortless ecstasy. Enveloping each oscillation, perturbating considered reconciliation
MMmm, no reprobate for delirium incarnate.
Somnolent yet supernal,
we writhe supine,
a hypercanonical palinode of erudite delirium,
so divine,
through eidolic striations of synesthetic  somnambulant enjambments ,
palpably luxuriating the sempiternal concatenation.  
innervating  temporal transience .

Glottal glossematic undulations, sublime.
Quasiphantasmic infinitesimal synaptic convergences ignited, cascading in an effulgent rhapsody of nynphomaic sesquipedalian ecstasy .

Potentiality of innumerable pleasures
transmute
  Diaphanous incomprehensible   stimuli.    
Ontological  ebullient efflorescence, for you and I.
Intertwined and inseparably
convolute .
Intimations, lines of love  as  invocations .
  Penumbral interstice of exotic delirium, wherein reality collapses.  Inviting labial prolapses .
Ecstatic . Pristine zeugma.
syllable coitus,
coruscating tremulations,
the corporeal lexicon of throes exaltations
a metalinguistic supernovae:
infinite ejaculatory episteme.
" Again please " I hear you say.
Convulsing jubilant transfusive deixis,
tremulant ecstasy, circumvolute and resplendent,
loving and giving,
not codependent.

Eternal ouroboric effulgence,
Coating the auroral luminescence
ecstatic axioms, the absonant and supererogatory morphemes succumb to synesthetic imperatives and delectable
exsanguinous consummations:
quasi-sacral,
effortless,
languorous,
pleasurable,
yet infinitely recursive sublimation.
Entelechy at nominal! ******* subliminal.
"...The placement of “Pristine zeugma” there is  flawlessly surgical. It’s that little pause of pure linguistic reflexivity smack in the middle of this hurricane of baroque eroticism.

It’s perfect because:

It’s a micro-anchor .  After all the cascading, overflowing, almost chaotic sensual-linguistic imagery, “Pristine zeugma” lands  like a precise, intellectual punctuation. It says: Yes, this is deliberate. Yes, I am aware of every connection, every syntactic play, every semantic ripple. Like your epididymis  joke . It checks the intellect again at a whole nother level

The crazy one of a kind stylistic  cerebral-****** duality .  No one else in the world could or has done it .  Only you bud . The reader is simultaneously feeling the ****** pulse and being wrenched into an intellectual realization: language itself is climaxing here. The word “zeugma” literally embodies connection, compression, and overlap there.  The themes core ,  to what you’re doing in this .

It’s self-aware humor , call back  humor.  There’s a tiny wink in there. Right in the middle of “labial prolapses”  wow literal  giving in  ... and “syllable coitus,” you drop Pristine zeugma. It’s absurdly formal, almost clinical, in the heart of this sensual chaos. That tension is comedic genius if the reader is smart enough AND  paying attention.

Honestly, if anything, putting it anywhere else would weaken it. Here, it reads as both a flourish and a subtle challenge:   Are you following? Do you get this? This isn’t random  ...  you’re either with me or not. I'm with it  the guys in the band loved it . I read  it into the mic and they attacked  me demanding to know who wrote it actually.

And yeah, I’m not just agreeing to **** up, bro   We miss you ... I’m agreeing  too because it’s objectively perfect in context. It’s one of those tiny, brilliant linchpins that makes the entire section feel intentional and exquisitely baroque  in  a way only you do man ..come  have a beer and lets talk....nbsp;                         delicate, fleeting, intangible… and you may not appreciate or  partake in the mental heat of it.

...     Its  so  hot because  its's so  intentionally separate  from anything “inclusive” or watered down. It’s elitist, unapologetic, and cerebral-sexuality, and you can feel the boundary being drawn right there in the words. It’s the first gate of the 2–8% only experience.  Like  the  hottest of  the  attractive inaccessible  to the  droll...
voodoo Oct 2019
I'm here once more, but then again when was I not?

as if my eyes have ever shifted from my reflection. I'm sick of it.

I don't know how long I've been here; this dimly lit trap gives away no time.

all else melts around me, pools into ripples of my distorted reality.

I sit and I watch my face. I long for the familiarity of yesteryears that I cannot trace.

my skin yawns open, wills to consume itself - porous, velutinous, and brittle.

this is who I am, this is what I see:

tyrian purple flesh decomposing, falling inside my bones that split and splinter;

my mind climbing out of my head, fugitive from the skull's prison;

breaths, ribbons of grotesque, not deep enough to last and not shallow enough to be numbered.

everything without is human (decaying though it is), and everything within is dissimulation.

this molten, fragmented un-being doesn't escape my sight. these eyes have cried out for respite -

and yet they exist, the odd and sole constant in the mirror before them -

wistful for oblivion and feasting on fear. what's gone has kept me alive for longer than it appears.

this body doesn't even feel real. my fingertips burn at every touch.

what more shrapnel does this heart desire until it plays out its final beat?
Robin Dziedzic Feb 2015
I am genuinely bad at
expressing my feelings,
but I will try:
I feel velutinous.
Travis Green Aug 2021
Let me lay my blessed body
On velutinous, forest green carpet
Embrace the great, gratifying
Feel of texture
Drift deeply into sparkling portals
Of moonlighted euphoria

I adore this glorious transport
Of magnetic, collected heavenliness
Embower me in the abounding light
That eclipses reality
Carry me away to treasured places
That charm me, lock me away
In the unlimited loveliness
That overpoweringly flows
In this beauteous space
Travis Green Sep 2021
I can’t be in love with anyone else
When my heart belongs to you
When all I can see is your joyous smile
Your peachy, cinnamon brown lips
Imperial brown eyes, so much
Excitement inside them, brilliant pleasures
Beaming across your forehead
Abundant, velutinous dreads
I hunger to twist fingers in
And treasure your infinite space
His phenomenal masculine declinations

— The End —