Poetry By
Puzhudhi
Published on: 1/20/2015
bus(t)y babe
she, a shirt with a stoned turtle, with her nips slightly poking, me, blue long sleeves, gnarly elbows hidden, her eyes on me, my hands draping her, that was her display pic. Center frame, both of us, smiling, the Berlin wall behind us, graffiti strewn, also smiling. Replacing that shot, of pre-coital tension, dynamic bliss, yin yang partition, young stability, was one of her feet, ugly protruding veins thanks to restrictive heels (she never liked them before) before a night out to the local bar, no doubt. A business suit, behind my barely clad babe, black and invisible (almost) in the poorly lit bar, unlike his face, stretchy and smiley as is hers. Is that his palm? See? On her hip, brushing her (almost?) inflated chest, (her dilated pupils! look!) I dial her fast, ring-ring no picking once again (I'm breathing loud now) 'The recipient is currently busy.' My bus(t)y babe's receiving yet not receiving, she's busy being a receptacle, a repository of I know what.
Published on: 1/17/2015
Promegranate
Raunchy prom gone wrong. Stealthy meet with sly doctor, then gone, baby's gone.
Published on: 1/16/2015
My evening with Engels.
He scratched and pined, as we watched together. The Red spread consuming all sorts of clouds cirrus, cumulus, nebulous ... and then the sun set leaving us to sit in the dark. His face was moist and I left when insects surrounded him.
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