SuZy'S pLaCe!!! (CoNt.)

Poetic representations. Eyes like oracles of truth; Blood like tears of rusted sorrow. But you who are you, Not like uneasy dusky day break, but omniscient light. You who are you, Not as a figure of love, but love. Metaphoric collage of redundant modernized nostalgia. Infinite body of words, Not of flesh, but passion; Not of body, but soulful flesh. You who are you, My poetry, my truth. You who are you, My light, my soul, my body, my passion. You who are you are my creation.

I want to make love again, Pulling you in, me wanting more, you wanting me. Simplicity, complexity, passion- Held in between our bodies; our minds. Persuading, provoking, requiring an awakening, As we entangle fulfillment, untangle confusion. In        they are ours. Out      we release. In        they are safe. Out---------------------------------------------- Loosening our thoughts, tightening our grasp. Overfed we still crave to be art, Starving our bodies, so our souls connect. So make me, mold me, love me, As you do your objects; Pictures of making love real, so I feel it. Enter my mind slowly with desire, tempt me. I want what you see. You see what you want and take. Run your thoughts over      and over        and over. I'll tell you when. Wanting the now and ever, Where sounds you make sensual, trill Off tongues into free darkness, First onto the silence of body, Then above me, attached to my spirit. Penetrating fear, doubt                                        solitude. Deep until we both reach exhaustion, But wanting more, we continue stimulation. Beyond where tongues no longer speak, but feel And making love to you is poetry. Unsatisfied by one night of passion, Energized by a life's addiction to words And the struggle to find you, Amongst all others, After you have gone.

The Affair An Erotic Monologue-s.s.

The Poem and the Poet-s.s.

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Somewhere I have never traveled, Gladly beyond any experience, Your eyes have their silence:  Something in me understands The voice of your eyes is deeper than all. ~~~E.E. Cummings

TOUCH- s.s.

Moments after I wonder what it is to be touched- To be touched and so secure To be untouched, an assumed security of moral obligation In thought, in feeling, in understanding; But a touch beyond physical becomes inspiration. The inexplicable, silent desire- The sensation unknown, smooth, then rough- The source, a plush junction of soft, sensitive lips. I grab hold, yet resist As you pounce upon me as a playful pride. It is hardly innocent to be this pure As the pure mind toys with impurity. But to claim a touch, to evolve, to grow, Is purest in its selfish interest So I grow from you, I suffocate myself in your memory A pleasurable death I grasp at what was ours In vain, to please myself once more And I leave you touched by my inspiration.

At the Touch of Love, Everyone Becomes a Poet ~Plato

From, MANAHATTA-WALT WHITMAN I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Where upon, Lo! Upsprang the aboriginal name... High growths of iron...Uprising towards clear skies... City nested in bays-MY CITY!