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Showing posts with label Sleeping with Nefarious Intent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sleeping with Nefarious Intent. Show all posts

Thought about happiness

I find it increasingly interesting, that at this point in our history our power, technology and ability makes the Greek pantheon look like babes by comparison, and yet our knowledge of happiness is no more than the understanding acquired by Aristotle.

Nocturne

-- From Sleeping with Nefarious Intent

As your nocturnal neighbor,
I slide next to you in Winter,
whispering across your breath,
the South Wind's wildest words.
When dawn warms the
window glass, and
marmalade flame transverse
the ceiling, I carefully
caress your lips with
thinly sliced strawberry,
and mango until you smell
the fresh roast brewing
in the kitchen and are ready to brace
against the cold tile floor
and shower steam.
As you are now,
stretched in graceful
recline, I see illusion,
projected on the silk
of your skin by
my mind; a rendering
in my image.
I stare to
burn my eyes,
to go blind,
so I can see your-self,
not my after-image.
My what-you-ought-to-be's
are tangled in your hair,
my wishes constrict your hips
bruising what is you.
It is difficult
to see with eyes
unclouded by wish
and ought-to's.
Hard to recognize illusion;
to realize that while I smell
your perfume, and feel the
heart beat of your thigh
What I feel, is not
what I see.
Precious enough are the moments,
that you are you;
precious enough to
sear my eyes,
so to experience each hair
and lash through the
boiling steam, and notice that
Winter has turned to Spring.

Lunacy

from Sleeping with Nefarious Intent

With the eddy motion
of autumnal fog -- hushed
as last breath around
the shanks of men -- the
Moon strolls to her apex;
planets are  her path stones.
Her lunette breasts sheathed
in the fabric of lithium clouds,
keened sheer by the West wind,
distract even far flown storm.
Her youth is vibrant;
Kev blue eyes, promethium
skin. Her passage silent;
latria songs marquertied in the
mercerized gown across her thighs.
The radiant goddess of the manes,
and mercurial denizens; who shift
through islands of amber light
and shadows bloated with night;
the hiemal ecosystem of the
streets below.
Those whose lives are ruled by tides,
respect her budding aspect, aware
that these maturing eyes remember
the snarled hours of her crone,
and the ensanguine gown
sometimes worn on nights she
is in bloom; hungry.

Even in her darkest age -- her petals flint,
her brilliance burned -- she entices
latent swells to rise and churn.
Men and women of the tides and sea
have heard the whales sing to
her noir-waters above, twining
the celestial to earth with
bind-song harmonies of worship
and love.
Those of lupine nature are more repine,
knowing all of her aspects are heady and
sublime. The call and howl from deep
wood and vale, for the West wind to
bring her full cloak and hood, to cover
her lunar light and its silver urn, before
the world is warped by the
effusion vapors of quicksilver burn.

It is going to get Fakey this Year

This is a quote I found, I want to do some verification:  " On 7/31/2019 Trump has private meeting with Putin. On 8/3/2019, just three ...