Sunday, March 23, 2014

My Fav quotes

This week -what a I don't know what. Anyway, here are some of my quotes from this week. Enjoy.

If men(some) have a small penis, then, what does that say about cavernous, trench-like, bottomless-abyss to which the penis can not appease?

I'm not against feminists at all. Give them the world, and let's see how far they get. I'd like to see what would happen.


Yes, I am a bad writer, bad at everything I do. That is why I take off all of my clothes, screaming, raging mad, and thrust right in.


My fav writers are female. Why? They provoke what it means to a man. Male writers too, but they have managed to exorcise their m-hood.


Sadly, I have come to find my favorite authors stroke their egos, auto-erotically, while fingering words from their dictionaries.


Joyce Carol Oates Your messages come off like a dry-humping pedantic dung beetle, defecating piles of decayed verbage. Unlike your Novels(?).<3


If we only write for ourselves, then what good is an audience? fans? readers? friends?....................lovers? for others, I express.


No teacher do I have. But, I would rather be a good writer than to have all the money in the world. I miss Plath.


Irony: Stars immortalized forever; Modern writers die and placed upon dusty forgotten shelves. (That is enough to make me cry.)


Sure, I am a man and think with my penis. Why? Your perception of me would allow for nothing else. And I, thought you the world.


Yes, I remembered when you died. Stabbed me the heart, and wrote my name in the book of death next to your bed.


There is no such thing as right or wrong. Ideologies abound like flavored trends of the week.


In a world dominated by egos, never expect to succeed through your ego alone.


False associations on social networks never leads to money, status, or fame. Anyone can deceive through numbers.


People only Love you when it is convenient for them to do so.


It is better to tell others what you have done, as opposed to what you will do.


Demonstrate. Do not explicate. 


It is said people only want: romance, fantasy, and avoid truth. But really, what is the difference between the three? There is none. 


All humans are Vampyric to some degree -with, or without blood.







Thursday, March 20, 2014

Pablo Neruda - Soneto XVII

What a Masterful Poem. I had never heard of Pablo Neruda until I have started studying Mexican and Spanish Language. When I read this, and read more about him, I could only think of the beauty, the tragedy, and the Gothic Romance that his work exudes.

The source I used: http://www.lovefatedestiny.com/spanishlovepoems2.htm


No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio 
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego: 
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, 
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.
Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva 
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores, 
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo 
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.
Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde, 
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo: 
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,
sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres, 
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía, 
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.

Rough English Translation:

Do not love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz 
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: 
I love you as certain dark things are loved, 
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that does not bloom and carries 
within himself, hidden, the light of those flowers, 
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body 
the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, 
I love you directly without problems or pride: 
I love you and because I do not know love otherwise
well but this way I am not, nor you, 
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, 
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Goethe-Gedichte

Found this German Love Poem, and wanted to share it here. The source I found it at is provided here. I feel that it speaks to the sincerity of Gothic Romance and the setting of the feeling it embraces.





Nähe des Geliebten

Nearness of the
Beloved One
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Translation by Hyde Flippo


Ich denke dein,
    wenn mir der Sonne schimmer

I think of you,
    when I see the sun's shimmer
Vom Meere strahlt;
Gleaming from the sea.

Ich denke dein,
    wenn sich des Mondes Flimmer

I think of you,
    when the moon's glimmer
In Quellen malt.
Is reflected in the springs.



Ich sehe dich,
    wenn auf dem fernen Wege

I see you,
    when on the distant road
Der Staub sich hebt,
The dust rises,

In tiefer Nacht,
    wenn auf dem schmalen Stege

In deep night,
    when on the narrow bridge
Der Wandrer bebt.
The traveler trembles.



Ich höre dich,
    wenn dort mit dumpfem Rauschen

I hear you,
    when with a dull roar
Die Welle steigt.
The wave surges.
Im stillen Haine geh' ich oft zu lauschen,
In the quiet grove I often go to listen
Wenn alles schweigt.
When all is silent.



Ich bin bei dir,
    du seist auch noch so ferne,

I am with you,
    however far away you may be,
Du bist mir nah!
You are next to me!

Die Sonne sinkt,
    bald leuchten mir die Sterne.

The sun is setting,
    soon the stars will shine upon me.
O wärst du da!
If only you were here!


J.W. von Goethe


From the German

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Dancing Death

Dancing Death
A movement of still motion
And the eye of the sleeper
We know not this dream

Until we dream
The moving ocean
Distortions, undulations
Can you hear the song
Do you sing this song
Are you the death that dances

It seems all a fin de siecle
Trapped by plays of chiaroscuro
Temporal and spatial
The agony and ecstasy
Locked in battle
Light, Darkness, Hue, Form, Absence

Dancing Death
Wind upon a still repose
A body empty and filled with not

Time, space
Bent and destroyed by nothing
Atoms, flesh, dirt
Other creatures invest themselves
We never know them like they know us
There is no meaning in what does not exist

The maestro, the composition, the orchestra
Stars, already dead, decorate the sky
But only within the skull of oracular vessel we see
And when that light dims, light enters a hollow, degrading

The Last Bones, the Last Gods, all dead
The ocean is filled with bodies
They become the primordial stew of sup
A new Genesis of death Beings
Living in procrastination of our design
Slowly, disintegrating
From when we came
Returning to the nothing

A scarab rolls forever as an exit of past things

For all the Light you will ever see in this Life
Is through eyes always dying
And in Death, Light but no vision

Dancing Death

T'was what we always were

Friday, March 14, 2014

I, thee crazy, love you

So, I read a article tonight - (Drake, it said 20,000 alright- not enough)> I try to appease my Goth Body, sometime I feel it not enough. Read endless essays -my family at night I'm thinking of - how is our Gothic disposition supposed to compete with 2000 years of endless tragedy? I have no answers or words.

Who am I to say what is Gothic or not, despite the stacks of books, endless essays, or...this very night, or which I debate about with my family over a 4.50 cent bottle of cheap whiskey, and the false-heart-felt are looking for an analysis on words for which they understand no more than the science of scientology.

A throwing into the never never into the winds of time. How would A Goth of me ever so confine, into endless hours I divine, empty across this table, not even this bottle of Absinthe makes the night able,...and still I dream. Thank you to the bottle from Paris from across the ocean stream, as I can not remember the last time I looked up the tower with beauty on my arms, no call for alarm, and yet the next morning stuffed into shipping box, how 12 hours of silence make you detox.

New York, I hate you. For all your dirty wrechedness, never to remember the hours of empty rooms, not 2 minutes of taxis from main and sixth, an entire $120 dollars for doubles, and singles seemed only to reflect upon my face. I saw the last neons, as I thought they were beautiful, but never profited from the entire cover they charged and lost due to taxes.

Oh, the night it ever wanes and waxes. Been to thirty-two different countries in the last 12 months, and still I am told that uniform location and discipline and honor makes the dread -as if the three monikered world makes me real or afraid any-more. It is not so much of a blessing at it is a chore. And, those how fought for Goth the entire world around were no more rememorable than the world 2 centuries before, and I feel all the better than those who remembered after-the-fact of all that have become before.

And I, still at my station, while those in fantasy of vacation still herald nothing I have done, typed, or said -it is still the motion. Perhaps it will be still 1000 years after I have died that means anything to those clinging to yonder verse of all that I have expressed, fuck you, although, I digress, wishing that it would have really been me.

And to you, yes, perhaps I am thee crazy, but, remember, I love you.

(Written: Drunk, Crazy, Alone, and in Paris from a networked computer re-routed through a home-bases proxy. God, I hate to be shipped back in tight-crates.)

Monday, March 10, 2014

To lose it...Love

To lose it...Love
Is to question the worth of it

But the worst of it comes with the loss of heart
Never to begin
Never to start

It tastes of the bitters of sour
Hating the clocks turn of hour
Emptiness-like hole devours

No way to know right from song
If its the Language of the Birds
What is this strange lovers song
They all say 'Come'
But I can not come alone

For years at a time
I hath lost my mind
Felt the weight of my chest give-in
To know the hurt of forlorn like sin
Those who laugh at my loneliness
Their evil-wicked grins
And their smiles -smile from my past lovers
Coo'ing to bliss under new dirty covers

Ages pass in the mortal coils eye
It dries into dust upon wind doth fly
As if these moments like metal rust into dry
Melody not heard the heartless lullaby

Each one no different from the past
Each to leave and run never to last
Will the next glorious one surpass
Or have I yet met another naked impasse
No Maidens, No Damsels, only lonely lass

Watching this time, a broken figment or yore
Thinking it was your kiss and touch I was to forever adore
Remembering the scent of that expensive Dior
How ever to refill the hollow like forgiveness restores
Perhaps it is only the yearning that explores

I am not evil though you call me Devil
Although you could not tell from your lofty level
In your ugliness I loved your dishevel
The shape of your lips a fine bevel

Many years have now come and gone
Your love a poison killing like vermilion
Under the shadow of deaths pavilion
Count the stars as they do pass by million

To lose it...Love
Is to question the worth of it

Strawberries and Cherries Go Together Forever – Adventures in Unexpected Gothic Cheesecake

A True Story

The world is full of madness I tell you, madness.

Anyway, the past several weeks have been…entirely surreal and un-expected(?). Well, that is putting it mildly. I helped a lady and her crew of four other girls, get their car unstuck from a curb. That led to being invited to have a few beers at a biker-bar. Wow. Not sure how many times I will do that again –the biker bar that is. On the way to that invite, I keep seeing signs of strawberries and cherries.

After that (a few days later), I find myself traveling around from house to house to house, becoming a wall-flower, while attempting to learn to program better with little success. Although, I have managed a few small applications, which might help me to make some money –about ten years from now (ha). One of the tutorials I was working on was a fruit game, and, it had strawberries and cherries as game pieces. Imagine that, and the rest of this.

Almost a week later, while stumbling about the countryside, I was led to a house –clearly out in the boonies- by the smell of something delicious. That is one thing about the country; almost every home has something hot and delicious cooking inside. Nothing like that down-home-feeling –makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Beer never hurts.

Wasn’t sure if anyone was home, so, I kept following the smell around to one end of this house, and heard someone singing along to pop songs from the radio. It was kind of cute really. But lo and behold –little did I know- there was this girl standing there, baking in her kitchen.

Meekly, I knocked and said, “Hello?”

She spoke with a smile, “Hey, are you a hunter? Lot’s of people in the woods this time of year.”

“Nah, I just like to go for walks,” Scratching my head at the odd greeting.

“So, would you rather have pie, or, would you like cake instead?” Eye-balling me as if this was a trick question of a sorts.

In a quick breath, “Um, whatever’s easy, or whatever you’d like to give me.” I couldn’t help but think the situation entirely strange, but, she was so natural, and, finer’ than a ticket on the dash. Rusty, rough, dusted with enough sugar and flower stuff; she was a sexy pale ghost enhanced by all things wonderfully dusted in sugar and spice – wrapped up in a country kitchen.

Slipping gloves over her pow-dury hands, “You know, when you stick this in the oven, it’s not so much the pre-heating of the oven, but the build-up in the anticipation. Not to mention just watching it get hot and rise literally makes your mouth water with joy.”

Flabbergasted, I was. It sounded more perfect than any day-time cooking show. All I could think to utter, “You don’t say(?)”

“Oh yes!” She exclaimed excitedly. “One piece of this sweet-goodness in your mouth and you will never be the same again. Do you want to know what heaven tastes like?”

I honestly did not know what to say. All of her words and actions gently cooked into my mind like hot sugar running down soft golden fluffy muffins. At one point, she turned around with her back towards me, and boy did I ever get a surprise.

Alright, she was wearing a long, but light winter dress. Of course, she was wearing this nice little fall apron –but, it seems she tied up a portion of her dress into the bow in the back. Basically, that translates into her bending over her working table to expose: 1 pink slinky lace undergarment, 2 pink stockings, with snaps from garment to hose, and 2 little white bows gentle cradling 2 firm white moons.

Almost coughing, I looked away to be respectable, and certainly didn’t want to say anything about it. She turned around when she heard me cough. “It is hot up in here, isn’t it? The kitchen is always so warm, so inviting, and so nice. You would think I was runnin’ a pastry shop with all the sweet things I like to cook up. I’ll help you wet your whistle in just a minute.”

“Oh, yes mam, absolutely. Nothing like the sights….I mean, tastes and smells…or no,….um yea, it’s great.” Kind of turned beat flushed red.

Damn. Not only was she a cook, but under all the flower and sugary kitchen crust, was a country damsel, hotly working and becoming more beautiful by the minute.

She kept working around the kitchen, and at some point started kneading the hell out of some dough. I don’t ever recall seeing a lady as dexterous as she was. Looking up, she caught me watching, “Well, when I get ready to make something good, I like to do a whole-lotta good at once. Not sure why, but, I just get something fierce up in me, and I just can’t stop until I feel like I have really done something. Great exercise.”

Once again, I find myself recalling the entire conversation, recalling everything, still not entirely sure if what happened was real –or did I stumble on some bad mushrooms, or ditch-weed while out and about in the woods? More often than not, I find myself asking all kinds of question about this strange reality I live in.

“DING!” The oven had a ring-side-sounding-attraction. “Are you ready!?! Because, this is really going to blow your mind!” Wow, if cooking gets her this excited there’s no telling what else does.

“Uh yeah, I guess uh, I’m ready –is it hot up in here or what?”

“Cooking always makes me hot. But, I’m glad you’re her to share this new experience with me. It’ll be alright. We can just be all hot and bothered together.”

“You don’t say?”You know, there is just no way to answer back to things that people say, that you just can’t believe they said. And, it’s all the more surreal because I really experienced all of this.

“Well, um, what do you call this new experience?” A clip of Jimmy Hendrixs ‘Are you Experienced’ passed through my mind.

“It a combination of strawberries and cherries. Strawberries and cherries go together you know. I call it Strawberries and Cherries Go Together Forever. And no, I didn’t steal anything from the Beatles at all.”

It hit me, like so many times before –the images of strawberries and cherries I had been seeing all week –leading to…unexpected cheesecake and a hot country gurl in the backwoods of Arkansucksalot. I kind of felt like a Knight who forgot to wear his amor, but managed to bring his sword along. Damn, did I just write that?

Putting her gloves back on, “It’s amazing, just pop it up in the oven, and 15 minutes later you have something better than glazed honey-butter-buns -I usually make those in the spring. I swear, if you ever taste one of my buns just once, you will never want another bun in the world.”

Not only did she bend over to withdraw the hot cheesecake and strawberry/cherry cream covered deliciousness from the oven, but did so right in front of me, setting the pan down on the table.

My eyes felt torn between the two worlds of deserts set right before me.

“Are you ready for a mouthful of this delicious, gewy, sweetstuff?!?”

Thinking to myself, “I’m a goodguy, I’m a goodguy,….sh*t, use the force, control yourself Daniel-son…,” Then broken into a hard swallow, “God, I am so ready.”

She gave a little twirl, not making the hiked up part in back of her dress any less revealing, “Nothin’ like a lil’ lovn thanks to a lil’ handwork and a hot-oven.”

“You don’t say.” She picked up a pie-knife, and made a perfect wedge. Then, she spooned a full ladle of homemade cream right on top, with generous motions. “Here, let me get you a nice cold glass of milk to wash it all down with. Hmm, you must be hungry and thirsty. You are hungry and thirsty, aren’t you?”

By this point in time, I didn’t know whether to laugh, to cry, to….to…to get down on all four’s and beg, but, I meekly uttered, “God yes, I am so dry, something to wet my whistle would be fantastic!” Jesus, I couldn’t believe what I just said, but boy, you should’ve seen the smile on her face.

Looking at the soft, warm-sweetness laid out on the table before me, I simply let my mouth lead me without any reservation as to what I was about to do: “A full-mouthed, melting sweetness…OMG, lip-quivering taste of what it means for strawberries and cherries to go together forever.”

The sugar shiver went up my spine, sparks went off in my mind, and I swore if she turned around once more with her dress hiked up like that – I would have to scream SWEET CHEESE-CAKE-CREAM-OF-GOD-BE-JESUS, PUT ME IN THE OVEN, PUT  ME IN THE OVEN!!!

But, I kept my cool, melted into a puddle in my seat, taking a huge swallow of icy cold dairy to cool my fires brought on by this country-cooking-vixen-kitchen-fairy (Damn that was a mouthful).

Placing her hand with a slight grip on my shoulder, “Well, how did you like that?”
I thought I was going to explode when she asked me. All I could say was, “M m m maaamm, you sure know how to cook. You hit my spot…I mean I mean, that hit the spot.”

“Oh, I really love the sound of that. Are you all right? You seem to be sweatin’ might hard.”

“I just remembered I have something to do, and I really have to go, but thank you so much for showing me everything…damn, I mean…your oven, I mean your cake, *pft* I mean this kitchen here.”

Before she had a chance to give me a napkin or say goodbye, I ran, and I ran, and I ran all the way home. I couldn’t sleep for two damn days thinking about all of this, and making sure to write everything down. Every time I see or hear about strawberries and cherries, I get hot, and I definitely can’t handle cheesecake anymore –at least not in public.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Conceal the Dispensed Meal

Brushing hair from the face, left with mouthful of -licorice taste, she seemed quite cold with white face.
Nothing from here, or there, to parlor -but parlay the way we seemed to lay, all limp and set a-splay,
she spoke not a word, as if to swallow-er.

From dip within I heard a growl-list, gritting sounding grin, or a ripple upon the pack dashing from within,
hard not to wonder at the blunder left so remotely assunder, yet closely upon her chin, oh I do so give in.

Wake oh wake, with eyes wide open, the bottles empty so do cherish the token - a cough! Now, now my dear we must be off, 13 steps of stairs, "Your cardio is good, no?" My Dear, you seem to sleep better than the trails underground of which boneless vicissitudes boundlessly keep.

Here, let me help you. Grabs a white left foot, a tad bit stiff, a smell of cinnamon on the windy wift. Across the room two-time a beat felt like stilts kissing planks dipped in milk of teet, hard to tread-like floor feels of watery-sandy-banks, wrapped in electric coated eels. Oh how times like these do bring thrills.

The door a thrust with jar and shoulder, I told you my dear, "You must roll over."

"Bonk!"

My dear that diet of yours must not be working, it is causing me all this intensive jerking, although last night I did rather enjoy your fiendish twerking, for I have never seen a double-halfed moon stir and shake outside thine holy pantaloon of extreme size of bounce and quake.

"Bonk!"

Step, and pull.

"Bonk!"

13 times later, and a stare down the stairs to the castle dirt below where only we hide and share, as if only to psychically say, "BEWARE!"

Once, I had intended to plant a garden here, although there is no light most of the year, but in this lower cave, it doth make me feel a queer at the sheer thought of you never leaving. Now, where are my instruments for the cleaving. Pfft, I'll just dig a hole -or did I, or, was that something to which you were already invited for? 

I do hope you find comfort here below the sordid floor.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Lisa Germano From A Shell

This Mortal Coil - Song to the Siren "Cocteau Twins"


Past the Edge of Falling

...and when the edge came
Little did I know the old me would die
The entire future a bleak re-arrange
How can one love and not know all detail
Until the miserable day comes and
You are told that you have failed
So eager the world comes to cut you down
Although they do the same with a sound
I thought I might have a life of which to speak
Society creates monsters that it does not love to keep
Oh the pain I have reaped

Each new face a play on the olden game
Wondering at their holding hands
Is to be alone to live in shame
How could I live up to the worlds demands
A single weed cut down by the sickle of life
Who knew in the hearts of others that wicked heartless strife
For none is perfect, and, they will remind you

That face, that moment, I thought we were complete
A similarity without deep questions of which to meet
Our minds a unison speaking of music and art
Your mouth in motion, your words a dart
And your Mother hated me so
For money I did not have, the coldest blow

Watching the new stars in a place
Of which I was one to admire
Never and nothing more
The world cuts me off from desire
Funny to be human only to be treated
As an animal

Past the Edge of Falling
Truth of hardship always calling
I seek the darkness of humans mauling
All the purity I had now gone
Who knows the Mariner's song?

Oh my false love, you did seek and find destruction
Oh my false love, you did find oblivion
Oh my false love, you are Past the Edge of falling

I pray your Death makes you suffereth not.

Ra, Ra, Ra, Ha ha, ha ha, ha

This is the End, but let's Repeat

Ra, Ra, Ra, Ha ha, ha ha, ha
Kiss my coo-say, sing la la la la
All the information you need right now
Don't ask me when but show me how

I say these things to remind you of the awful state of your repressed satisfaction.
This can show you what you are made of.

Release -when will you get what you need.
Release -become the desire upon which you feed.

Come this way, I will release you.

Want something, we all need something
Tell me what you need before it's gone
Want something, we all need something
Tell me what you need  before it's wrong

Jack in plug up, pay to play
I'm a celibate whore, have it your way
Go ahead slam your face in the door
A roman audience screams more more more

Ra, Ra, Ra, Ha ha, ha ha, ha
Kiss my coo-say, sing la la la la
All the lies you need right now
Don't say shit, just bow down

I say these things to remind you of the awful state of your repressed satisfaction.
This can show you what you are made of.

Release -when will you get what you need.
Release -become the desire upon which you feed.

Come this way, I will release you.

Want something, we all need something
Tell me what you need before it's gone
Want something, we all need something
Tell me what you need  before it's wrong

Turn off, tune out, and drop out
Take your clothes and and get the fuck out
Love you long time, 15 minutes for two
Throw in the brunette and blond bitch too

Ra, Ra, Ra, Ha ha, ha ha, ha
Kiss my coo-say, sing la la la la
All the product you need right now
Don't love it, just go down

I say these things to remind you of the awful state of your repressed satisfaction.
This can show you what you are made of.

Release -when will you get what you need.
Release -become the desire upon which you feed.

Come this way, I will release you.

Want something, we all need something
Tell me what you need before it's gone
Want something, we all need something
Tell me what you need  before it's wrong

Watch me break it off, in your love'n
So hot in here, you feel like an oven
When the moment has come and gone
Move karaoke lips to my song

Ra, Ra, Ra, Ha ha, ha ha, ha
Kiss my coo-say, sing la la la la
All the information you need right now
Don't ask me when but show me how

I say these things to remind you of the awful state of your repressed satisfaction.
This can show you what you are made of.

Release -when will you get what you need.
Release -become the desire upon which you feed.

Come this way, I will release you.



This is the End, but let's Repeat



Monday, March 3, 2014

All is done

All is done

Re-write your life
Like a cheaply written re-run

Want it
Need it
Fuck it
Buy it
End it
End it

Start, push play, now begin.

Push it, Push it, and Push it again
Black light, trip light, free for all

Push it, Push it, and Push it again
Go ahead and
Fuck my lovely stripping friend

Moutain of ego
Harvest Unicorns for horn
Children destroy the new world religion
Atomic play-wright

God-word-whisper-weapon
Do you know my words begin detonation
Perfect imperfection
Single stroke
When my silence strikes
Listen for the mouths begin to choke

Download, Upload
Search for your soul online
Beast bar code
Stamp your soul
follow in time

Frantic frezy
World leaders insane
Sexual Impropiety
Make the slaves bow down to money

Worship all these dollar bills
Buy all you want
You whore of cheap pain for thrills

Worhip all these dollar bills
Buy all you want
Buy in when you sold out
Your lie is the truth that kills you

When you meet yourself
Kill your online double
When you meet yourself
Trouble tracks you online

This is a hole
This is your face
This is the button
Push it until you
Look like you taste

Let us hope it is sweet and not a waste

One more re-run
The collective herd runs and hides
Figure heads speak in lies
Destroy your soul
All is done

...She left me in Death

...she left me yearning
the desire a churning
No butter but the bread is burning
Drink gone
Glass in my hand
Screaming from my loins
What un-natural demands!!!

...she left me wanting
A chase all upon the bed
Her lips stroking the lips upon my head
She liked cats as much as I liked cats too
In bold print letters next to her spats
The alternate name for cats is what it said
A smoothly shaven critter as smooth golden led
I always liked those black-laced garments
Beneath her, unbound, moan-filled-moments

...she left me believing
Two bodies unadorned can become a dream revealing
Clothes are nothing more than instruments for deceiving
Passion can smolder so intensely
Each second more I become a man immensely
Embers left in my un-worn wears
More Holy than un-natural tears
And, this is not a grimace
But a wicked grin of delightful smile
With tongue extended, she coo's "Come, stay for a while."

...she left me in awe
How could such beauty come to be
How could such beauty ever want me
How could such beauty become my all
How could such beauty upon knees make you fall
How could she ever be any other way
Speechless with words to speak and to say
Horizontally suspended while she doth sway
Eyes and toes curl to the spoken sound of, "Yay!"
This entire poem is entirely true
All that happened in the past of a yonder blue
Laugh if you want, because she would too
A happy soul she was

...she left me in death
A beautiful but tragic day it came
A phone call from a friend, a bitter command
A word of death came across the line
A love that loved me had crossed in time
A love that I will never know again
A love that made all love come to an end
I slept at her grave after burial that night
Purple flowers left by my head
Her spector passed in sight
Ghost lips upon my soul
Loosing all control
Lost, the toll

Til this day I mourn the loss
Til this day I mourn the name
Til this day I mourn the change
Til this day into eternal night
Til this day, I await my soul to light, away

The only love that ever truly loved me and I did not know it
Until the end, I felt only feeling when death compelled me to show it
Forever more, I wonder if the love would have lived would I have had
The chance to grow it, but death has a way of ending all before we can
have the chance to breath in the flow of it.

...she left me in Death
Believe it or not, her name was Love.

Female Gothique

No, I will not thwart you
Well, maybe, perhaps
Being so excited can make your mind lapse
Your dynamics upon which my canon
resides, the resignation a gift
If there is high, then my dear, your love
Does more than lift
Of infinite moment, my back arches erect
The limits of your bliss beyond a metric

Yes, I enjoy my masculinity
For you become the fantasy
As we fight for dominance
This way forward towards prominence
It is your Victorian that I want
Nothing so flacid as we make
A hard temporal shift
I love the way you think
To your eyes and lips, I drink
Nothing cheap, or given to thrift

Lyrically the way you express
Oh how you let me moderate beyond excess
If you were a Momsen, I would be reckless
You recognize my dysfunction
Full-filling my tropes
We all need those things we call hopes
A performance of honorable mention
Between your lights a deep dimension
And I the Captain scream to keep the ship steady,"Ho!"

Combining your curves with
psychoanalytic theory, I yield
Unto your results your figure makes my eyes blurry, a fascinating
Union of psychology and emotion
This bed, sheets, walls, and floors
Undulating like two caduceus serpents
Entwined in the naked-forever-motion
Our substance material like a hot molten potion

There will be no Freud tonight
I intend on being entirely Jung
You will be my chandelier
From that I will be well hung
But not before I slide you down the stares
With many steps, and a banister of rails
Wishing you wings like an angel
After the ringing of our flesh-like bells

We expose ourselves and it seems grotesque
But only to the prudes of what is modest
Like a mental science we have divined
A work of art in motion practice perfect refined
The perfect chalice of your platter
Making every moment the moment that matters

Even if what we do is unspeakable
Then, let us not speak
For we shall become our own fin de siecle
Below the buring skins of our hallowed sheets

Oh Female Gothique, how I adore you.

Maddened Lover

Maddened Lover
For what else could I be
Not quite Tennyson or even a Browning
Although you think me a Mary Lamb
Dancing in the reality of a Shinning

Maddened Lover
Love me and Leave me swell
If it were not my Gothicism
How did you come forth unto my wishing hell
Were these not the lips upon which you suckled so well

Maddened Lover
Did I not handle all of your throw
As if we switched lives like positions
Our genders have brought us under-tow
What you want until you leave
It is a wonder that you would know

Maddened Lover
If my blood were not True
It seemed you knew my Otranto
But left me feeling Shelly
As if the Count of Stoker
Became the Phantom Ship
Stirring echos like a
Pennyless broker

Maddened Lover
There was no reflection
In the mirror of me
Perhaps the nightmares of Rimbaur
Became the reality of your Thirteen tales
Leaving my life like a White Worm
Crumbling below the nine circles of hells

Maddened Lover
For I was never mad as you made me out
to be, for there is no Shakespearian tragedy
For the reflection of my flesh'n scars
That your maddness rippered into me

Maddened Lover,
It was your passionate insanity
that drew me to you