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528

So Late, After Work, Done Tending, The Bar,

Texting me, To Come Over, She Knew, I Wasn't Far,

I made Pulled Pork If you want to pop over Beans and Brussel Sprouts I salivated Remembering her pussy which smelled of sweet clover

Shut down the bar, Lock it up Tight, Walk over to Ridge Ave, Hoping to not get in a Nigger Fight,

To her Apartment, To which, I have a Key, Walk up not one stair flight, But walk up three,

Top of the decaying, Industrial building, To her Domicile, With the Black Mold, Dominating her Ceiling,

And there she is, with her Dog, And two Cats, Beautiful Ass, And two humongous Tit-Tats,

Domestic and caring, She told me to sit down, While she cooked, But she noticed, How Hungry, My Predatory Gaze Looked...

A Smile, A Smirk, She Knew, when she asked

What exactly are you looking at?

Memories be gone, Those days, such a shell, But I'll never forget, The way her pulled pork did smell.

So Late, After Work, Done Tending, The Bar, Texting me, To Come Over, She Knew, I Wasn't Far, >I made Pulled Pork >If you want to pop over >Beans and Brussel Sprouts I salivated Remembering her pussy which smelled of sweet clover Shut down the bar, Lock it up Tight, Walk over to Ridge Ave, Hoping to not get in a Nigger Fight, To her Apartment, To which, I have a Key, Walk up not one stair flight, But walk up three, Top of the decaying, Industrial building, To her Domicile, With the Black Mold, Dominating her Ceiling, And there she is, with her Dog, And two Cats, Beautiful Ass, And two humongous Tit-Tats, Domestic and caring, She told me to sit down, While she cooked, But she noticed, How Hungry, My Predatory Gaze Looked... A Smile, A Smirk, She Knew, when she asked >What exactly are you looking at? Memories be gone, Those days, such a shell, But I'll never forget, The way her pulled pork did smell.
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[–] • 1 pt

Sharing food or eating with another human isn't necessarily sexual, but it is one of the most important human bonding rituals there is.

Sorry to cross threads. The young woman I shared that poem with gave me cucumbers from her garden and accepted gazpacho made from what fresh ingredients I could find. I thought we had a moment. We might yet, who knows?

Have you ever been inside an American High School Cafeteria?

I ate lunch with the same 3 guys for 6 years. Our group fluctuated from 5 to 7, but to core of us 4 lasted those years. After graduation I proved the odd one out and disappeared. I got sucked into the fiction of love, the holes in my head, the emotion, the poetry, the life of dying in every line, the passion of ever searching for what was clearly at hand to find.

Now I own my business and can't get fired so I just hope I don't scare people too much.

[–] • 1 pt

After graduation I proved the odd one out and disappeared. I got sucked into the fiction of love, the holes in my head

Please explain

[–] • 1 pt

Right after graduation, well... Just after graduation my second muse chose me. I'd had my first muse at 16 and I'll post about that on another day. She would own me for better than 20 years. I fell so hard that when she needed a change I buckled down into the page so deep that I don't think I knew sleep on a third name basis. I thought I knew my future so clear that I could change her with every line I sent out into the wind. And I was on the grind to write every beat of my heart; for her, for the women that consoled me for the lose, for the guy who shared a beer while I cried, and for the whore the wore my nut on her face while I tried to feel bad for cheating on the memory.

I pissed away any thought of a future that might make money for a need to put pen to paper.

Now I just get by, write my mind, and occasionally offend young women with poetry I'm sure they wish their contemporaries could write in earnest.

[–] • 0 pt

I pissed away any thought of a future that might make money for a need to put pen to paper.

What do you want to write?