Popsicle

Slowly fallen away, encased still to thicker degrees
Warmed by latest events, sense of self is refining
I need the gentle tapping on my hide-
It sets free those jailed assumptions that lurk
Seeking to fuck me.

Shoulders that strain beneath stoic indifference
I know the substrates that fall in line-
Layer after layer of invisible intrusion
The gossip of my fear-bound willingness is
Loud & overbearing...

I want to kill hesitation
I want to suffocate reservation
I wish to drown limitation
and divorce in solemn commitment-
The woe of the 'judged'.

Knotted veins continually choke
There is purpose in all that past offense
The balancing out of yesteryear will penetrate my tendons
My thickened skin- elasticized
Ready for ALL, 'wear & tear'.

I am yesterday: once wept and forgiven
Though the memory I hold now vibrates in freed relief
I am today too, standing tall in sporadic confidence
High on the prospects of the wish to 'move on'
Broken: behind me, repaired in understanding.

I am tomorrow, filled with promise; North & ever searching
I have sterilized all hidden paths that long to ensnare my progress
For after all, the 'sense of self' can be that rusty blade, craving to poison
My weakness is a part of me, understood and given due
Learned in detail, four decades worth of study

I am alive in the Now, knee-deep in my psyche
Examining the simple details of the beauty in life
The smile of my child, a curly ponytail, and
The profound happiness of a Popsicle in the Summertime
Soft & easy, warm, continual...

'Drawn Bow...'

I am whirling amidst the rumble of mainstream trivialties
Cooing for a lateral break.
Momentum building in every bended elbow,
Each tendon that reaches for stretch, clinging to 'further'.
A cumulus mass of finite boundaries, seeking to split fissures that lie hidden
Amidst the break of circumstance, there awaits exotic tangibles.

Canines become fangs within that blessed assumption of 'What if...'
Eyebrows that arch back like a drawn bow, furthermost tension taken
Looking to redeem all stagnating, muscular ache.
I long to be taken back to the birth of my carnal awakening
Peeled to the bone, when marrow became one with my senses
...and 'trusting myself' was alone- my greatest ally.

My needs are compact, stored away, at bay... contained.
I coddle their existence and contemplate greatness
The idea that collaborating with another may free me from the oblivion of my loneliness-
Is horse-shit.
What I need to do is snip my own reticent cables
That leave me bound to insignificant ideals.

Set sail on this ocean of self; a new quest revealed
Tickling fancies that flow freely, without the concept of 'undeserved'.
I am well deserved of all I tow within my wake these days,
Having paid the dues of a thousand painful yesterdays, my heart remains true-
Resilient, intensified, grown stronger in length and breadth

...and...

Evermore stout in its will to love.

Mania

For this is mania; damn near all of it
The dreaded 'inundated'
Flooded my all with everything.
I need to breathe.
Relax.
Saunter a bit, perhaps in nakedness
Though doing so guarantee's a halt- by default
I go no further than un-chemically able;
I've not signed up for any pills
The bare body will remain shaded
From all forms of perception and yet-
Benefit still finds me.

In a threadless state I wander
Muscles mosey in freedom
They are programmed to recognize
The wind dancing over pores
The farthest reaches of body that lie coveted
They too feel the fresh air
As blood there turns to wax, melted
Moving slowly...in the heat of the day.
Sun warmed skin basking-
On a plateau filled with alone time.
This is my daydream, my
Perfection.

In thought I relinquish all agony
The destitution of the senses,
That which leaves my body feeling curt-
Pissed, neglected.
I am on a bullet train
A bastard of a coal-burning ego trip.
Mute am I, to the sensitivities from so long ago.
I slap reminiscence- face first
Replacing all melancholia with remorse
If I wish to bask in that daydream,
I must first lay waste to all needs
For within my own wants
They are secular and lack reward.

When I have sufficed my last resource
Burgeoning every last promise with delivery-
I will slink away from this chasm of the curtailed
Re-moistening every last crumb that held flavor
And break free of horse-blinding focus.
I will yet again play, when the dues have been paid
For in my procreation I find the greatest joy;
To release my goals by the dozen,
To be made stronger and more acute in aim
To this, I pay homage with the only currency
Worth a damn;
Time.
Time is, after all- of the essence...
...and so I move on.

Contained.

Quickening, I feel
Chrome-plated veins- now tested.
This is challenge here,
Confronting, canines bared.
Do I look and then lean in...?
Licking fangs that threaten to puncture and drain me?
Or crawl away feebly in reverse
Slapping my senses as they beg to push-on
Steed-like in their stature.
Grotesque to grovel away, defeated
At 38, I have collected many battle scars,
Eaten my experiences, chewing them to great length
Expecting to anticipate the return of what's been learned
...and the timing to chime on queue.
This life is a battle-zone.
Fought for victory, defeat, victory, retreat...
Cleaning old wounds that ooze when memories ripen
Vindication dies down and Pyrrhic conquering buckles.
I am encased in my diary of 'Done'.
Strategy now beckons with a new voice
To linger longer with the tablets of 'Think Twice'.
The dagger swung in the dark fueled by adrenalin
Yields more than a hefty slice to any foe
It can pierce greater enemies that trigger much worse
Inflicting irreparable damage within strata upon strata
Of what may have been left, unaccounted for.
Triggering 'regret' is a foolish mistake
A long-haunted Mistress that will gnaw like no other
Sanity is far too precious a countenance
To barter with juvenile conclusions that punch on impulse.
Nearing the end of my third decade in,
I wish to reign in on that 'untouchable' fighter.
To pet with compassion and relearn a few things...
I retain my youth in other ways,
After all, 'Hope' springs eternal
In the background of any play.
I am weary from my travels, though yet undefeated
Sometimes the win was detrimental to my cause
But necessary nonetheless.
I remember now as often as I can to caution my moves
To whittle away at primary motives,
In the event I may uncover something-
Unaccounted for.
The devilish child lives in me yet
The lurking wish to delve into hysteria;
Cascading mirth brought on by 'living dangerously'
They are too far behind me now
Memories I hold dear that when recanted,
Spatter and hiss for some tangible tie to the 'now'.
I look back but for a moment, smiling, wise with age.
I can no longer afford such meaningless game play
Mine is a history of violence
That through right-handed manipulation,
I tinkered enough to fan-out the pain
Begging the mirror to show signs of forgiveness.
The remedy of seeking 'no-reflection' grows tired.
I peer in now and long for kindness...
To Love and be Loved, by the self that I am.
Though my past would have me aged and cane-bound
I attempt to find peace but not by vein of boredom
To travel on with confidence and less abuse
From the battle-zone of 'I'
The Lover & The Fighter; contained.

Intermediary.................

You should know as I do,
There is professionalism in aged fingertips
Gifted with higher sensory reception
To fiddle with the senses...
Yours, Mine... Some one's.
Intermediate self against self;
I tap my own fancies without moving a muscle
...and beautifully enough, muscle finds its own way
Contracting with its own thoughts,
Memories- Expanding
Certification.
There is a haiku hidden in every breath released
Each ancillary component has meaning
A definition all to its own
Collectively, they write novels
Whispered in transit; constant
A slow-moving volcano
Lava-licking, permanence-sticking
Scarred in the most lovingly manner, within.
The inner tattoo holds the most vibrant shades
Melodious encasement of what two can do-
When they are one.
For all skins many languages
The softest, kindest whisper errs not
For any cautions sake
It wraps airtight in its magnetism
Sucking in every static clinging electrode,
Conducting-
Magnificence.
The past orchestrates the longing of today
The hour that lives in the now has priorities,
Mine flow in myriad direction,
There is no 'stop n' go...'
I suck the bone of patience- daily
Knowing that eventually
All the stewing I do within my own existence
Will be tasted in time
When in the most potent of moments,
Trust is again found.

Procured.

In like a sliver, deep tissue reawakens.
Saxophone humming penetrates, I am alert
Muscles around the nape begin crawling...
Hibernating in their isolation...? For Winter? Forever?
But then, were they ever truly sleeping?
Hypersensitivities say 'no' and the tickling over senses,
Reverberate, undulate, ejaculate.

Sight immobilizes, sound travels quickly, touch begs in silence
Taste terrorizes the tongue, sweating in waves
The smell of skins melting, while the mind orchestrates;
Theirs is a desolate cry for a true strip,
Baroque in quality, the potential for fervent memories
They are lunar in their landing.

Volatility seeps in, attempting to steep regret
But fuck that mindless notion,
When the love drips in through either door
This convoluted consummation demands full attention
Full throttle; full frontal and when the pitch is hit-
On all fours.

This is the dehydration of the senses
The cock eclipsed the squelch and the scream
No sound issues, only the thick, sticky vacuum of 'enter'
The 'sucking in' found on this map, is the dilated pupil
Sexual, sympathetic affection, in a dimly lit circumstance
Tears the moral seams and loosens the cognitive reasoning

I can shake the nerve for one night.
Without boundary, judgement or discovery
There is no consequence when the relaxed muscle is given-
In the true absence of expectation...
So why then,
Is committing to the simple act of 'release'
So difficult?

When one makes love to the soul within
No amount of moisture, clench, squeeze, flexing, cavorting
Can replicate the trade taken,
That comes to pass between the eyes.
The 'come' from Love is most gratifying
...and far longer lasting.

A gold nugget procured in understanding
Holds greater value than the stone that was stolen,
Swapped in exchange for weakened flesh.
Fingertips that trip over goose-flesh,
That they have come to know and love- brag in silent excess.
Needing nothing more than the memory they make-
Together.

...it is bliss

The atmosphere here is, Etruscan bronze
I follow and feel, feebly at first
He says nothing,
No eye contact could be more clairvoyant
His fingerprints bear my signature too
We share no words, we never do
The volumes of understanding betwixt us
...they are enough.
I smell dark hair, unkempt and soft
Bovine in stature, steps taken are in earnest
I am diligent in the attending of his lead.
He walks with purpose interwoven with patience
That though we are aligned in this synopsis
It may yet take several more long moments
To find our mutual footsteps arriving,
At that porch where perception sharpens
...and I'm ready...
Ready to walk in and follow for the last time,
Into the entry of all tomorrows.

I am eager in  my recanting
Recollected again and again,
Embellished only by the presumption of why
Why such decadent imaginings reveal themselves to me
Over and over and over again...
These aren't dreams that plague my mental scope at night
They are memories of where I am headed...
Into a calm state of relaxed and contentment.
I see the figure who teaches,
He bears the outline of a Lover;
A match to rival nothing known
...and everything desired, craved and ached for.
Kind eyes that hold no damning secrets
Warmth pervading his every exhale
Imagine.............................................................
Ooh, I have and it is bliss
Bliss to mark the messenger and take care,
For tomorrow may bear gifts worth receiving
...and I want to be ready.