EXISTENTIAL SYMPHONY
the sensual awakenings
and moist warmings
of coupled mornings
when you lie down on your back
and i drink you
like sweet water from my hat-
but more than this, you
mean more to me than that-
the mind glue
undersaid
is moresaid
because the mass and volume
spills out of these conventional rooms
we shed-
it never doubts
that all within us, is ours without
the frills
of impossible possessions
that fills
love and bares it's confessions.
i is flip flapped
and tongue smacked
by the time lapsed
music of your words
that sing and fly
low and high
like tantric birds.
sex me your beauty boolie boobs
to way with
and your pouty southy mouth
that loves to give
me head in all your moods-
that ice in long vermouth
and sober drunken truths
of ageless youth.
i have taken
each note
of your existential symphony
inside me
but not forsaken
the infinite strings of marxist hope,
where individuality
can still be
individual
and not residual,
unlivable
bonds that broke
when alienation spoke.
Copyright Strider Marcus Jones from his book WOODED WINDOWS. 2011. All Rights Reserved.