Magic

She is graying.
She is flawless.
Her mouth is a soft peach of a grin
her laughter is used sparingly
sprinkling her audience
and would be mates
lightly
Like rain
on droughted dirt
Enough
so they know they are
thirsty
they are drawn near
hoping
for another
drop

And

I love her sex magic
The way she moves
A gliding grace
Fluid
A sultry shadow
Which they chase
trying to grasp
at her wisps
with desperate wanting
and lust
But their
hungry
itching
fingers
can’t touch
her

I like watching the younger girls
Watching her
out of the corners
of their
judging yet
undeniably appreciative
eyes

What does she have?
Witchcraft? Sorcery?
Why do I not
have it?

Oh, but you do, loves.
It is in the
way you enter
a room
Head held high
Unashamed
Unembarrassed
Of your womanhood
The control you have
of yourself
your mind
your body
Mischief which
twinkles slightly
in your eyes
as you offer
the slyest
of smiles
Because you know secrets
They never will
And they’ll fall at your feet
Trying to find out
You are the Eden
The Paradise
The Promised Land
And only you have
the Power
to allow entrance
To Those You Deem
Worthy.
Never forget that.
She hasn’t.
She is a Lesson
Learn Well

You were born with this magic.
Own it.

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Natalie O. 2009

I will savor the taste of your lips
as though it were my last meal
I will breathe you in
as though you were my final breath
I will set aside my doubts
as though I were once again a child
I will take you completely
as though I were the only one who could have you

I will do these things
for the smallest of favors from you

Your embrace
Your stroke
Your presence
Your touch …
to have it linger from the gentle speech of your fingers
the softest echo on my skin

And when you leave

I will wait
ever patient

For the complex richness of the beautiful simplicity
that lies in the way
you make me yours.

Hello, Bukowski

There has always been something about Charles – something vulnerably depraved. An acknowledgement of one’s own vices without the saccharine syrup dripping lightly upon the tongue, prettily disguising the sour taste of truth. I can’t help but love a man who is honest to and about his self. *sigh*

Found this while reading. I usually stick with posting my own poetic musings, but how I wish, some time ago, someone would have written this for me. 🙂

when God created love He didn’t help most
when God created dogs He didn’t help dogs
when God created plants that was average
when God created hate we had a standard utility
when God created me He created me
when God created the monkey He was asleep
when God created the giraffe He was drunk
when He created narcotics He was high
and when He created suicide He was low

when He created you lying in bed
He knew what He was doing
He was drunk and He was high
and He created the mountains and the sea and fire
at the same time

He made some mistakes
but when He created you lying in bed
He came all over His Blessed Universe.