Surfaces

By metaphormachine

Carefully I deal with you, my love
 

because I do not deserve constancy.


In the now & you, you belittle per centre of lust


you feed & devide within flesh, in my otherwise


& then give me pleasure, oh mine, wish—oh never!


Time here & gone, the bold spirit of locals & hepcats


most of it will find us; to winnow on surfaces—at her behest.


Behold thy servant!


Here the skill nicely smiled.


Oh, smilingly happy.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2013 metaphormachine
Published on Monday, January 28, 2013.     Filed under: "Love" and "Poetry"

Author's Note:

Poem 5 - Book 4 of 15 - Flower of Desert (Love Poems) -
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Comments on "Surfaces"

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  • Stephanie Sideways On Monday, January 28, 2013, Stephanie Sideways (276)By person wrote:

    I have spent an age reading and re reading as I found it fascinating to unpack and unload these carefully picked lines and their syntax ........ You Know it will probably go know where but for now you are quite enjoying it even though you know It's not a permanent thing. (Plenty more fish in the sea.) happy to enjoy because the sex is damn good! Oh if I got it all wrong, I still had tons of fun

  • metaphormachine On Tuesday, January 29, 2013, metaphormachine (133)By person wrote:

    I think you've cracked it, as always ... so just like you've cracked me since a long time ... what would this page only without this witch!!? :)

  • Stephanie Sideways On Monday, January 28, 2013, Stephanie Sideways (276)By person wrote:

    No where ! Not Know where? ( as I have not a clue)

  • metaphormachine On Tuesday, January 29, 2013, metaphormachine (133)By person wrote:

    ............................... :-)

  • A former member wrote: makes my heart smile in recognition. rejoice even as you suffer its afflictions. beautiful, this.

  • metaphormachine On Monday, January 28, 2013, metaphormachine (133)By person wrote:

    Thanks, thanks a lot ... your praises & comments make my heart & face smile ... anytime ... Sososo ... yeah? My suffering rejoices you!? Hm, the daily normal sadism & masochism of poets (& critics) ... I seem to recall ... ;)

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