Rolling Stones She's A Rainbow 1966
How does she come? My beloved. Like a rainbow my friend.
From the side, sultry slide, so beautiful, so hidden, like a child trying so desperately to sneak, yet like a woman, so longing to be viewed. By him. She wants to be seen. She longs for his eyes to devour her. Tension building. The soft peel. Gentle reveal. Soft slide so subtle, she will reveal, yet only if I act like I don't know, yet she knows he sees.
The ballet begins. Her blouse slides, as unfastening button follows each to each. The gentle game. Revelation of her skin, so unblemished, so perfect, so heated. It calls for his touch, fire erupts from her my friend. Her eyes, so dark, so light. She longs for him, he, he longs for her. Yet she stays so far... so close.
Life eternal is only a touch away. Primal fusion burns. She is so ready... so willing... so.... wanting. Yet she remains distant. He longed to worship her. To caress her. To rejoice in every curve, every magnificence of all that is her. Yet she, my most beautiful girl, stays just a moment out of touch. She longs to be loved. To be rejoiced upon. But the world has taught her something so different. Her beauty has been beaten by so many others that she believes that she does not deserve, does not warrant, to have her deepest desires fulfilled.
She cannot see her majesty. The beauty unabashed in every curve. The magnificence of each bend, every turn, of all that is her. The burning of her red. Her... so soft... so tight... so hard... her body of contradictions so beautiful. Will she know? Does she know? She is loved beyond compare.
Beyond...
compare.
In her beauty, in her ecstasy, she need feel no shame. She is safe in his embrace. She is his. She explode life. She is a rainbow.
Sunday, October 7, 2018
Tuesday, October 2, 2018
Even a blind man could see that's no so
Queen - Under Pressure Mega Remix
He was a fool. He had walked along the piazza. It was so many years ago. The lines were so clear. You were a rebel, or you so blindly followed him. Franco.
The cobblestone corners of every edge. It's clay brown that melted each into each. In the center was a fountain. The children, how they would play. Salud.
Before... he remembered. She would dance. Half in the light, half in the shadows. Though her business would go down, who knows who she would capture, enrapture, in that slight alleyway.
He knew.
Yet he would lie, if he did not tell you he knew the pleasure of her hip. The delight of her thigh, so simple, so strong, so sweet. How they undulated, so tight, waiting for his hands to rise forever higher towards her... towards her. So warm enveloping soft. Her. So sweet.
So it was.
He left to join the supporters. Clothes misaligned. Mauser remnant from some forgotten war. His squad little more than a collection of iniiduals. So unwilling to fight. Unwilling to realize all that was at stake. Freedom... or Franco... you decide.
She had made her decision. He snuck to the piazza during the war. He saw her, pulled so close to Octavio, Antonio, or maybe even Brayden as no Spanish name he could find started with a" BL" as she was caught in some "Affair to remember." Remember what? He was never really sure. Perhaps before she was such a rover. Finding completeness away from the Jorges she was married to.
Vive bien mi dulce Conozco a tu cuno con firmeza por nada menos eue pour mi. Los encuentras huecos. Qui asi sea. Duerme bien mi amor. Dorme bien.
He was a fool. He had walked along the piazza. It was so many years ago. The lines were so clear. You were a rebel, or you so blindly followed him. Franco.
The cobblestone corners of every edge. It's clay brown that melted each into each. In the center was a fountain. The children, how they would play. Salud.
Before... he remembered. She would dance. Half in the light, half in the shadows. Though her business would go down, who knows who she would capture, enrapture, in that slight alleyway.
He knew.
Yet he would lie, if he did not tell you he knew the pleasure of her hip. The delight of her thigh, so simple, so strong, so sweet. How they undulated, so tight, waiting for his hands to rise forever higher towards her... towards her. So warm enveloping soft. Her. So sweet.
So it was.
He left to join the supporters. Clothes misaligned. Mauser remnant from some forgotten war. His squad little more than a collection of iniiduals. So unwilling to fight. Unwilling to realize all that was at stake. Freedom... or Franco... you decide.
She had made her decision. He snuck to the piazza during the war. He saw her, pulled so close to Octavio, Antonio, or maybe even Brayden as no Spanish name he could find started with a" BL" as she was caught in some "Affair to remember." Remember what? He was never really sure. Perhaps before she was such a rover. Finding completeness away from the Jorges she was married to.
Vive bien mi dulce Conozco a tu cuno con firmeza por nada menos eue pour mi. Los encuentras huecos. Qui asi sea. Duerme bien mi amor. Dorme bien.
Sunday, September 30, 2018
Two fingers down
Ted Nuget: Strangle-hold remix
I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm buckin' out for the territory. You won't understand. The sign of fealty, a sign of brotherhood, one to the other that none may ever understand. You must be awake. You must be alive. Every moment. When you find a fellow brother you show respect. One who cannot, will not, be tamed. Regardless of ride. Regardless of age. The last of the free thinkers.
We drive. Alone. In two's. It matters little. Wind courses around us. We must be aware. Not only for our space, but the spaces of all those ahead of us. Continually knowing, continually epecting the worst behavior, the most bone head ideas. We must. We must survive. From the press of the ignition (though I miss my kick-start) to the pull of the throttle... it's us. Us, against the world.
Beneath the motor roars, as all becomes focused on the here... the now. To live fully in the present, forgetting the past, future only exists due to every decision you make now. Every consequence has a reaction. You know it. You smile.
Something breaks, as it always will, you must be continually aware. You may have to spend, you may have to fashion. Either way it will get done. They must live, your ride, so that you can live. Wind buffets your body. You become one with the machine. You lean, she turns, You pull, she leaps finally freeborn into the sky. All the while she waits for the next move.
When you meet a brother on the road... you give the signal. Out of respect, out of admiration, you are bound: It is your brotherhood against the world. They are family. One born out of iron. One born of steel. Blood from scuffed knuckles born of care... she will demand her ounce of blood. You know, you share, if your brother or sister passes, you show respect, if they are down you pull over even if all you can do is offer camaraderie,
Why... that is what brothers do. Forged of steel. Fusioned in a mutual right for survival. We have made it this long. The smile. We have made it this long. .
I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm buckin' out for the territory. You won't understand. The sign of fealty, a sign of brotherhood, one to the other that none may ever understand. You must be awake. You must be alive. Every moment. When you find a fellow brother you show respect. One who cannot, will not, be tamed. Regardless of ride. Regardless of age. The last of the free thinkers.
We drive. Alone. In two's. It matters little. Wind courses around us. We must be aware. Not only for our space, but the spaces of all those ahead of us. Continually knowing, continually epecting the worst behavior, the most bone head ideas. We must. We must survive. From the press of the ignition (though I miss my kick-start) to the pull of the throttle... it's us. Us, against the world.
Beneath the motor roars, as all becomes focused on the here... the now. To live fully in the present, forgetting the past, future only exists due to every decision you make now. Every consequence has a reaction. You know it. You smile.
Something breaks, as it always will, you must be continually aware. You may have to spend, you may have to fashion. Either way it will get done. They must live, your ride, so that you can live. Wind buffets your body. You become one with the machine. You lean, she turns, You pull, she leaps finally freeborn into the sky. All the while she waits for the next move.
When you meet a brother on the road... you give the signal. Out of respect, out of admiration, you are bound: It is your brotherhood against the world. They are family. One born out of iron. One born of steel. Blood from scuffed knuckles born of care... she will demand her ounce of blood. You know, you share, if your brother or sister passes, you show respect, if they are down you pull over even if all you can do is offer camaraderie,
Why... that is what brothers do. Forged of steel. Fusioned in a mutual right for survival. We have made it this long. The smile. We have made it this long. .
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
Let's roll
This is Sparta
So the anniversary is around us. Macabre, the way most people remember. The deaths of so many. Born from Chaos.
What do I remember?
"Let's roll."
A group caught in a flight. They had already heard of the what had happened to the towers twin. Thy would not go down like lemmings. They were born men... so free. They would die, as men so free. A charge of the cockpit. A hope against hope. As the plane plummeted to the earth, they may die, but the enemy would be denied. Why? We are free men.
Bold, brave, cloaked with nothing more than a sense of duty civil servants, firemen, policemen, those paid so little... gave everything. Running again and again into the halls belching with smoke. Only one thing in mind, to save, to deprive from the enemy body, by body, those that they tried to destroy.
We are America. We are a beacon. We are the last best hope this world has. Facing death, facing... the end, without wait. All to save our brothers, all to save our sisters. While some became consumed by fear, they charged heedlessly. To help your brother. Why such selflessness? We are free men.
Born...
and bred.
When cornered... we cherished.
I've chosen my words carefully.
"Let's roll!" defiant cry, as the nose plummets towards the earth. I was born free, I will die free.
Amoungst the sorrow of 9/11 all I ask is that you take the time to remember, you were born the sons and daughters of those who came before you...
who took on the strongest imperial power in the world...
for a prize as little...
as great...
as freedom.
Smile, smirk as "Let's roll!" defiantly rolls from you tongue.
So the anniversary is around us. Macabre, the way most people remember. The deaths of so many. Born from Chaos.
What do I remember?
"Let's roll."
A group caught in a flight. They had already heard of the what had happened to the towers twin. Thy would not go down like lemmings. They were born men... so free. They would die, as men so free. A charge of the cockpit. A hope against hope. As the plane plummeted to the earth, they may die, but the enemy would be denied. Why? We are free men.
Bold, brave, cloaked with nothing more than a sense of duty civil servants, firemen, policemen, those paid so little... gave everything. Running again and again into the halls belching with smoke. Only one thing in mind, to save, to deprive from the enemy body, by body, those that they tried to destroy.
We are America. We are a beacon. We are the last best hope this world has. Facing death, facing... the end, without wait. All to save our brothers, all to save our sisters. While some became consumed by fear, they charged heedlessly. To help your brother. Why such selflessness? We are free men.
Born...
and bred.
When cornered... we cherished.
I've chosen my words carefully.
"Let's roll!" defiant cry, as the nose plummets towards the earth. I was born free, I will die free.
Amoungst the sorrow of 9/11 all I ask is that you take the time to remember, you were born the sons and daughters of those who came before you...
who took on the strongest imperial power in the world...
for a prize as little...
as great...
as freedom.
Smile, smirk as "Let's roll!" defiantly rolls from you tongue.
Wednesday, August 29, 2018
Sweet like candy
Dave Matthews Band: Crash
The rush. The L. It passed. The sound resound. Reverberating off the city streets below. Announcing its arrival. Its promise.
He laughed. They sat across from each other. The meal. The breaking of the fast. The two sat. Mere bodies perhaps, longing for nothing more than to crash into the other. Yet.
Laughing, He told her about the mini concert that had been held in the space below, day before. All the while the clacking of passing trains passed overhead. Maybe they were little more than itinerant travelers dancing to the beat of the train above, or the music below. Who knows?
He had come to the city for her you know. For her. Was it her move? Her sway? Or the fact that her soul sung a song that only his heart could hear. She kept her eyes down at times. That much he noticed. It was the last day. Each to each they longed to collapse. Her fork fettered around her Irish breakfast. All the while his eyes consumed her.
And the elevated bore her clack ever present in the distance.
She was so beautiful. Her lips pursed just so. To beckon, perhaps? To recall as he was about to travel? Who knows? There was so much of him she still longed to know. The hot, facts, everso pulsating. Throbbing, for her. His boys dream. Loving. Marching towards her. Her body fashioned fine. Chiseled into her granite. So alive. So tight. Pulsating lips were found on her. Face. So beautiful. She smiled. He fell in love. Again...
and again.
Meanwhile...
The rhythmic clack of the "L" rode in the distance. It's beat, pointing out the primal moves of those below.
Her glance, his laugh, the two ever closer. Waiting, for what neither was sure. It was the last day. She ate her Irish Bacon, he his Blood Pudding. Each wanting only to delve into the other as the beat of the day bore ever onward.
She passed to him the pieces she could. He was not expecting. He had given so... for nothing, save her. Amazed, he accepted all of her... the gifts were so secondary. She was the gift. She was his.
In the lean forward he could help but noticed that her lips revealed the tension. The L with its clacketity-clack rose above. The rush of people forever intruding on the world created by the two. Perhaps the city was too big... or perhaps the world of the two was too big.
"Come to me," he said, "melt with me, "he said as he pulled her into him. "You are mine," he whispered as he drew her so close. "My beautiful one, you are mine." Bodies crashed together as he drew her into a pressing hug.
He would never let her go.
Meanwhile the L beat out her song above.
Monday, August 6, 2018
Somewhere
Pet shop boys: West Side Story
I still remember her last words to me... "What the fuck are you doing here?" An excellent retort to a letter delivered that said "In the end I will find the right words, and they will be simple... Thanks for being a friend." Not sure if they were ever read. The letter was ripped in half ever so quickly. Ever so. Somehow. Someday. Somewhere.
Love is a battle. Love is war. Every piece of you given is forever lost. But for every piece you give away, a piece is taken. That can never be forgotten. Somehow. Someday Somewhere.
I never thought myself to be Tony... the leader of the Jets. I was alway the leader of the Sharks. Little man struggling, She was my Rita. Rita Moreno. Her twist... her turn. Every move showing defiance. Could she.... would she... the backward step into me. So simple. Yet... so elegant. Somehow, someday, somewhere.
Eyes pierce though the night. A new chapter has begun. They will carry over... but how much. Glorious hazel might defeat the blue. Who will win? The Jets? The Sharks? It matters little. The play runs again, over, and over. Well find a new way of living. Well find a new way of forgiving. Somehow. Someday. Somewhere.
Hold my hand and were half-way there. Hold my hand and I'll take you there.
Somehow. Someday. Somewhere.
I still remember her last words to me... "What the fuck are you doing here?" An excellent retort to a letter delivered that said "In the end I will find the right words, and they will be simple... Thanks for being a friend." Not sure if they were ever read. The letter was ripped in half ever so quickly. Ever so. Somehow. Someday. Somewhere.
Love is a battle. Love is war. Every piece of you given is forever lost. But for every piece you give away, a piece is taken. That can never be forgotten. Somehow. Someday Somewhere.
I never thought myself to be Tony... the leader of the Jets. I was alway the leader of the Sharks. Little man struggling, She was my Rita. Rita Moreno. Her twist... her turn. Every move showing defiance. Could she.... would she... the backward step into me. So simple. Yet... so elegant. Somehow, someday, somewhere.
Eyes pierce though the night. A new chapter has begun. They will carry over... but how much. Glorious hazel might defeat the blue. Who will win? The Jets? The Sharks? It matters little. The play runs again, over, and over. Well find a new way of living. Well find a new way of forgiving. Somehow. Someday. Somewhere.
Hold my hand and were half-way there. Hold my hand and I'll take you there.
Somehow. Someday. Somewhere.
Tuesday, July 24, 2018
Dance in the flames
Lady GaGa - The Edge of Glory (Bollywood Remix by Desi Hits!)
The vial parts
Curtain splits
If only for a moment
Everlasting frozen
But it is enough
In microseconds frozen
The glory
The possibilty
That a world
Might exist
Be created
For a moment
There is no past
No present
Only the now
Continuing forever
Forever
The draw of her eye
The beckoning question
Of her
Smile
So fierce
Come and dance
Dance
With
Me
For now
For the past
For the evermore
Come and dance
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