Tactile Resonance

It’s a matter of texture, at my fingers, on my tongue
Slipping down my throat deliciously, eyes rolling back in my head
Acid, sweet, straight up, neat
Crystalline pieces melt in a pool of viscous saliva

It’s a matter of texture, at my hands, on my eyes
Creamy flesh of the inner thigh, smooth, I linger in anticipation
Fruitful, strong, softly, long
The kiss slightly wet, makes a mess of my little mind

It’s a matter of texture, at my soles, on my skin
Digging toes sharing molecular harmony with the essence of organic life
Sharp, growing, warmth, flowing
Icy cold water rinses the tension from between my toes

It’s a matter of texture, at my thoughts, on my mind
Information slides like plate tectonics, engaging ideas
Shifting, grinding, rolling, binding
My thoughts resonate at the frequency of the expanding universe

© 2010 Crowley

Self Esteem Issues

 For Izy's prompt. Izy brings up a great challenge here, but when I go to try and parody myself, and I read through my stuff, sometimes it seems like crap really...lol. So not really an amusing parody, just the way I feel sometimes writing around such talented folks. And on the other hand...some days I wake up feeling like the man, so I guess its a wash, I'll take what I have for the time being.




Sad, sad, dark, dark
Ugly dog, foam, willow tree bark
Political rant, a taste of tea
Children drowning in a cough syrup sea


Chant, chant
Groan, groan
Your mother's big chance
Blown, blown


Black, black, imperfect dude
A charming analogy about savory food
Parachutes, time, armageddon moon
Sexy girls that look like cartoons


Chant, chant
Sing, spit
This isn't writing
Shit, shit

True Beauty

If shooting stars

And granite dells

Met frosting covered pastry shells

The scene could never be as sweet

As one square inch of your perfect feet

If rabbit fur

And beaver pelts

Met satin sheets and chocolate melts

The offspring resulting from that sin

Could not be softer than your skin

If Christmas lights

And festive drums

Met deconstructed cheesecake crumbs

The holiday that comes and goes

Is not as treasured as your nose

If candle light

And mercury

Met the majesty of every tree

The soul of the bird that lightly cries

Can be seen in the reflection of your eyes

Beauty casts an eternal spell

Can take a pious man to hell

That dragon’s smart so watch your back

Many men won’t make it back

© 2010 Crowley