Selfish Intent

Question of the heart’s pleasure,
Sensual gift, mine to keep,
It’s my desire, grant it I pray,
My eyes to be immersed in the beauty that is you,
The content of that cranium, Einstein would have taken notice,
I’d whirl in that river of knowledge,
Gallop my way,
A prince to a damsel surely in distress,
And elevate me to your arms,
Oh what bliss to find,
It’s a wish for self,
My selfish intent

Ask of me and I shall answer,
My ears hunger for pearls from your mouth,
My senses are ignorant of the simple pleasures
Of your feel,
It’s my desire, grant it I urge,
My feet to walk beside yours,
My nostrils immersed in the scent that is you,
Oh senses never got this excited,
Hurry my way
And wrought me in your embrace,
A gentleman to a lady,
It’s a wish for self,
My selfish intent

It’s a heart’s matter,
A human need,
A soulful bond,
It’s my desire, grant it I pray
To be embossed in love,
That God prescribed remedy,
Oh what peace to have,
Scurry my way,
A man to a woman,
And be mine,
For it is my wish,
My self intended status



COPYRIGHT Ivory Confessions 2010

Violencia

Remanded in quicksand
South are men at arms caressing M 60 machine guns
North is a contingent, hand-ling napalm bombs
East…. east lie 23 armored tanks
West, masked and bearing the semblance of space men
Stand 10 pongos, ready for biological warfare
The airspace dinging with battle planes
Extremely pregnant and ready to bear ballistic missiles

“Consume her thoroughly!” orders the Generalissimo
“Leave nothing but vapeeeouurrr”

Surrounded, lacking a point of exit
The sand swallowing her knees greedily
Insatiable and wet
The southern aims
The northern prepares to swing and sling
The eastern bears in with the migraine rumble
Of its metallic monsters, shaking the theater of war
Provoking the sand to consume her bosom
The western unplugs 200ml chemical flasks
And the pregnant planes go into labor

There then, she sinks into irrelevance
Her shoulders already enveloped in blanket heavy wetness
At the centre of enemy territory
A single cadet lost to my battalion
Dying without penitence and absolution
A victim of the best arms

Yet, lo behold!
Her last sight is the Phantom Knight
Breathing fire, spitting sulphuric bombs
Riding to her deliverance
He pulls her by he groping hair
And cultivates a sulphuric kiss of life upon her still lips

His embrace? Might it be safer?
Might it really?
Violencia? Answer me!



COPYRIGHT Ivory Confessions 2010