The Perfect Game

hours I spent with my cheek against your spirit smoothing the walls of a private utopia a summer of thought sweet like balloons of sugar mouthful of music sometimes a note that matched my heart claiming me with words like sacred and heat now back from the platform in his throat where I sat waiting

le sucre le plus doux

to feel it sweeeeeep like a flying wasp beautiful and bold hovering above my bed eyeing me thoughtfully a virtue of vibration sprinkling by gold upon my pinkened cheek promise of liberation and or exquisite pain then a downward swoop wild laughing out of almost nowhere brushing me dangerously causing a swell of squeal to

merging stars

you are like an elixir and we are merging stars in one stolen breath at 8.24 abandon to beautiful then hours of sweet alone immersed stretched and alive quiet but for the soaring song of birds and the sound of worship pushing from my body in waves of deep base invitation softly stroking ancient pain

gone magic me

hold me in your crumbling arms I am nothing perfumed and placating slide me through the dust momentary corner smile on red heart face then gone magic me breathspark particles release from nowhere man his pipe is damp non existent pipe relief into black psychedelic portals in holographic space suit wild number 4 silver and

Real

take off your makeup and your clothes rid yourself of fear that clutters your god’s markmaking slough off the murky bitter the security blankets that shroud you like oppression like religion kick the habit wear your skin like the fucking fleshly vestment that it is pay tribute to your creative force the life painter the

Heathen Altar

I am an altar on which to spread your length flesh and soft take me in your teeth an offering, splayed and wide a hot invite a worthy sacrifice a beckoning an easy conquest? but for the riot asked of you to bleed your ancient pain release from all mundane lids tremble gleaming slit a

Incandescent Arousal

shifting me he shudders my entirety body arching exhale he spills inwardly returning home we meet in a temple of heated light incandescent arousal sex is god and it becomes us the beauty transported in a flume of electricity water lethal a whirling dervish of time a nucleus or an ion I am something somewhere

desire

I wriggle surreptitiously to discourage and squash but despite Buddhist ideals and deep Catholic guilt it soon becomes apparent   it’s not going to stop http://www.arnabaartz.com.au http://www.artofkundalini.com http://www.kidsintouch.com.au

pulling pins

  how are you. take care. have a nice day. safety pins squeezing  loose stitches together added precautions pinning dissolving seams failing  curling release from pattern confining liquid rust leaking caught in the weave of yesterdays cotton a table cloth bedsheet potato bag story pull it out one by one let it go  and just

illuminate

can you feel my love today? I polish my window can you feel today my love? now I am visible