Musings and other things

When you grow up it seems like the world is meant to corral you

Everywhere people are shepherded into cubi-pens and queques

The vibrancy of the world becomes shades of grey

Because neutral tones keep people placid and docile

Even the explorer has a routine, a regimen and recipe

To modulate and plan events for maximum efficiency and the desired amount of expenditure

Cubiform bright colours and all the invented fictions of the world are become

The nursery rhymes of convention and adult interaction is metered in a playbook

I write this from a six by six grey cubicle in which two years have awarded me complacency

Every week day is more or less the same path to and from a faux-necessity

All social media has become is the highlight-reel of the 21st century self-sycophantic nature

And the drive to impress upon the self uniqueness and recapture the nuanced imagination of a child

But even lambs are herded away from wonder

Away from wondering and the wandering nature

To order and a linear graph of belonging to factions

This is why the societal attention span is a dreidel

Unable to keep up with its own spin.

  By N. Nunes

Tonight I found something From the blood rushing to rouge Almost inactive capillaries And make cheekbones remember warmth That I have often forgotten to colour With the timed tenderness of timid lips and the soft graces that only a sober excitement seems to both steady and waver the mind of an otherwise sound and straight worded scion and gentle student of this frail condition

Tonight I found a smile that I did not recognise one that I have faint recollection of from a past strained in rememberance through the words of a man that I don't quite recognise.

The Earth turns and falls down and I have felt the dancing orbs of distant Jovian moons and the dusty rings weaving tendrils about many a galactic cluster but tonight I found the red that bursts -jubilant- before nebulae are born in the rhythm of an ocean precociously petalled by a night-dream and a neckline by a sparking sun and the olive skin it's kissed by the mantric hum of a celestial archer's bow and the tranquil closing of deep honey eyes

Tonight I found something in the abyss of myself echoed from the melodies of you.

the treetops that make a show of imagination and the refracted star light that pales and presents the sleeping Earth in black bows that wave making lost memories to curl and creep and crawl forward without repose

And the dances. I like the dances and the way night makes shadows to undulate to a rhythm that beats with hearts and lungs filling with everything of me and you

And I like the way we cannot touch and the decades seem like yesterdays I like the way I like certain memories of you and the dreams that danced as we should have through suspended seconds and the symbiotic recombination of flesh that never knew flesh long enough to fracture the sky that turned back the tapestry tied dyed and drenched in the clamity of the coming tearing a part of the fabric of nature.

Tonight I found something From the blood rushing to rouge Almost inactive capillaries And make cheekbones remember warmth That I have often forgotten to colour With the timed tenderness of timid lips and the soft graces that only a sober excitement seems to both steady and waver the mind of an otherwise sound and straight worded scion and gentle student of this frail condition

Tonight I found a smile that I did not recognise one that I have faint recollection of from a past strained in rememberance through the words of a man that I don't quite recognise.

The Earth turns and falls down and I have felt the dancing orbs of distant Jovian moons and the dusty rings weaving tendrils about many a galactic cluster but tonight I found the red that bursts -jubilant- before nebulae are born in the rhythm of an ocean precociously petalled by a night-dream and a neckline by a sparking sun and the olive skin it's kissed by the mantric hum of a celestial archer's bow and the tranquil closing of deep honey eyes

Tonight I found something in the abyss of myself echoed from the melodies of you.

From some time a year ago.

            This is how I worship

  Lay me down between the dimples of Venus 

where the honey pot wide handles  

are slight and sweet.

Here I'll kiss the turning world

beneath the night sheets

and lay my lips to the curve of pelvic valleys

running fingers to stars up Andromeda's waist-alleys

My cheek upon the silk by the navel where dwell

the secrets of Eden by where all eating is well

and blessed by the scents in which bliss was first born

through the knowing of touches, between thighs and the thorn.

Running wild up the castle stair spine-way to land

on the shoulders where muscles electrically band

the tight rope to your nape neon lighted in fur

and ravaging fingers seek hairs by the grasp

to be gripped and then guided tilting neck lines and chin

in angles for lovers like felled seraphim,

who bold and ferocious search love through their lust,

worship with tongues betwixt thighs, upon bust,

with lips swimming long collar bone streams,

til lost and aghast, where the deity dreams

a little death in your lips at last,  

at last.