Posted: October 23, 2012 Filed under: funny, poems, poetry, romance, San Francisco, Uncategorized, words, writing | Tags: cheesy, erotic, found, funny, poetry, Raton Rose, sex, Shelter
A few weeks ago I was walking early in the morning and noticed pages from a book scattered all over the side walk. I happened to look down and see a couple of lines that caught my eye. I picked it up and put it in my purse. A few days later I took the pages out and read them….this is what I found:
I yearn to fuck.
To feel my body incandescent
glowing like a Xmastree
‘neath yours. You turn
me on… I SWOON.
At the thought of your stiff poker
tempered by the fires of love, I SWOON.
At sight of of its bright garnet knob, ah!
O why? I wish to be so wholly conscious,
Deliver me beloved from
this soft sweet faint. Electrify
my body even as the ramrod of your manhood
pierces me, so that I may cry to you
These things I offer to the great God Eros:
-My wet and greeny gash and its attendant furze…
-My pruny anus, hidden, yet all unashamed…
-My ears that long to hear Him whisper, “Hump me!”…
-My nose that I may sniff His rutty flesh…
-My eyes that He may spew His seed on them…
-My mouth that aches to gorge upon His prong…
-All, ALL my apertures are His…
The Slippery Flesh
How slick and juicy is your body, dearest,
When all covered with your juices male;
When I inhale the sweat from off your torso
My lips do shake and all my face grows pale.
My frail hand then does slip upon your shoulder,
It slides so gaily from your chest to belly;
Oh! Did you but know that at that moment
My heart is thumping, and my knees are jelly.
And when that same small hand does reach your groin
It occupies itself to make me whole;
I pinch and prod and shake and agitate
Your monumental, proud and greased pole!
Oh! Let your sex stand tall like gallant sail!
I’ll act as if I’m a deli!
To feast upon your hot pastrami is my goal!
When I observe your adorable legs, hard-muscled, straight,
And thick-entwined with manly hair, I weep
That I am not your feet.
When I envision those puissant limbs athrashing
Through the quiet glade or pistoning the pavements, then
I long to be your socks.
When in between my own two trembling nether limbs
Your masculine ones do haul your eager frame, why then
Can’t I be your knees?
But it is when my eager orbs do spy upon you
Sleeping, and travel from your toes up to your groin
That I wish that I might be – your cock!
Posted: August 11, 2012 Filed under: art, poems, poetry, romance, San Francisco, words, writing | Tags: baby deer, black and white, body, burning, champagne, dew, girl, kissing, laura makabresku, lips, naked, night, orange, peel, photo, poem, poetry, Raton Rose, romance, sacred, Shelter, sugar, tears, teeth, wonder
Orange peels curling into spirals pulled by her teeth…her lips following after chasing the sweet juices of the world.
I awake to her kissing my tears licking them drop by drop, it seems she likes my sorrow more than my soul.
She tells me secrets she has written on the side-walk for the passer-bys.
I wonder whether she finds anything sacred.
She burns me with her matches and I lay there with out protesting.
My body is sticky with sugar from the night before.
Champagne and dew lost moments stolen by you.
Posted: July 28, 2012 Filed under: goth, poems, poetry, romance, words, writing | Tags: Dark, goth, innocence, love, luxury, poem, poetry, Raton Rose, romance, Shelter, sin, sin libertine, spider
This spider web is sticky with lust, catching its prey and wrapping them up tight, another morsel for the night.
I find my self caught and relaxed in the pleasure of captivity.
This penniless luxury is all to addictive.
A life lived like a modern libertine, I find my morals running thin… when debauchery is so strong with in.
Vitality pulses in every pore across my flesh and I have never felt so close to death.
Silver explosions in the blackness night, a call to lovers light.
Our bodies seem to be molded to one another, a strange familiarity an echo of what could be.
Passion, bliss and loss of innocence.
The world is folding in…. a crumbling of sin.
Posted: July 24, 2012 Filed under: poems, poetry, romance, words, writing | Tags: brake up, love, old, poem, Raton Rose, romance, sad, Shelter
When did we began to crumble?
Or did we flak?
You flaked, I crumbled.
I crumbled from your flakes…they were to heavy on my heart.
I disintegrated back into myself.
Back into my world, my home….alone.
Posted: July 14, 2012 Filed under: goth, Inspiration, photographer, photography, photos, poems, poetry, romance, seattle, Travel, words, writing | Tags: 35 mm, death, film, goth, hades, handsome, lake view cemetery, persephone, photo, poem, poetry, Raton Rose, rose b. grim, Shelter
Remember death when you look at me.
Remember death and you will see he is closer to you then me.
What has become of life when all I see is dark shadows of eternity?
There’s a soft tenderness in death’s foreverness.
Death is the only suitor who follows through making all his promises come true.
He seems a handsome man, a king of a strange enchanted land.
Are all the ghosts his brides?
Wearing white, queens ruling by his side…
I see death in every handsome man I see,
Am I merely pretending to be Persephone?
Posted: June 9, 2012 Filed under: poems, poetry, words, writing | Tags: poem, poetry, Raton Rose, Shelter, tuesday, zache davis
Confusing you with my
pretense of power,
shakes, wake up—wake up,
I promise I’m lying but
right now, it’s the truth
I will not regret
wooing the will,
and I let you down.
I never meant to.
friends and lovers
concealing the consequences
wondering—will you fall for it?
My game, is not a game.
Posted: May 24, 2012 Filed under: funny, History, Inspiration, rock stars, romance, words, writing | Tags: adam, casanova, eve, jacques, memoirs, naked, orgy, passage, quotes, Raton Rose, Shelter, volume five, writing
“The young madcap suddenly proposed that the girls should dance a hornpipe in the costume of Mother Eve, and they consented on the condition that we would adopt the dress of Father Adam, and that blind musicians were summoned. I told them that I would take off my clothes to oblige them, but that I had no hopes of being able to imitate the seductive serpent. I was allowed to retain my dress, on the condition that if I felt the prick of the flesh I should immediately undress. I agreed to do so, and the blind musicians were sent for, and while they tuned their instruments toilettes were made, and the orgy began”
- The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova Volume Five
Posted: April 15, 2012 Filed under: Inspiration, magic, poetry, qoutes, vintage, words, writing | Tags: anais nin, black velvet, caviar, champange, death, henry and june, Henry Miller, June miller, passage, Raton Rose, russian, Shelter, tearoom, writing
Then came June, all in black velvet, black cape and plumed hat, paler and more incandescent than ever, and carrying Count Bruga, as I had asked her to do. The wonder of her face and smile, her smileless eyes…
I took her to a russian tearoom. The russians sang as we felt. June wondered if they were really burning, as it seemed from their voices and intense playing. Probably they were not burning as June and I were.
Champagne and caviar with June. It is the only time one knows what champagne and what caviar is. They are June, Russian voices and June.
Ugly , unimaginative, dead people surround us. We are blind to them. I look at June, in black velvet. June rushing towards death. Henry cannot rush on with her because he fights for life. But June and I together do not hold back. I follow her. And it is an acute joy to go along, giving in to the dissolution of the imagination, to her knowledge of strange experiences, to our games with Count Bruga, who bows to the world with weeping willowness of his purple hair.
It is all over. In the street, June says regretfully, “I had wanted to hold you and caress you.” I put her in a taxi. She sits there about to leave me and I stand by in torment. ” I want to kiss you,” I say. “I want to kiss you,” says June, and she offers her mouth, which I kiss for a long time.
- Anais Nin from Henry and June