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    Smooth As Butter

    Intoxicating fingers smooth as butter, as the touchbecomes a symphony caressing, anticipating a danceon my flesh with a kiss from Diablo whisperingtequila and lime hot as the brimstone indulgingthe night from the fingers of his chassis and darkCadillac, melting...

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    4 Comments
    • I like how this poem blends sensuality with danger -the smoothness of butter colliding with tequila, lime, and brimstone. I feel the heat and intoxication of the imagery, like being pulled into a dark, reckless night that’s both thrilling and a little dangerous.

    • I do like the dark side in writing. Thank you kindly.

    • Powerfully penned, Adagio. I dig this one a lot. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.

      Damian

    • Thank you, Damian.

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    Cheap Cigars

    No cold moon interred in empty cupboards buried deepwith the scent of cheap cigars lingering sweet ashesof heavy bones whispering obsidian's glass neglecting the memory of closing chapters in contradiction's experience under the influence of inclement weather and cheap...

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    Windows 11 and Me

    The notorious empty space on my Lenovoghost of unspoken goodbye you left behind shifting the air with your shape, lingeringnear the Alt-Delete dripping tear of insomnia into a mug that you left behind when youupgrade to Windows 11

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    Eating Their Wheaties

    Origin of shadows, predators of night nullifying light, born from the absence of all things. Hungryfor the souls of Genesis rising and creating parasites, called Homo Sapiens before the chickencrossed the road. Hosting the hunters. Eating their Wheaties 

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    Blow The Wind Down

    Blow the wind down against the rusted gallows of decayand broken bones swallowed by the cold fingers of thenarrator's aftershave and 5 o'clock shadow echoing theanvil, tying the man down 

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    2 Comments
    • Dear Poet, this poem is a brutal, metallic self-imprisonment. The rusted gallows, the echoing anvil, the cold, pressing imagery – I can feel the inescapable weight of existence in every line. Even the aftershave lingers

    • Thank you. It’s all fiction. I write 90% fiction.

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