Legs ...

I consult all those stretch marks, the years upon those legs, the fats & the millions tiny brown spots as well as scars left from every childhood moment. That flesh is lucid. Each day a new cut bleed and a new skin inside my brain revealed. I shall admire you shaved, I shall admire you unshaven, I shall admire you, period.

Self Shot by Self ...

رغبة ...

ArtWork Courtsey by Lana Ghassan
"Dried Petals"  

عالق بذهنى هذا المشهد لنا،

أتصبب عرقاً بينما أُعطيك مساج التنترا على أنغام أنينك.

يمنحنى إحتكاك فخذى بأسفل ظهرك

أمواج من النبضات.

أمتطيك كما يمتطى الفارس فرسه

و أشعر بدفىء كسى المبلل

كهفى يحتوى لآلىء الشهوة

بمجرد إنتشارها، يصير باقى الرجال ذكرى

تنزلق يداى صعوداً و هبوطاً على أجزاء جسدك العليا

كأنهما يؤديان عرض راقص

يوزعان هذه النبضات بين جسدينا.

أطلق وحشك، فهو يحتاج أن يخفق بحرية

أعطيك مساحة ليتنفس

حتى يصير الناجى الثالث بعدى أنا و أنت.

أسمع صدى الجدران المحيطة

فأنت أسيرى

و سأطلق سراحك فقط عندما تتمنى.

يتزلج لسانى عليك كأداة تزحلق على الجليد

ألعق ظهرك ببطء حتى أصل خلف أُذنيك

أعلم أنها تدغدغك

لا تستطيع الجزم إن كنت تعرق أم تغرق فى لُعابى

أنينك يعلو

يجعل حوائط الغرفة تتصدع.

يخرق الصمت، فلا يصبح صمتاً

يسيطر على الكون صوت رجل على فراش

تركع الجبال لتصلى على إيقاع أغنيته

بعد صرخة اللذة، يغرق العالم فى الصمت مجدداً

تتسارع دقات قلبى و أنا مستلقية عليك

ككتلة لحم فى زيت الرغبة

أهمس قصائد حب

أحس بك

ينهار نظام الشمس و يحل محله سخونة أجسادنا

و يصبح مصدر الدفئ الجديد للعالم

تتحِد دموعنا لتتحول إلى أمطار فضية

لا أستطيع مصارعة أشعة الوحى

تطفو

أنا (أتطفو؟؟؟)

اسطع يا حبيبى

ترتعش تحت جلدى

تتلطخ بلون الشيكولاته/كاراميل

U manifest birth now

أُهنئك أيها البطل

لقد صمدت

فى هذه اللحظة، لا أحد يحبك كما أحبك

أنت فى أمان الآن

لا شىء يقدر على إصابتك

تنفس حبيبى

تنفس

كيف حالك؟ ماذا تشعر؟

هل صرخت؟

أسمع ثرثرة... تقول أنك تعذبت...تقول يوجد بركان بداخلك؟

فقط أنا و ذئاب ألاسكا نسمعك

(ضحكة صارخة) هاهاها....

فعلاً، لقد أزاد بركانك سمار بشرتى

PS: for English edition, Check "Caramel Epiphany (Slam Poem) ... Click Here

Kiss Sutra ...

Let me delve in your planet 'mouth' in search for a revelation 

where we bounce between art & lust. 

Your vigor heat my lips and race an endless marathon to create a mantra

That we can both recite one day.

You call me a "KissSmith" while you welder well my appetite;

where our mouth-to-mouth water a thirsty urge  

and all fierceness of our massive bodies weigh-less.

I lose count of all stimulus when our flesh collide; 

and all what remain is the sound of discrete moans

that escalate a fearless crescendo,

steer a laugh when we entr'acte, 

take a blink to look at moist eyes

glancing at one's face to draw a smile

then engage back to the kissing dialogue. 

We reach no climax, neither a peak

even when your tongue climb mine

even when my tongue twirl around yours

even when we spit and exchange fluids. 

We grow breathless but we don't stop

we pause, we rewind, we shuffle

to replay a song we once practiced

that sounds as new everytime

we pause, we rewind, we shuffle. 

We don't trace, nor recall as we tend to forget

to make a new memory of each kiss

that we pause, we rewind to renew and shuffle.... 

Venus.

Black Iris (1926) By Georgia O'Keeffe 

Hey my luscious Venus, pumped with life, where Grey turn into

pink, i lick those pulsating lips, i rub u harshly to generate life.

i smell ur fresh garden, where Grey resist the pink. 
As u shall not stay deserted, i will be visiting you with my fingers, those sharp nails,

and my wet tongue lick you till you breath thru my wetness queen of lust till U leak the juice of desire. 

...;..@

The Light in the Dark Head ...

Self Shot by Self 

In my Rebirth, I don't contemplate much. I don't question anymore and most of all I stopped seeking answers. In my Rebirth I don't remember much of who I was or how I used to do things. In my Rebirth, I lost a thousand memory, I disconnected from a self I was once used to. I can't remember any previous glory or accomplishments if any at all. In my Raw transition, I bounce between my forgotten history and a Deja Vu Moi.

‪#‎Birthday_Note‬ ‪#‎Perfumadelarosa‬

Its better when the Lights ON ...

Don't hide away, don't hide away that body, don't hide behind a cloth or a sheet

Don't hide behind an attitude and don't hide away by closing your eyes. 

When your eyelids drop coz they are used to look down, pull them up manually.

Look at yourself even if you are not shaved

Look in the mirror even when you are not having tidy hair

Look in the mirror even if you find yourself hideous 

Look into the eyes of whom admires you

Look into the eyes of whom insults you

Look into the eyes in a fight as well as when you make love 

Stretch those unshaven arms and look to your hands, your fingers & your nails 

Stretch your unshaven legs and look at your knees, your feet & your toes 

Distant those thighs apart and have a look at your dick, your pussy & what lays in between. 

Its better when the Lights ON

Its better when you can see yourself by yourself

Its better when you can watch and observe humans & things

Its better when you intentionally hit your head to the wall and not accidentally

Its better when you can see a voice 

Its better when you can see those tears, either yours or someone else's 

Its better when the Lights ON 

a dream inside a dream in a Ludus ...

“You looked younger, whiter, wearing that leather pant, laying on ur stomach near the balcony on a sunny day. I unzip your magnificent fashionable fabric and start playing in that firm white ass .. I keep playing till you roll yourself and cum in your favorite hat and here I scream about my facial protein that you just wasted “ … I open my eyes to find myself rolled in your arms and while being sleepy, I speak :” I had a dream about you” … then I fade back to my hazy space and get hook up inside another bad dream that I scream a big NO and get spin and suffocating … I choke and fold within and cry while my eyes still closed … you hold me and whisper that its ok and let me fall back into the dream loop and I find myself awakened on your fingers playing my Venus… 

Lusting over Ludus ...

All those morning photos exchange, for a mood, for a boost, for a sneak of a naked beat of a chest, of a rib, of an arm and a fashion pick. I smile, I grin and I open my chin to capture the scene at my end and fantasize of our next battle over the Ludus court. I shall warm well my bare fists to slap and bite your ass cheeks to hear your cracking laughs of this ticklish child within. I like to keep your juice on, I won’t wash it off, I won’t run to shower, I will carry it for a day or two , this sticky dry elixir liquid leaving this trace once and for all in my head.

I text you in details how I want to have you, how I want to conquer you without conquering you coz it ain’t a conquest, how I want to be sensual with you, how I wanna glide between your legs, Up back to your Torso, crossing your trimmed chest, friction with your teenager hands, how I want to blend my Caramel shade with your ginger skin. I reveal on how I want you to touch me, how I want you to lust me, how I want you to rub against me till I freckle. I even want you to smile when you read my lips spelling those words. I will gaze at you while you carelessly read a book or napping or just daydreaming over the ceiling. I am lusting annoying you while you being serious. I am lusting smelling you over and over till there is nothing more to smell. I would carry your fermon, your sweat, your cum and let the Candles burn upon our Lust. How Can one sleep when in a state of Lust? I will chase my shadow to exhaust the eternal Lust but I know the later will exhaust me and win that I wouldn’t dare to take a medicine for cure. 

The Ludus, My Ludus ...

The sofa that turned into the arena where there is nothing to conquer but one’s  self. You hear ur fears spelled thru someone else’s tongue and realize they are not fears, they are realms of a parallel life that co-existed next to yours with hundred years of moon difference. No distance can’t crossed bodies solve over the Ludus while sipping the mercury as you get forgotten to be free, you get forgotten to EXIST. In my Ludus, my arm is an extension of someone’s leg. In My Ludus,  someone’s hands can fondle my Venus the way I fondle her and the way I like to fondle her. And when my Ludus becomes better than a hundred KamaSutra proposed position, everyone else should throw the book, liberate and sink in their own imagination instead. You don’t kiss much, comparing to average lovers, you don’t kiss enough and my legacy is a passionate kisser. But, was it annoying? Am not sure, I played along and I was not annoyed nor  distracted from the original skill which is being a connoisseur of touching.  

Am glad that porn industry didn’t spam you. Didn’t spam the sensualist in you, didn’t spam ur sexual brain, didn’t spam ur touches, didn’t spam your facial expressions, and I do love this childish smile of yours when you silently express your joy of the momentum.  We rub our flesh back and forth, we go slow motion, we go fast motion. I allow my arms to scrub against your balls, your inner thighs, your upper legs, against your Spartacus and I moan, I moan… We kiss again, we kiss more this time, you kiss, you kiss again. I speak “So now you kiss? … I wanna play”  .. You: “I told you I kiss more and more gradually” .. we laugh and I continue my rub. We feel easy, we breathe easy, the heart still easy, we don’t rush, we drag, we keep dragging and rubbing  and my face expression change, my moan change, I go mute, I close my eyes so I can see your flesh better, so I can smell you better, so I can bite your nipple better, so I can lick your balls better. We kneel on the Ludus arena as if we gonna dance, but we don’t dance, we kiss, we kiss again, and then I open my eyes and look at you with that post fever and think that this was a hypnotizing act anyone would wanna seek. We lay there and start Whiplashing and the night fade as you sleep over my lap while am dragging my hands over your head.

We Let Go, we become the bird who seize the food, be it a moment, a dream or a simple carnal desire,  we just seize food for our soul, for our spirit…

SHE and the other woman ...

SHE approached the mirror where the other woman was astride over this petite chair combing her hair. SHE bend and pick her ponytail up like a bunch of flowers and stamp a kiss on her back neck then look at her in the mirror and speaks "come with me". SHE takes her left hand slowly and move towards the toilet sink and speaks again with a piercing look "now u gonna wash your hands with soap, you gonna brush your teeth as you gonna give me a proper oral job" ... the phrase was followed by a soft groan from her throat then the other woman started to submit. 

Sun rays heated a corner of the bed, SHE lay down where there was no more gravity and asks the other woman to kneel and start her way thru her cave. SHE speaks in a calm voice yet patronizing knowing exactly how she wants to be touched ... SHE orders" smell me but while pushing hot air thru ur mouth, inhale me then exhale the hot air back to my land, my skin, my supple curves"  .. she adds "wait, adjust the mirror so i can watch you doing me, so I can watch my pink, so I can excite my eyes" .

The other Woman moved away, standing in that shadow fixing the object, and looking at SHE waiting for approval .. SHE nods and use a finger signaling to move forward ... The other Woman goes back to her kneeling position .. SHE keeps her legs loosened slightly apart and cupped her nipples with her fingers like a grape connoisseur at a winery ...  The other Woman push her face slowly downward and approaching SHE's graveyard where hundreds of cocks were buried alive and start her inhaling\exhaling ritual while keeping her eyes open and non distant ... "Shut your eyes and enjoy my garden ... Smell the roses, the wetness and the flesh" SHE commands in a hypnotizing voice ... 

Aroused by the act, SHE open her legs further, the more SHE opens, the more the other woman smell deeper, blow hot air, inhale the pink and exhale onto the moist hole ... SHE's groan louder and snap few uncomprehending words,  hysterical laughs and smile and open her legs as wide as it can get witnessing in the mirror the take over of her peach by someone's nose ... The pace grew bolder without any extra instruction from SHE as if the other woman suddenly knows her way, as if she was in this place before, as if she knows what to be done and how to manage a pussy ... After the smelling session that seemed like eternal, the other woman decided to take control and opened her mouth tiny bit and started to stroke SHE's swollen clit by the tip of her tongue ... in and out, more strokes, in a consistent intervals yet teasingly .. when the motion pause, SHE screams "Don't stop now" .. SHE use her hands to spread her pussy lips wider apart giving more space to the tongue that becomes sharper than a knife ...  "not too quick, I don't want to cum soon" .. the other woman step back and before SHE protest, the other woman slide next to her in bed and a delight friction between the two begins while the rays grow bolder and neither can see their reflections in the mirror anymore ... 

The friction becomes a heated volcano ready to erupt and burn whatever crosses the way .. The women change into scissor's position, hold hands and tribbing in an endless motion like doves in a lake ... they moan like cats in a matting season ... They pull each other up using their arms to climb and face to face they kiss vigorously ... they devour each other's lips ... they munch and shew and eat each other's tongues ... they thrive the symphony without disconnecting hands ... like a ballet dance ... they lay down to continue tripping and the wetness rise like a fountain between their thighs breaking the sweat noise crescendo ... the universe silenced for a decade, wakes upon a climaxed alarm of Two screaming Prima donna's  ... 

SHE, eyes closed, drop a tear of extreme pleasure and when she opens them, she look around to find her reflection on the mirror, the last gleams of sun thru her curtains, the noise of crude street passengers and no other woman on sight ... just an empty petite chair ... 

There is no War for me to Win as my Battle is Within ...

In the matter of Curves ... (Reflections over my body)

Paul Gauguin Painting (La vie ET la mort) 

After the daily morning shower I look at the mirror. I wash away vapor with my bare hands. I pluck my thick eyebrows. I sneeze; I gargle and glide my finger tips over my neck. I push them back at the corner of my eyes and I slightly stretch outward the flesh. Do I look like Japanese now? I just want to make those fine lines disappear and I promise I won’t complain. I snatch my messy head and I find 3 white hairs. Grrrrrrrrrrr, no not now. I slap my cheeks to wake up; I smile and say “I love myself as I am”. 

In front of the closet, I stand while water drops off my body. My skin spread soap aroma in the room that makes me blush. I stare at all those displayed unworn dresses and unfitting skirts and I think how they never give me consolation when I need them the most. On my left, I look to another bigger mirror. I consult my naked figure. I breathe in my round tummy. I touch my flappy sides and rub my cellulite. My curves do not intimidate me. I am sort of pear sculpture like the 18^th century nude paintings. I wrap myself in the towel like a spring flower. I go drop my mass weight over the floor. The carpet scratches against my feet and send ticklish waves that reaches my ears. I look opposite to the window and understand the fact that I am not timeless, am prone to wrinkles. My hair would turn grey, my teeth might fall and my sight would fade. I draw a smile coz I know I would still love myself by then... 

iPain

its been a year of pain

its been a year of a struggling "self"

my foot hurt, my ankle hurt, my bone hurt, my heart hurt and my brain hurt

my mind hurt and being in love hurt

its not dramatic, its simply painful

sadness take over and make room for more pain

i am growing with a smile of pain, with a laugh of pain and aching feelings

i adapt, i adapt till its impossible for extra adaptation 

i surprise myself and adapt further

my knees hurt, my hands hurt, my arms hurt

i accept reality, i accept reality till reality itself dissolve

i sink in grandiose ideas till they fold, till they becomes flame, till they burn me

i vanish and disappear in fantasies of my own creation

i wake up and my eyes hurt, my ears hurt, my lashes hurt

i eat whenever am in pain and more pain follow

i lost the right sentences and only the word 'pain' remain

Coffee is My Wine ... He said

In my Shrine
I remember all the poetry created
and the Love Muse
of my perfect planet
All the "Eve je T'aime"
and the word "Divine"
As the world fall in place
Coffee becomes my Wine...

In my cup
I see the face
of a girl who was once my mother
from a nostalgic time of black & white
Among my own down town
my own archive of sights
I pour more of dark salvation
to please my addiction
i spoil by pouring
and pouring to indulge
i indulge to addict
in my black cup of wine 

The Aroma surrenders
to the taste of fate
whisper old ancient language
that no one can translate
But then comes a man
who defeat the locks
for other men to try
having tears in grain
that later becomes their mourning wine. 

And the truth prevails
in obscure water
that hides my joy and pain
like traces over sand in a windy day
But here I come again
spell poetry that remain
my main source of power.
I gaze away 
watching the pot
that holds the wine of my coffee ...

Am I that exposed?
Does it even show?
How enticing it can be
to just sink in my cup and start a fantasy
of an Eve who cook my daily wine
and pour a magic into my cup of coffee....

The Crush Carries On ... (Reflections of a Voyeur)

*According to Wikipedia, A Voyeur is someone who have sexual interest in or spying on people engaged in intimate behaviors. According to me, its not the case, a Voyeur is someone interested in sneaking on Human feelings...

Modern life seems no longer providing any fairytale but fantasies are keeping its fuel. Its Rather Romantic than Cheesy, but all crushes have tendency to sound boring. Yet, we can never get enough of hearing or witnessing some of them. Someone Else's butterflies entices your own dull moments like reading this predictable book with its "Ouh ahh la la" soundtracks. Have we forgot our earlier rise? Is that why we have this big naive smile while hearing stories that speaks about crushes?

"She crunches within herself when he's around. She travels back to her teenage spirit. Her Voice shrugs when she addresses him, she cannot even maintain an eye contact as he deliberately shakes her being. She cannot think properly. She is no longer in charge of her emotions. She is no longer in control. She surrenders to all what she resists. She revives all what she misses. She simply Crush Boom Bang when she sees him." 

The story did not end. I know little since she knows little herself. I shall wait endearingly to hear more of her crush stories as I revive mine through hers...

*From & To all my Girlfriends.

Lavender .... لافندر

همس فى أذنها كلام حب....ضحكت و أسترسلت فى حكايتها

He approached further and said more love words

Its Ticklish...she tells him

He ignore and blow hot air behind her ears

تغمض عينيها فى دلال متوقعة قبلة على شفتيها

He pulls her off her knees, walk thru the hallway

Enter a room, place her gently on the floor and start smelling

ينزلق بأنفه يتشمم عنقها, صدرها كأنه يحصد حقول الافندر

She surrenders to the attack and release her aromatic soul defenselessly...

White Noise...

In the midst of a burning flame
My ideas are greatly shrinking
Cannot consume voices & verbs
It dehydrates me further
and leave me with one choice
But to stay silent....

Dry Lemons...

For it starts with a glance
seeing Bright Colds dance pretty
Out of tune & totally immune to us
Smile! Smile as it cracks Logic!
For colored worlds miss serenity.

A failing exoskeleton of old beings
Lost in their raison d'etre
Nothing falls prey to itself
Feast! Feast as it stumbles down !
A bright reminder of loss & naught.

So Haze & soundproof rooms disperse
As still points mark the mental loop
And our void become full once again
Flee! Flee as Reality shines again!
So encrusted are we in its confines.


As breaths & pulses pass by slowly
We refer to joy as a consolation
For muted thoughts & subjugated wills
Fall! Fall as colors appear again!
As you rot in dried wells of sanity

Courtesy to Omar Saleh.... whose demonic mind creates beautiful proses.
To get intouch with Omar: bhaal_son@hotmail.com

أنا عندى كرش ..... أنطباعات جسدية

قضيت اليوم بأكمله مستلقية على الفراش متأملة ببطىء و أستغراب هذا الكائن المتمدد فوقى.

من أنت يا صغيرى ؟ و كيف تسلقتنى دون أن أشعر بك ؟ و أين والدك ؟ نظر لى شزرا وقال: "أنتِ. فقلت له, أنا مين؟ , أنتِ والدتى. أنا مين؟ , أنتِ والدتى. كيف؟ و متى؟ و أين؟ , فقال: " يومياً, أمام الثلاجة" .

صمتُ قليلاً ثم تذكرت. صحيح, أنت فعلاً أبنى, كيف أتجرأ و أنساك. ثم مددت يدى حول كرشى الصغير الذى حاولت جاهدة نسيانه و قررت عدم المحاولة نهائياً أن أتزاكى عليه مرة أخرى

iTsunami...

Episode 1:
i hear a voice, that tells me to drink water, then i become water. When the earth is over, we shall be the last survivors.
i dive my feet into cold sand, and then i hold ma self with my own hands. i smell you. Weren't we the last to breathe over the surface?
thru my skin, i see you.
A shooting star chase me, remind me of how it used to be.
How when i climbed the mountain, i was giving you a hand to survive the dream.
Shall we be the last survivors?
The Mountain tears turns into crystal
A shimmer pass over our face, reflecting the world that once was a refuge from our inner fear.
We open our arms to play the music and spread it down hills as the human memory will only keep the picture of its last heroes who saved the world and liberated the soul as we became the last 2 survivors....