In the middle of the night
I lay and listen to the rain
In our hot room the sounds of splash
draw out my deep thought train
Were you not here so short-a-time-ago
to sweat with mine
The ticks might tock by
so bloody slow
hammering out my empty time
Through this din of rain and thunderous clocks
my thoughts collect on you
I’m sure though slow these days will fly
and bring me close in time to you
Posted in New poetry |
Tagged bed, hot, missing, poem, poetry, rain, sex, sweat, thoughts, time, warmth
As skins mingle
our senses tingle
to an extreme –
we start to scream!
To glimpse a ghost
I tease my host
and in return these bodies burn.
So, reaching into her domain,
I know that we will burn again –
in the twisting of her mind:
the only place where she is kind!
As these feelings end we go to start again
And I decide, now, where to go
Where night gets lighter, writhing slow.
By WolfgangRieger – Marisa Ranieri Panetta (ed.): Pompeji. Geschichte, Kunst und Leben in der versunkenen Stadt. Belser, Stuttgart 2005, ISBN 3-7630-2266-X, p. 185, Public Domain,
Play it slow; wake me when it’s over.
Feel the music lift you, love a supernova.
Sleep is quiet.
Sleep is quiet when I’m with you.
Faking love: Push me I roll over,
feel so warm inside – join me in a Rover.
Floating past, gone further than ever.
Quiet, dark, solitude.
Now the moments over.
Standing still, dreaming that I’m with you.
Now the feeling’s over.
Posted in Morning Tongue |
Tagged blues, city, dark, London Suede, poem, rise, sex, Slow, song, stories, youth
Blue panes filter white light through
In your eyes the reflections within
And this time I’ve lost it
I’ve lost all this time…
One night which flew quick was won
Sleeping with you I tried keeping
Alas my frailty shone
All pleasantry’s gone
The night was soon morning
When it’s my time to go.
Warmly in embrace you lie
brushing ears with slumbers sigh
flesh pressed close in dreams
In night breeze
where no light breaks
Your glued tight eyes flicker
lips mouth silent ethereal chat
[reposted, from 2011]
How is it slightly shocking
when the jokers cease their mocking?
When our silent door’s been knocked in?
When this time spent out is slept in?
How our lovers call their debts in?
Why does the thought make criers
of those bigots
All the cheaters and deceivers?
All the thieves-crooks-plebs-receivers?
Where can the buck be halted?
Why is the last,
Where are our truths remoulded?
Why are our mem’ries jolted
and when will this Hate be hated?!
[from November 2011]
Posted in Revolver |
Tagged beat, capital, city, deceit, hate, joker, lies, poem, poetry, sex, stagnation, stories
Some body who you never knew
Has promised to suck your bits Blue
For the price of a text
They do what you expect
And then, for followers, leave a review.