Blog Archives
GeorgeFlow
rain
rain cold wet
i hear it now, the rain
starting and your voice
shaking slightly why
i notice all the small
internal twitches that
make you shake on
the outside when i
said your name, your
hand came out just
enough for me too
to touch and feel that
shimmer run through
like electric current
rain cold wet for
you i want
to make me warm
WANT /too
In the field one sits
long hard tall, balanced
my soft pink sweater w
holes for finding gophers
men, you, who
wins? it was never about
until now reach inside
a suitcase varietal
my under where
he sits and waits along
lines of unpassionate love
do it, touch me there, eye
ask not what you can
do me like that, confident
hard tall feeling, a glass
between the rows
twirling elegantly
between my fingers
TOO RUB YOUR
RUB YOUR PENIS
Butt first, i smile up
Along the inside of your legs
Rub, rubbing. you write to me
You want, too, butt
Sheaks lifting slightly
two different things
Double talk
I wonder, two different men
Pulling apart around the
Center, you exhale, desiring
Not yet, i play more watching it
Grow, lick just along
the line getting longer
Base to eye, want too
Sling my legs over the top of
you now
And move just write, i never
Did rub, butt you wrote
It
WHY
Will you pose for me as
Eye you i will too
Sketch your wretched old
Penis shriveled in afterglow
Sit Low
the blur of the fog sits low
till static mists of light become stars
tiny and new, as if
as if one could be reborn a billion light years from here
what could it be to have know you then? taken your hand,
the side of your arm, i pull in to you.
WITH
with screened porches for sleeping in summer, to the shushing sounds of the river
We lay naked in the heat the hot
Springs still moist to our skin
Old iron beds creak and rattle the wall
for sleeping in summer, to the shushing sounds of the river
We laugh and try to silence it
But not really
Land enough to spare and grow in summer,
too the shushing sounds
Silence sparse for the long afternoon
Love if we may to lay and laze and count the crickets
Cry cry cry in the cooling darkness weeping stars
with your hands in summer work gloves, to the deafening
sounds of the whacker
Nothing at times but a quiet to still
Lemonade and strawberries