born in the artic snow
she chromed
her heart
in steel

flames could
not
touch that heart

always a half a step ahead
sure
a few stumbles
but never a fall

and moonlight is just
a heartache in disquise

till one day
leaning out a car window
a scar upon his cheek
and the luck of the draw

was the jack of hearts

and the queen of diamonds
had
never met
anyone
quite like

the jack

of hearts,

black-haired blue-eyed
her beauty inspired
stupid men
to commit foolish acts

and as he smiled
the queen of diamonds
thought she had

the jack of hearts,

blue sky shimmering
in her eyes

jack became
the brightness
of her day

and the jack of hearts
saw a flame
flickering in her eyes
that he had never seen
in any women's eyes
before ...
                
               act. 2

... a strange destiny
was unraveling
and one long poker hand
was over
and the snowflakes came
down like ashes
under the street light

and then
the jack of hearts
walked away

a pale spirit fleeing
a graveyard
into the wall of night

and the queen of diamonds
cried

the sea into sky

with eyes
like twilight
waiting

to eat away the day

My wet mouth, has left...

the heft,
of you,
to dangle low...

with your flavored ***,
still chambered,
in my strained
throat...

These hazy lips,
have swept
your member, in their
paint strokes.

And you, remain...
glittered, and glazed
in the shifting flickers,
of my
lip stain

Your thighs, and hips
are slick,
with spit,
restrained,
in chains, and clips...

do they eclipse
the pain?
When my fingertips
slip,
in sinuous ways,
between your straining limbs,
to maul, and grip,
your disco *****,
in a limber fist,
and to give their haul,
just, a little
twist...

"Mine...
You are mine..."

A sotto voce drawl,
on the "bottom" line,
as I scrawl these nails,
down your softened spine.

Now let's see,
what can happen,
when we cross, some lines.

Which one, is the Master,
and which one, the sub?
When a brat has got you lashed,
and stuffed
with your cheeks gashed,
and your back, up...

give that thick ****, a slap, but
I rub and tap, the plug,
until I feel you... clamp up...

Ready? I think you're ready.
I think you're hungry...
I think you need me.
But I hate, to disrupt you,
while you're lovingly feeding.

So let's give you something
that's fun to eat, then...?

Now, open.
Wide.

I'm gonna measure your throat,
with the bulk,
of the biggest, of mine.

Now I'm dragging the width,
down the bridge, of your nose,
and the fat, of your lips...
snap you, back, with a grin,
and a slap, of the tip...
As you grasp, at my hips,
through the strap, and the belt,
and latch on, to the shaft...
and then melt,
down the sides.

"Mine...
You are mine.
Don't you know...
that you are *******, mine?"

...With your lips, spread,
to ****...
as I'm thrusting,
inside.

There is a lot I can no longer
do spontaneously
I touch myself with caution
and rather let you look

than act, but sometimes
the tingling of your
caress arouses unfulfillable needs
deeper and deeper in me

They are sleeping
in my cells, still
desiring to jump you
but your hands ward me off

as a precaution, so sensitive
are our skin and our bones
so painful it can be
to wish to be young

i’m still the same words in a new font
same old punchline but more nuanced
the same marathon you’ve been running
under all the layers, an onions still an onion

She asked:
“Why so blue?”
When the room lights in an indigo hue
Amber liquid decanted
Poured in crystal clear glasses.
“Why so pale?”
I replied.

Gentle knocker at the window
Tenebrous limbs shyly tremble
At the gust of Gaia’s impatient sighs
As the sky’s spotlight lights the way
For nocturnal arboreal spies.

I guess when ruby red lips
Stain the glass as we sip
Spirits always haunting us,
That I’m prone to wondering
How I can be her knight cap.

She asked:
“Aren’t you gonna kiss me?”
Signals fired like a flare,
Synapses lit aflame I’m rushing with adrenaline
As I feel her satin fabric twisted in my palms
Gripped to pull her into me like a fleece blanket,
We embrace like joined twins
And lip lock in a flurried fury.
“Like this?”
I replied.

In love with imperfect,
Pure bliss in your candor
Won’t you let me in?
Spread your pedals wide,
Stride after stride
Until the room paints in white
And the sun blinds our shame
To freshen our gaze,
And restart our game

sad heart void of love
her smile scattered seeds of love
love songs fill the air.
2/6/2025

A woman, who’s really tired,
Hasn’t even go to bed.
It’s past midnight and all over again.
Her bed’s still fully made.

A woman, who’s really tired,
Forgot what sleep is.
She spent herself but stably accepted
Her Destiny’s painful decrees.

A woman, who’s really tired,
Wants simply and plainly to be.
She stopped laughing long ago.
She rarer wants to speak.

A woman, who’s really tired
Of blaming herself for breathe,
A woman, who’s still feeling,
Has simply the right to live!

. Canto I: The Movement .

Sing, O depths, of the sundered and stitched—
of lovers who fled the lattice of men.
They bore no dowry but discord and blaze,
cast off from the courts of the land-born kin.

She rose from a brine-locked temple,
crowned in eelbones and saltglass,
her voice a harpoon through silence.
He came from a pyre of failed gods,
drunk on the ash of forgotten cities,
carrying a heart wrapped in nettle and wire.

They met in the undertow—
not with grace, but with rupture.
He called her flame in the throat of the sea,
she named him the reef that bleeds stars.

They kissed in the eye of a cyclone,
fed each other names never spoken twice,
and shackled themselves in sinew and storm.

Let it be known: they did not set sail.
They were flung—howling—from the world’s wound.


. Canto II: The Recognition .

Seven moons passed through their lungs
before they saw.

Not eyes—not bodies—
but the myths coiled inside each other’s ribs.

She bore a temple in her stomach
where drowned saints wept for the living.
He kept a cemetery behind his tongue
for all the truths he’d butchered with silence.

They laid bare their reliquaries,
cracked open their chests
like oysters of ruin—
and still, they reached.

No mercy. No disguise.
Only pulse and plague.
She screamed her mother’s curses into his jaw.
He fed her the names of storms he never wept for.

Still—
they danced.
Still—
they sank.
Not from weight,
but from knowing.

And the sea, jealous of such raw mirror,
split its throat open,
so even Poseidon would forget peace.


. Canto III: The Resolution .

They did not break.
They were not mended.
They blurred,
like blood in tide,
like prayer in fog.

The sea claimed their names,
then forgot them—
but the bones remembered.

Now coral grows from their vows.
Now whales dream their sighs.

She became the thrum beneath shipwrecks,
the voice in a sailor’s last breath.
He became the itch in the compass,
the pull toward madness at dusk.

If you listen—
truly listen—
you may still hear it:
a hymn of wire, salt, and marrow,
carried on a wave older than time.

Not warning.
Not lament.
But tribute.

To the wire-bound lovers—
to the myth that dared to bleed
and called it sacred.

To be human,
Means to Win,
Only to loose.

Are we but pawns on a chessboard
That God just moves about haphazardly?
Or are we placed strategically;
And through God’s plans can claim: “Checkmate!”

A tender knot of love as our fingers entwined.
Binding us together as our hearts define.
You can't be real , a love so true to find,
Yet in my heart , you're all that's divine.

There are bugs under my skin
tiny little crawling things
I can feel them there
itching with their tiny legs

It aches somewhere deep
their teeth biting at the flesh
muscle and bone torn
by little pincers too small to be seen

They're there underneath my skin
crawling and itching
under there until it aches
and I can't get rid of them

I can feel them crawling
underneath my skin
their little legs brushing my nerves
and biting into muscles

Worms and ants and pinchers
roaches and beetles
all the tiny little things
all inside me

There's an ache there
that I can never reach
no matter how deep I scratch
they're always there

My knife
Once a gift
Now my tool
My blade
Once for protection
Now for relief
My razor
Once pristine
Now rugged
My knife
Once shiny
Now stained red on the edge

I wake up crying
Dying inside
Tell my parents that i'm ok
But i'm really not
And I hate it when they push further
Because they know that I am lying
But I need them to push me to keep me alive
And I hate the pain of the knife against my skin
But I love the punishment for my sins
I don't think that I can do this anymore
*It hurts too much to try

when my heart is done aching
the pain moves to my head
the feelings swarm to my mind
because simmering in my heart
does them no good
at least when they make my head ache
they are allowed to boil over
and be released all at once
captured in headache tears
that once were heartache feelings

You were worried about
the storm, so you
invited it in,
wanting to control the
damage through your
kindness and friendship.
But you can't.
The storm doesn't have
a conscience.
It will never be a cute
pet on your leash.

Hard to remember tried to block it out
All you wanted was to forget
That person made you feel good
Then in the snap of a finger
Made you feel useless
Unworthy of their time
Did you ***** now playing the victim
The lies spoken the actions don't match
Giving your all and it's declining
It felt worth with time lost value
Felt meaningless after a while
Turned your back now it's over done
Let it fade on its own corrupt demise

Why don't the heart and mind
speak the same language?

Is it because-

the mind matures
and
the heart remains a child?

These halls seem somewhat hollow
A certain sense of sorrow
Now graces ancient stone.
Replacing familiar faces
With defaced family paintings
And cold ancestral bones.
Thrones thrown upon a pyre.
Fate becomes the folly
Tomorrow the unknown,
The brows of time are furrowed
Past spent, lost, or borrowed
Flowers forever bloom alone.
Rats, the last lords of ruin
Rule cruel shadows from the walls.
Twilight sighs at daylight's rise
All seems dark till darkness falls.

Tout homme digne de ce nom
A dans le coeur un Serpent jaune,
Installé comme sur un trône,
Qui, s'il dit : " Je veux ! " répond : " Non ! "

Plonge tes yeux dans les yeux fixes
Des Satyresses ou des Nixes,
La Dent dit : " Pense à ton devoir ! "

Fais des enfants, plante des arbres,
Polis des vers, sculpte des marbres,
La Dent dit : " Vivras-tu ce soir ? "

Quoi qu'il ébauche ou qu'il espère,
L'homme ne vit pas un moment
Sans subir l'avertissement
De l'insupportable Vipère.

What kind of love,
I reach for you—
Do I?
hays...

I'm sipping coffee,
yes, to stay awake,
but sleep steals in—
can you guess?

I bite on chocolate
to spark some fire,
but still,
I drift again—
what kind of life is this?

It’s like saying,
“I don’t like you,”
but the truth
is wrapped in silence,
sealed beneath this guarded chest.

So tell me—
What is this?

History teaches itself to live
Wars fight themselves to the source
Countries grow wise, ending the research and funding excitement of the new war

The reflections aren't timely, but they come in bit by bit

The buildings of resistance are destroyed

And the lesson is learned

Toured Procurements on Amazon covers Geneva Convention violations and research journalism

It's in the field manual now Joe

Critiquing into corners
Assorted strings as chords

I'm on amazon self publishing

I started writing an overture
I'm on pause

Kendall Joe, photography life Joe
I'm a playwrite

Acronyms and abbreviation of ink press prowess

A trillion dollar Bitcoin away from your digital subscription Joe

Jackie Irwin is there for you Joe

The gaza strips high heel luxury barons in america joe

Sometimes when comes sunrise,
I ache like I died.

Something like being stabbed in the heart,
14,967 times with a real dull knife,
Maybe that's what they mean,
When they say love is full of strife.

I need her more than life,
Somedays I let myself die.

And within her silent breathe,
I held my head to her heart,
and no words could ever be said
as the silence ripped me apart......
when the thumping's no silent roaring
RIP my beautiful mother.

The call to Oblivion
gets harder to resist
A desire to be numb
so obviously persists