Originally Posted by I'mOneToo (Post 199921)

six feet tall
gorgeous tendrils
of curly blonde hair
i ran my hand through it
caught it in the back,
entwined it in my fingers
held it
pulled it slowly
our lips
so close
i moved to her ear
whispered
my suggestion
"yes"
was her answer
"first..."
ah, negotiation...
"i need to..."
what, what?
in her timidity
she bit my neck
i disengaged to ask
"what do you need?"
she licked my earlobe
gently
and whispered her request,
"i need to see your ID."

baby butch.
diaper dyke.
barely 21,
yes, I showed her proof.
a year later
we laughed about that
at our anniversary dinner
when we celebrated
our one-night stand
that held up
through 12 months
of silly string
and delusions
that made up
our "R"elationship
we exchanged rings
called ourselves married
enjoyed all the trappings therein
and were thus... trapped.

many years later
when history
repeated itself
i tried to remember
that kind of september
when life was so tender
though it wasn't always mellow
and september is not always
kind

but i have learned
through all those septembers
that when october comes
blowing leaves into corners
where they get stuck
in the cobwebs
on the shelves
of the mind
there will always be
a fall
and i will always
catch myself

remembering with kindness
the septembers that fell apart
and drifted away
with the falling leaves

Originally Posted by Kast (Post 654411)

It seems, at first glance, that he's a storyteller of sorts. Everyone loves a good story and I'm sure back in the times of old - these were the people that would stand around the fire at night and amuse, earn their keep by reciting a 'yarn', and were very much loved in the community... (gosh, my imagination - can someone catch it! - it's running down the path there...) lol

"Instructions
by Neil Gaiman

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never
saw before.

Say "please" before you open the latch,
go through,
walk down the path.

A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted
front door,
as a knocker,
do not touch it; it will bite your fingers.

Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat
nothing.

However, if any creature tells you that it hungers,
feed it.

If it tells you that it is dirty,
clean it.

If it cries to you that it hurts,
if you can,
ease its pain.

From the back garden you will be able to see the
wild wood.

The deep well you walk past leads to Winter's
realm;
there is another land at the bottom of it.

If you turn around here,
you can walk back, safely;
you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.

Once through the garden you will be in the
wood.
The trees are old. Eyes peer from the under-
growth.

Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She
may ask for something;
give it to her. She
will point the way to the castle.

Inside it are three princesses.

Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.

In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve
months sit about a fire,
warming their feet, exchanging tales.

They may do favors for you, if you are polite.
You may pick strawberries in December's frost.
Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where
you are going.

The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-
man will take you.

(The answer to his question is this:

If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to
leave the boat.

Only tell him this from a safe distance.)

If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.

Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that
witches are often betrayed by their appetites;
dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;
hearts can be well-hidden,
and you betray them with your tongue.

Do not be jealous of your sister.
Know that diamonds and roses
are as uncomfortable when they tumble from
one's lips as toads and frogs:
colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.

Remember your name.
Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.

Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped
to help you in their turn.

Trust dreams.

Trust your heart, and trust your story.

When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.

Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).

There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is
why it will not stand.

When you reach the little house, the place your
journey started,
you will recognize it, although it will seem
much smaller than you remember.

Walk up the path, and through the garden gate
you never saw before but once.

And then go home. Or make a home.

And rest."

Originally Posted by SingularNYCFemme (Post 663108)

Based on this poem, I write like David Foster Wallace.

Originally Posted by luv2luvgirls (Post 663109)

cool! his name came up on one of mine as well.. just dont remember which one :cheesy:

that is a lovely poem