Train Membrane


The heartbeat of your stimulation beats in syncopation with my desire to please you.

You breathe very slowly, as I inhale the detailed whispers of what you anxiously await, to uncover you.

There is a train in the membrane ,which climbs to the height of our awaiting passions.

Your hands write onto my back, the secrets of gratitude.

You claw a print onto me gently; yet very passionately. I thrust into you deeply, and your sighs recognize the power, enveloped within my passion.

Your canvas has shown me yellow chakras a liken to sun rays.

Your hair is sizzling and your pulse calmly speaks of eager anticipation.

I am paraded through the fire that belongs in our eyes.

I no longer insist that we keep our cool, as the flames eat us alive.

My love for you, uncovered us in the cold.

The heat is sufficient enough!

While your pounding heartbeat scribbles your lifeline, my drums signatures my thirst for life!

In many motions my mind is like a train, and the membrane is enveloped in my present passions. I remember writing this piece when eye gazed at a shy angel at a party. She was too shy to speak in detail with me. I somehow could tell by the sweat of my suspicion there was a narration, that would begin when she shook my hand. All of this is innuendo, and none of it truly summarizes the actual; That is what makes metaphor, a cleaver designer! What you read is tempted to persuade a sense of sexual heat. Behind the door of sensual and sexual invitation is the knob of broader expressions. Expressions which detail other mannerisms. which dance in my mind. It’s more than the mere mention of taste and intimacy, the train is what institutes a track of arrival. I can’t derail off the tracks, when the focus is within a membrane!

Sex Shuffle


Shuffling between the cards laid about between my deck, many strangers of games are gazed in my incentive. Aliens are these strangers with a unique knowledge that seems familiar. They speak of this muse, and how long she sought to travel down the line and within a consciousness of root.  Because she begged to me a depth, I had never seen before. She closed my eyes with the whispers of her satisfaction..then I woke up in the dream of her own existence. Who was eye really looking at anyway? My vibrations begin to deceive the bed where I lied. The question is: Do U Lie?
If you’re talking about if I sleep or not, yes..I do. I lie..But it is not a lie of deception. The more i try to explain, eye then, I loose  half of the reasons, she came to me. It happen so fast, I squeezed her frame, & she reminded me she was only that a frame..many selections are now in play and they gather with a sequence of sex.
Sex which shuffles the cards of game or reality?

The Prayer of Depth


My prayer is that you will awaken and assure me in my most dire attempts. When I falter between the influx of my intention and your will…You are the answer! All of my hope is in you, my faith is because of your faithfulness. Truly you’re so great and wonderful, all majesty which is truly in you! You beckon at my seas and you roar with grand love! You’re precious and you’re my own! I am yours and our relationship is kept by your power. Thank you for the continual grace. You pour into me such beauty and love. I truly love you because you love me!  It never ends because your love has no beginning or end. It goes on forever much like your love continues to awaken me in my most hopeless hour! Within, I can speak to you and you listen! All of my roaring depictions are heard in the tempest of my frail frame. As I look onto the others which covet the pursuit of their own, without navigation. I can’t help but see a portion of me, a glance of my own covetousness. I endlessly sought my own conjecture, to beckon of a need, that is greater! What becomes known in the depth, is my unique finger print. Many voices which are crying out, and I know we should hear them call.


Voices cryin’ out in the night hear them call
Voices cryin’ out, hear them call

It’s a night like no other night
It’s a day almost turning gray
It’s a heart like a broken heart
It’s a wheel at the end of day

It’s a life of a boy who’s scared
Of the waves rushing out
And the wind in the air
It’s a sight of one longing to taste of life

Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore

Visions that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more

Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices crying out hear them call

It’s a song of a love unsung
It’s the pain of just being young
It’s a cry of a voice unheard
Of a face speaking silent words

It’s a hope that the time goes by
Take you upon a wing
Teach your soul to fly
It’s a wish that you’ll live your experience life

Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore

Vision that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more

Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices crying out, hear them call

Oh, do you know how it feels to be free
Walking your path of life
Embracing destiny
One day at a time

Voices cryin’ out
(Oh, can’t you hear them)
Voices cryin’ out
(Listen please, listen to the future)

- Donna Summer

Illustrations Of Awareness (Waking UP)

Taking it a step further by bringing a deeper level of awareness…The story that brings illustrations!


These illustrations of the past and present are being spoken by a friend of awareness. She has discovered the codes that are transmitted; by the parasite of hidden agenda. Cartoon depictions of zealous exaggeration, fighting the  awakening pivot of the light. The answering portion to hallucinations, are freely entrusted into her mouth and mind. By the earnest fixation of embedded lies, the alarm has sounded. These paintings of embroidered manifestations are multiple stories told. No one truly looks at a picture of surrealism the same, as the story reaches on different levels. The beginning may be of multifaceted singularity, the middle of frightened solitude, and the end of disdain. This illustration is of the lines read; in the booklets of identification. When reading; the curiosity is aroused if there is the stream of realization. Truly the governing piece is set by whims of conscious involvement.

Tell me your story?

I am creating a medium to broadcast stories, as they are told through out nature! We must wake up to the consciousness of these illustrations. Sometimes we may not be able to understand, EVERY story. But, maybe the message was never intended for you. Not everything is going to be understood, in the exact moment they are spoken.

Just remember the awareness that comes through illustration!

Strumming Tingling

Strong strings; eye feel I can pull towards me. If you were the string; I’ll have you wrapped around my finger. 
With my might I would seek to pull you a little close; but I’ll touch you softly! 
If anything eye must relate you; to a fine and curvy guitar.
I am the master guitar player.
My strums would be gentle but aggressive at the same time!
My progressions are gentle at first, but this is until a gust of rhythm enters into my veins.
My French cuff shirt is designed to layer our fastened direction of rebellion.
Out of this world. I got to talk to you again; hear your melody again and bidding the time with motion!
The tune is singing within me, and you’re the sound eye seek.
Eye woke up with your right hand in my hair: while my fingers rested on your river brook thighs.
A sound so beautiful that my fingers, beg to strum the tingling of your twitches.

Signature Discovered


I have a KNEW signature, and it discovers itself through the writing of my hand. I can write with anticipation, because I am found through what is seen!

Eye see apprehensions being tickled by the feather of unconsciousness.

He who hallucinates the prowess of the text has been discovered by the letters.

Again you’ve awaken from the dream and have seen the transcending light.

So we have walked passed the stars and constellations, being marked by a sharper virtue of knowledge.

Suddenly we are being approached by the the casting realms which swallow us whole.

Our bellies are left starved for food, anticipating the consumption of eternal ingredients.

With what our eyes see, the chakras are being passed within us and our mind understands the shapely dominion.

Creatures of old visit us in the dreams of our silent awareness, they come with formulas and portions healing and solving our mathematical adventure.

They have the hearts of children, teaching in honest anticipation of the answer.

Their eyes are being lit up by the expedition of our journey.

Sojourning with mirrors of context and true believability we see the likeness of all we meet.

The sounds I’ve begin to understand have covered me in the code that is out there!

The compass is no longer jaded by measures of our own self discovery.

The alignments are not willing to wait but to join within the noise.

Thoughts which desire to add only takes away from what is already there.

Wholly the figures are ONE, without elimination but with a signature embrace.

Ancient Urgency

Considering how rare and considerate you are of the expression kept inside you; I am eternally honored!
I feel as if eye am discovering a painting that is encoded on the pyramids of Egypt!
Your curves are like numbers and it’s a special trance to describe!
When I first opened the email, eye just glazed into the pictures.
I can’t help it! Even if I could, I wouldn’t be able too.
I apologize if my words might appear a bit scandalous, but if they help provoke a sense of urgency then…Damn it.
 I use words that can possibly teach you how sincere I am; some words are better understood with a sense of character in them.
So when, I tell you that looking at your body makes me bite my lip, it’s true.
My imagination rips your clothes off slowly, while my hands sculpture your essence.
If eye could teach you like an ancient understanding of how deeply bad I want you; Solomon and Shakespeare would be remiss.
We listen to songs that attempt to capture feelings and arouse the power at night.
We become strategic and lay out our melody and notes!
But IF I was there, I would just enter into you like the wind enters the dessert.
We could make our own noise later!
Everything that makes sense in our mind will become logic when I touch you.
Words would fail us desperately; but that’s OK because I would be one with you.
Our spirits in flight, traveling to all of those illustrative pictures and poems of true sexuality.
INSPIRED By The E Of Thee.