deepundergroundpoetry.com

Mood Swing Episode #7: Ghost In My Shell

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woke up from a dream �
staring at the ceiling
still sorta in a dream-state
wanting..to infiltrate her poetry
etch verbiage inside the curves of her scripture
seep deep inside like a phantom
and hover between her nuances like a benign voyeur
chronicling her mood swings
but..i had to re-imagine my approach
cuz today..want for the sake of want just
wasn't enough

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so i had to go back
to the beginning
and philosophize some things

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purpose
concept
conveyance

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move in that order

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at root this is yet another tale
of the journey that is
the man-woman dynamic
trying to excavate some clear reasonings as
counterbalance to those endless why's

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my belief:
woman's first love is stimulation
man's first love is freedom

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there is poetry inside the woman
yearning to be discovered
uncovered..unveiled
canvassed over meticulously
stimulated and brought forth into full recognition
and appreciation
and what can be more stimulating
for the woman than to be creatively desired
respected and admired
by the man who speaks in the calm
but has a lurking presence beneath his language
intrigued by the unknown of
something mysterious yet kindred
looming between them

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and if the man
is truly living in his freedom
he can move effortlessly between the realms of
thoughtfulness and spontaneity
shifting the angles..keeping her on edge
intellectually..emotionally..sexually
galvanizing her spiritually
while remaining consistent in his intent
of exuding his freedom
illuminating his Sun
and lure her Moon from out of the shadows
stimulating her into orgasmic liberation
that is the unbounded nature of feminine energy
awaiting release

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so here's the approach:

to be her release point
and fill the hollows of her poetry
it's a must that she feel my expansion on the
meaning of this sensual encounter
throbbing inside the depths of her psyche
penetrating her imagination
absorb me wholly as i enter her gallery
�and smudge my multi-hued self with boyish abandon
laced with mannish aggression
share in our abstract beings
collapse the miles between us into
a moment to be ingrained in our halls of antiquity

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teach her to know me through movement
with my passion destined
as the hurricane that ravages her inlands
and my compassion obliged as forgiving tenderness
�giving comfort to her beautiful ruins
in the aftermath of it all
kiss her cerebral gently after our lyrical orgy
then bare witness to the transformation
as our cipher comes full circle
where she reciprocates my original sentiment
and dissipates into a divine mist
devoting herself to dwell
as the omnipresent ghost in my shell

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