Dildo

wow...poem from back in the days...this is not a true story but I still feel bad for the guy...lol

2 bodies uniting
instead of fighting for control
2 bodies pleasing
squeezing, teasing
fulfilling her dreams
2 bodies caressing
bringing out the best n-
giving exactly what she needs

2 lovers tenderly
exploring familiar places
with ecstasy expressed
on their faces and laced in their moans
taking pleasure to new levels
that neither had previously known

2 desires tantalized
by like kisses and a lighter touch
instantly overpowering a bond
that took him months to develop

1 man
ready to fuck
but awestruck
by the power of gentleness
& the beauty of femininity
But after 30 minutes of passion
He wonders, "Have they forgotten about me?"

He enters the session with intentions
Of making 2 bodies cry for more
Even while he fulfills his fantasy
They continue to explore
But his body stands strong
Ready to make each forget her
Instead they call for each other
while riding
his commitment to pleasure

He pushes and pulls
Bringing each multiples
Kissing, sucking, fucking
Until 3 bodies were content
With one mind knowing
he is a tool in lovemaking
rather than a participant

AGAIN

Don’t tell me that

We….

See I can’t even finish the sentence

When it’s just like when we met

And Love chocked my voicebox

Locked out the hot air that players breathe

Until my ego fell to its knees

And I had no choice but to show you

Me…in all honesty

Humbly offering you eternity

So don’t you make a liar out of me

By telling me that

We can…

Wait...

Don’t you understand?

That I only became a man

When I decided to stand next to you?

Before God we promised never to break

No matter what we had to go through

Hell’s fire can’t burn me

But my heart can turn to stone

Just from a few harsh words from you

So don’t you tell me that

We can still be…

Because what we are right now

Is everything

I am

We are everything

I need

So please don’t let ugliness

Pass through your pretty lips

Don’t let yesterday

Forever hold our last kiss

For my sun doesn’t rise

Until I look in your eyes each morning

It’s then that I reaffirm my calling

Knowing the promise of a new day

Is a different way for our love to be displayed

I know we got sidetracked

Not for a lack of appreciation

My dedication is still focused

So just reflect on us

On the reasons we began

Just don’t tell me

We can still be friends

That’s just another way to say

This is the end

And all is lost

When all I really want is us

Again 

Spoken Word Killed the Poet

You used to write heart wrenching
Narratives on the complexities of life
Ego well grounded while you
Gave yourself and others the gift of flight

On hot summer days your gift
Served as a cool breeze
Allowing all to bask in the heavens
Bouncing on syllables
Before sliding down silky similes

But spoken word killed the poet

It’s no longer about the message
As it is about the rhyme
It’s not about creating a connection
As it is about that ovation after that killer line
It’s not about uplifting your fellow man
As it is about winning a poetry slam

That’s it…you’ve become a performer
Spoken word killed the writer in you.

I’ll admit that you are the best
Not sure when it became a popularity contest
Maybe it always was and I was naive
But I think I’m going to take some time off
Before I get infected with the disease

Spoken word is killing all the poets

Lay You Down

Now I lay you down on sheets of anticipation
Breath bated, waiting to explode
Tastes of sweet salvation found in tender kisses
Allows us to hold each other tightly even while letting go
Staring into the windows of heaven
We utter precious prayers ardently wrapped in moans
Sharing pieces of ourselves that we were previously too afraid to show
We listen to inhibitions crackle as we bask in passion’s glow

The Day the Butterflies Died

The day the butterflies died no one cried.
There was no funeral. No procession.
No one wrote a eulogy or spoke of life lessons.
No one spoke of wasted youth or love taken for granted.
The music stopped without warning
causing even the most devout believers
to join the disenchanted.

She Likes Her Fiction

She likes her fiction
Lightly seasoned with facts
Smacked his face
Not to increase friction
But for the pause of dramatic effect

She likes his temper
Heated but never burned
Ego is melted in her swelter
He learns to simmer down

She likes the struggle
With sips of power play
While holding pieces of his puzzle
Turns yesterday into today

She likes to bring up past failures
His knees buckle and he staggers
Under the weight of added pressure

She likes to see stars
Aggravated by instigation
Until he takes her on a trip
to the constellations
Passing Venus and Mars

Above all, she loves the victim
Told the cops. “Wait…I hit him.”
So he could be set free
She likes the game
To be played in public
For all the world to see

I am a liar

I am a liar
I am a cheat
I am the enemy
Baby faced bandit
Pirating passion's seas
Navigating through treasures
The prince of all thieves
Hunter in the concrete jungle
Preying on femininity
I am the cause
I am the cure
Of heartache
Wolf cloaked in Trojans
The reason sex is never safe
I am your weakness
I am your strength
The one you love to hate
I am the question
I am the answer
The one you feel compelled to debate
Until I deflect your aggression
Like a skilled matador
Rejecting your affection
Until heart is heard hitting floor
Replacing the sound of
"I love you more"
The deletion recognized
Your eyes lose their fire
Until I give you what you want
But you know that I am a liar

Copyright Bilal Berthony 2009