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The Cold Caress

The shimmer
of it
fascinates
until the touch

A cold hand
trying
to caress you

Sweat-creeping
betraying the facade

The tainted trap
laid by detectives
determined
deceivers

Springing forth
pouring
or the beautific glow
of athletic youth

The cold caressing
stench steaming
all over
passions spent

Like tasting
trickles of sour
rancid flesh

devouring the taste
of your
cold caress

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 

Comments

icy touch of death. I hope I got that in the first go.

__________________________________________________
'Break, break break on thy cold grey stones, O Sea.'

Well done...clever cryptic :) had a pice of chicken (hidden) at the back of the fridge, the stench was horrible...as I removed it, was fascinated by the sweaty suppurating flesh. Then I had to clean the fridge out with bleach! Yuk

Other people seem to be inspired by the beauty of nature...I enjoy the dynamic of decay, seems to tap into my inner darkness.

Ells

author comment

That is too delicious! Not to eat, of course. But to get the mind & thought around 'decay' as such!

__________________________________________________
'Break, break break on thy cold grey stones, O Sea.'

I had already decided it was something decaying so I wasnt far off the mark ... this one has a darkness to it I liked well done !! nothing to add or change from this end

love JC xxx

("Always and Forever") - (Never lose a holy curiosity.-Albert Einstein)

cold as ice
trying to seek attention
but alas fails..

well the chicken was dead
it left behind a sour smell
and thus the gaze
so coldness doesn't one at all amaze..

I rarely read you
perhaps now i shall do
and hopefully
you will tooo

loved

I read your work all the time...I just don't comment much as we seem to be on different wavelengths...and I'm not constantly needing validation.

Ellie

author comment

I love the factual truth
as I am no normal kind of trained poet in fact poetry is just a hobby for me I try and post my poetic visions hopefully as they come to me I only hope some do read Yet I love to master the ones that come across my insipid mind and this one did so i did perchance gave it a chance glad we are on different plains you compose poetry as you ought to I shall in my own unique way continue albeit many do read my kind of slangish rhyme at many places and at many times glad you spell your mind..

I love the factual truth
as I am no normal kind
of a trained poet
in fact poetry is just a hobby for me,
I try and post my poetic visions
hopefully as they come to me…
I only feel some do read
Yet I love to master the ones
that comes across my insipid mind
and this one did so…
I did perchance gave it a chance
glad we are on different planes
you compose poetry as you ought to
I shall in my own unique way continue

albeit many do read my kind of slangish rhyme
at many places
at many times
glad you spell your mind..

loved

Can one outgrow Ellie, our great poet of solitude, of love loss comprehended as farce? I think so, yes. In the impatient, zestful still-youthful adulthood of one’s life. When at last one takes control of one’s life. Or believes one can, or has. … You outgrow Ellie. But then one day, abruptly, you return to Mrs. Ellie. As the brash arc of youthful adulthood begins to wan. It’s like discovering yourself in a corridor you would have sworn you’d never been in before — yet you know it. This staircase, this door to be opened, this room. It’s all there. Always has been there. Unchanged. Waiting for you.

V/R,
Lamar of Liberty City

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