asamvav111

"16 year old sausage" Awwww! Really, it is a great thing that you did. We all could do with a little more love in our lives, love for our own selves that is.

Thank you, my dear. The muse is quite smooth indeed.

Thank you. I am glad I could convince you to be a bad boy... for a while.

of Skyrim? Loved the poem, especially the form. Architecture of the poem is also intriguing.

Yes Mac, a little wine gives us courage to go a long way. In vino veritas... Thanks for reading. Kisses.

There is a new collection starting today where you can find my work: https://www.gayauthors.org/forums/story/asamvav111/subversive-a-collection-of-poetry/1 Check out the firstborn. Don't you think she is naughty?

Seductress I wanna corrupt you So bring out the wine The alcohol will mellow your senses and dull your judging mind I wanna corrupt you So that you will know The difference between pain and pleasure are all just a blurred line I wanna corrupt you So much to teach I have The ways to coax your awareness to blissfully come out an' float I wanna corrupt you So that I can play The game of cat & mice with your body and mind in matc

A new collection and a fresh perspective in my writing is the goal here. Whether I achieve that or not, is for you to decide, my reader.

Hello Gary, I'm not a critic; I simply abhor that kinda thing. All I can tell you is that, the "after" is far more superior than the "before". "before" seems to be trying too hard, where "after" succeeds effortlessly. I usually don't comment, your "after" commanded me too. Thank you for sharing them both.

"Evil Genius" could be an alternate title of this poem. I enjoyed it. As everybody said, you did a lot with very little. Thank you.

Thank you, tim. Since my muse is at a vacation somewhere, let me share this little gem from my favourite sanskrit poem GitaGovindam by Jayadeva, composed in 10-12th century approx, translated here by Barbara S. Miller in her Love Songs of the Dark Lord, 1977. Hope this gladdens your day as your poetry does mine. I reach the lonely forest hut where he secretly lies at night. My trembling eyes search for him as he laughs in a mood of passion. Friend, bring Kesi’s sublime tormentor to revel with me! I’ve gone mad waiting for his fickle love to change. I shy from him when we meet; he coaxes me with flattering words. I smile at him tenderly as he loosens the silken cloth on my hips. Friend, bring Kesi’s sublime tormentor to revel with me! I’ve gone mad waiting for his fickle love to change. I fall on the bed of tender ferns; he lies on my breasts forever. I embrace him, kiss him; he clings to me drinking my lips. Friend, bring Kesi’s sublime tormentor to revel with me! I’ve gone mad waiting for his fickle love to change. My eyes close languidly as I feel the flesh quiver on his cheek. My body is moist with sweat; he is shaking from the wine of lust. Friend, bring Kesi’s sublime tormentor to revel with me! I’ve gone mad waiting for his fickle love to change. I murmur like a cuckoo; he masters love’s secret rite. My hair is a tangle of wilted flowers; my breasts bear his nailmarks. Friend, bring Kesi’s sublime tormentor to revel with me! I’ve gone mad waiting for his fickle love to change. Jewel anklets ring at my feet as he reaches the height of passion. My belt falls noisily; he draws back my hair to kiss me. Friend, bring Kesi’s sublime tormentor to revel with me! I’ve gone mad waiting for his fickle love to change. I savour passion’s joyful time; his lotus eyes are barely open. My body falls like a limp vine; Madhu’s foe delights in my love. Friend, bring Kesi’s sublime tormentor to revel with me! I’ve gone mad waiting for his fickle love to change. Jayadeva sings about Radha’s fantasy of making love with Madhu’s killer. Let the story of a lonely cowherdess spread joy in his graceful play. Friend, bring Kesi’s sublime tormentor to revel with me! I’ve gone mad waiting for his fickle love to change. from the chapter "Careless Krishna"

There is so much I could say. And so much I want to. But I will settle for a thank you. Your interpretation of both the poems are very astute. I'm loving the pink. I'm hoping for more posting in the future. Unfortunately, the muse is a fickle one.

Please take care of yourself and recuperate. We are all here. Hugs.

Becoming Poets You and I, we have a strong bond Like brothers, like lovers; We disgust the world with our vain perversions, our inane attachment with the word and the seas of heresy part at our command revealing the shells of untruths hiding beneath the silt of social justice. Ecstasy beyond judgement is what we share in the binding fallacy of corporeal pain battling to win over the spirit. Our ascension begins at the alter of ego. Broken down

Up On The Massage Table I Heat up the oil Your hands are cold and dispassionate Let the oil's warmth seep up your unconscious Making you more malleable to touch Figures created out of mud and ludicracy Break not the chain of bondage of eternal servitude of lust II I didn't buy you I can't, because you can't buy humans anymore I just bought your services for the night A few hours of relaxation I couldn't buy you but I wish

Creation Myth (For a certain someone) Who created you Whether by touch or a gentle smile Like snow flakes drifting in the wind Melting with the smallest touch of a Warm hand Who created you Whether by plan or perchance A divine intervention that shined the Light in the darkness of the void adorning The unseen universe Who created you Whether in dream or reality find Flawed images of perfection assuming The ultimate victory of l

Friendship Begin by music what lyrics had shunned, Evanescent feelings that shan't be returned, Forever is a long time if you are not a friend, Every limit mortal as time's sickle bend. Yet I bequeath my heart and desire, To you and your lot I cast in my fire, A flame everlasting shall flourish in me, Like a flower that blooms only for the bee. 31/12/16 Wishing everyone of my friends, near & dear ones, far & farces, enemies &

Predestination Staring at the blue sky To the distant pasts that glittered in the stars Unseen, unfound, hidden beneath the fluffy clouds Lying on the concrete Hard truths and harder are the choices that exhumed The sins of the father reflected on the Lamb of God Floating skyscrapers Diminishing breaths that’s building upon the layers of Foggy winter morning’s urban bustling rabble 14/10/2016

For Timmy, Emi and Mr. Benus: Incomplete Love All relationships are a work in progress, A building to be finished, an infinite mirror Beneath a starry sky. A battle between belief and reality, A compromise between expectation and evolution Between engagement and understanding. Experience vs. Emotion Broken crumbling pieces of self mixing Into happiness and grief and regrets Creating the mortar of us. Bricks and days And labours of indecisive Apollos' creating The walls of

In Response For Ben & Timmy: Good poems frolic in the sun. They bring Arctic Lights to the barren tundra. They also manage to inundate the soils of Egypt and blow khamsins over the salt flats of Kutch in the very same day. Good poems deserve a kiss and a wink. 23/09/2016

Fragments Good stories never end. They just begin a new chapter. Fragments were our destiny. Our fate doomed the first time I saw you smile. Your eyes were filled with the moist heat of the mid summer mango grove's shady effervescent infrangible delight. Your movements took shape in the delicate prowess of a mountain leopard. Your form undulating to the beats that broke down the unyielding barrier of disaffection. And your gentle grace that stoked the hopes of an arid wanderer. But it

Returning Sunshine You kept telling me how I took up all the space in our relationship. How you needed to get away To get a way around the things in your head... Blasphemy. I believe I was still in your head. And stuck in the chambers of your heart, Your entrails shackling me to the walls of inferiority. Understanding your grudging affection Took up most of my daylight, yet you kept Asking for more... more space in your head. More air to breath, you sough

Somewhere Somewhere on the other side of the rainbow, in a land far far away, there will be a tree. An old majestic tree it will be, with its red, green and purple leaves, and its ancient curved branches extending their embrace from one horizon to another, standing solemnly in an emerald valley beneath the starry night in a solitary prayer. Underneath that tree old mossy stones will hibernate while snuggling the roots that reach the deepest crevices of earth in search of the swe