Serpentine Checkmate

Prone against his cobbled earth
scents of wood smoke
gas giants hang loftily,
still against icy wind.

Vibrations rouse my status
as orbs meet sacred Crescent
vaporizing, and the invading light
slithers in for the fiery morn.

Beyond reproach in the demon's burn
the forked venom doth lie
between the pale of undulating scales
and the gravity defying skies

Strike fast in fine heavenly air
sting and bite my honeysuckled dawn
just to be gulled before luna hibernis 
under the glow by which he conceals his pawn

  © DNKG Serpentine Checkmate

Respira - He Breathes

Mi manchi. Amo l'Italia. Divertiti!

Respira..

Scrivi per me

come se la penna velluto che brucia la pelle mia, mi guarisce

Scrivi in me

Con passione profonda, così conoscerò il gusto d'amore sulla tue labbra.

Scrivi attraverso di me

come spargo tua dell'arte dentro nel cielo, con una sola espirazione erotica

 © 2014 Jacob Jakober

© 2014 DNKG Respira

Non parlasse Italiano?

He Breathes...

Write for me

As if the velvet pen, burning my skin, heals me

Write in me

With deep passion, so I will know love by the taste of your lips

Write through me

 As I scatter your art across the heavenly vault,

with one erotic exhale.

© 2014 DNKG Respira - 10/13/14: 441pm
©2015 DNKG -edit

Let Creation Set You Free: Secrets of the Cedar Cellar

In her silent cedar cellar
upon a warm, smokey floor
back settling upon
the burgundy spirits 
holding
her aches, joys,
dreams and curses.

She, in empty hands, asks
"Am I not enough?
Am I not woman enough?
To what do I owe this
malcontent, this disrespect,
This. This. Just.....this...

Be it true, that
the grime, the dirt
the stains on the floor
or the crinkled bed linens
dictate my
unworthiness
of being
Wife of the Year?

Be it true,
the piles of clothes,
sink of dishes,
the shedding dog,
the muddied children
and tearful baby
dictate how I am
unworthy of
Mother of the Year?

Be it true
in the mirror, oh, that mirror
which haunts and laughs
at the lines, wrinkles,
the cellulite - uninviting;

Be it true, that this body
which bore children
that receives your reprehension,
is just a memory of THE body
existing in the broken fragments
of the psyche refusing
to take form, proclaiming:
YOU are not worthy of being
a Sexy Woman."

Soft tears roll across her pink skin
carrying the pain of decades,
beading upon the amber cedar.
Arms hiding her vision
breathing in and sighs,
"Am I not enough?
Am I not enough you?"

She trails
"I am enough for me.
But, fail so miserably for you...why?"
Faintly, she chokes,
"I am enough." 

A sudden warmth enters
like first sun on dew
He, hearing her heart's sorrow,
conveys lovers words
through muted lips
and begs forgiveness, renewal
before first bird's twitter
along the willow's branch tomorrow.


© 2014 DNKG Secrets of the Cedar Cellar