Mondo Humunculero's blog: "humunculero"

My hands in your eyes, actualize the clench of thighs,

Justify the sighs, how your desire plies me and engages me,

Sugared daddyish dream of my schemes in motion,

I am the oceanic notions, the fulfillments extracted in toxic potions.

So well you move to get underneath me,

Bequeathed by my generosities,

Defenseless propensities,

Unconscious dissuasions,

Ninety percent out of control.

Yes, this is what you’ve found in me,

This is what you’d take I gave,

All I let go of, not serving me,

So you live in the shadow of my cock, of my lust,

Of the density of my ecstasy and the intentions of these enchantments,

These inductions, changing the restrictions on your affections,

The foolishness of dreamy romances and love unrequited.

Yes come to me like a young mare to this old stallion in his final decades at stud,

I cover you at dawn, at midnight, at midafternoon, sleeping on your feet,

I am your biological destiny, your fruition, your fecundity;

You have left the company of colts who could not catch you to cover,

You’ll be foaling yearly with my mares.

All this reviles the Tristan-Isolde, the troubadour fantasies, the foolish teeny romances, it gives way to mature lust and its excesses and indulgences,

The public exhibition of it, like animals with no care offending the nonexistent,

Deities of false modesty,

Manure for faith in life instead of the offal of a death culture,

Like decay in the right temporal lobe.

Yes, we’re showing up to fuck, 

To orgasm, to slide and glide and burst with joys of passion,

Subverted from the begetting of offspring unneeded and unwanted,

Your skin is shining dusky and beauteous, carmine in these eyes,

Smooth in these hands’ caresses and love decided in lust and desire,

Obeying, serving, loving, and fucking…

©2013mhumunculero