JUST SEX and POETRY
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5920 Jan 30, 2013
I am your Russian roulette
and you are readily mine
once ravaged by the chasm of solitude
the realization of another is divine
you shake me, you quake me
and with my perfected transgressions
allow me to unravel you and unwind
come here and take me
so I can take you away to a place lost in rhymes

guide you up the ladder
with myself close behind
and on a feast of our gross imperfections
we shall dine
’tis such succulent satisfaction
I will lick your lips and mine

~DeVine.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5921 Jan 30, 2013
Princess Hey wrote:
Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though its breaking
when there are clouds in the sky
you'll get by if you smile
with your fear and sorrow
smile and maybe tomorrow
you'll find that life is still worth while
if you just "Smile"
Light up your face with gladness
hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear maybe ever so near
Thats the time you must keep on trying
Smile,whats the use of crying
you'll find that life is still worth while
If you just smile
Though your heart is aching
Smile even though its breaking
when though are clouds in the sky
you'll get by if you smile
thats the time you must keep on trying
smile whats the use of crying
you'll find that life is still worth while
If You Just "SMILE"...:O)
Hey, once you were the pale princess

but now you're grown into the hag:

while your waist thickens

and your beard springs,

old hag-heart bristles and burns.

The ape and the spinster chatter and dance

as if to pull the story both ways

while time’s brittle finger crooks your limbs

and ivy binds the root

of your poisonous tongue.



The old hag Speaks out of time


What is she now but a thing forgot,

marking time in the sanitised aisles?

Where is the throb and hum of the crowd,

and the wheels that crack and wind?

Once, for her kind, things were simple enough:

to sink, to swim, or to fly:

a silver spool, the road unwound

and the trees held out their bare arms.



These days, though, there are seldom trees;

no scrap of blue poplin hangs above;

and this clumsy cart will not be steered,

but goes crab-like, grumbles and groans.

There was more plain sense in the old way of things:

in the water, the green-wood, and the stones,

How sharp and clear shone that last, bright route

and its sweet culmination of thorns.



Here come the night birds,

as thick as thieves,

and all of a cluster together

to fill up the skies

with their feather and flap,

the raucous, squawking

demons of the dark.

Though they circle at noon

and wheel in the sun,

with the dusk they come

croaking and cawing

when, sober as mourners,

with muted tongues,

they will neither crow nor sing.

They are sullen then;

and they roost their wings

where the jostling eaves

tell their numbers.

As the night leans in

and a hush descends,

not a heartbeat

is blown on the wind.

THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5922 Jan 30, 2013
"Inappropriate…” the ceiling fan whispers again, barely audible,
sounding softer than the skin on the wrist near an altar boy’s pulse,
meaning clearer than the whistle from a distant train.

“Follow the cycle of the crescent,” it says.

Drawn to the blade by the promise of the blade,
pulled higher on the breeze like the loose end
of a half-freed gossamer scarf, woven to be twisted
and twisted, pulled, spiraling, whirling, and dancing on toe,


I mince around the center of that dark satisfaction,
until dangling by brainstem, I watch the others
spinning past and past and gone.
“Time to stretch now!”
Pulled like a weed with too much root, too much anchor,
too much need to just turn loose and spin free in the wind.



At a critical point, the spiral ceases to expand. No reverse.
So I travel the same territory over and around.
Not enough lift, not enough drag, not enough heart. Not enough.
Sounds smooth, you say?
“Yes, but only till the sockets start to give.”



No fanfare, please, and no party colored banner printed out one night
in soft staccato stops and starts with all its tentatively connected parts
less meaningful than dandelion seeds lined up head to toe
along some specially selected crack of a dry July sidewalk.



“The only still point is the center.” Invisible,
unless they cross-section to see if my seeds form a star.
But once you make that slice, you break forever
the silver-green membrane around each gentle potential.
And what kind of tree would a half-seed grow?



All the murals pick up speed until they move outside
the need to be specific. One tree, one leaf, one green…
like a dry grass brush was dragged along the whole wet mess of eternity.
Clouds and shoulders. Leaves and toes. All together now!
One red dot, one last line, fine red stripe.

“One last time?”
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5924 Jan 30, 2013
He held a sword of gazes

in his hands.

He swung it

as he would a sparkler,

waiting for the lights to go out.

For the blood to spill like ink.

For the moments to hold themselves

tightly enough to glow.

Blood on a Path

She raised a hammer of moments,

glittering in the sun.

A flower or a metal

glinting without shame

in the chilled morning.

She paused with a whisper

of bitter flames on her lips,

wishing the thoughts would scatter

or fly or burn away to the four corners.

To the places her heart can’t follow.

Her trail of crumbs.

Her entrails in mauled pieces.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5925 Jan 30, 2013
She does it with her mouth:
the talking or the not talking,
the smiling.

She seems to say more than she does
and of course you
fall for it......

the hunter is the game,
she takes from me
and from all the
other girls
when she whips you
into her fantasy,
declares it good,
you don’t argue,
somehow
you
manage
to manage
your
guilt.

She’s just an archetype
you say to yourself
as she’s busy sucking,
squealing, fussing,
two pigs—flesh conjoined....

and you wonder
how many women
have lived and died
this way
since the very beginning?

She declares it good.

You don’t argue.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5926 Jan 30, 2013
"His hands in my hair, he finds it at the back of my neck,
(what my grandma called a kitchen)—fist-sized tangle
woven and inter—, strands wound round each other.

This is not play fucking, this is him, pulling the parts
of me together, hard, until I’m so raveled/unraveled
that I can’t remember which is me and which is me.

He’s a man good with ropes—boy scout, sailor—
can untangle a kite string greased with sweat and swears.
I wait to see if he can unloop this knot of memory:

My mother’s been gone six weeks—a bruise so ink-blue
my father can’t rub it off, not even with
his thumb and spit and press.

Not even with his girlfriend, blonde. Fingernails tipped
to clear, she tries to clean me, wear me back down
to pink like a new eraser. My eyes blue buttons

too big for her button-holes. She’d like to snip them, I feel
it in the way she tugs my hair, my father’s black comb
from the bathroom cupboard,

sharp teeth at the back of my neck, that secret place
where I store my fears, sneaker-laced, looped and
bunnied into hearts and squares.

So many ways to untie/untangle the strands of what
I’ve been and what lengths I might go to, but the silver
sheen of her scissors only made ends and ends.

To the boy with his hands in my hair now, I offer my kitchen
to his fingers, hoping he will not fumble, hoping he will find
the ends that hold me piecemeal/together, tug me loose."
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5927 Jan 30, 2013
Water runs between the cracks of marble ruins,
acts as the filler whenever we rest our strangely
cacophonous voices. We talk with the admirable intent
of breaking each other. The tea reflects
expressionless faces, dull to the point of
boring, though with every parting of lips
we add more cracks to pillars and deface more reliefs.
You tell me it was strange to meet each other here,
in the ruins of what we were. I tell you it’s appropriate.
We observe the cracks, noting every sign of weariness.
I said it was our amateur
way of sculpting things, we were never
masters of the craft, after all.
Only those who’ve been gifted can mold marble,
the rest of us must live with letting our hands
crumble everything into scrap and waste.
You tell me it was the water
in the background
that eroded the marble,
not us.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5928 Jan 30, 2013
I whisper her name
emerging from my dream and
it sounds like something
foreign
like something forgotten
suddenly
returning to the light and
I have no idea
what time it is and
I’m frightened by the shadows
crawling along the walls
I whisper her name
with my eyes
closed against the light and
it’s springtime again
in the valley of death
the ghost of her kiss
still
haunting my lips and
my tongue yearning for the taste
the relentless beat of my heart
and I don’t know how long
I’ve been in this room
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5929 Jan 30, 2013
It’s dawn and you’re lying at the edge of the sea, body
flat and timeless, painted with water stains

On your belly I imagine houses, little villages, my family’s
old trailer park, with its moldy peaches and low voices

Where you could look across and see women
peeling potatoes under dim light.

You sprinkle sand across my face and our world
pixelates. neat squares are built, then smeared,

With liquid moonstones. the sand cakes you, a gray-
blue clay. the sun’s leaking pink, gold. a confetti

Of moths pool onto the sea, elegant and white. from
far up they would look accidental, a bag of spilled rice.

There are sea anemones out there, you know. I say, afraid. you
stick out your tongue. don’t worry, my taste buds are little pools

Of them. you are soft, a basket of fresh breads.
you kiss me and it’s a box of matches. I taste

A husk of childhood, it spins off then dissolves in
the waves, the foam on your waist. how do I get

My bones to forget themselves? you ask. I say that
I’ll push you and you’ll be salt and gone…

You laugh and swallow, covering your face. your heart
runs thin, you say. I tell you that my heart is conducive

To wild mushrooms, and very little else.

Level 6

Since: Apr 12

Location hidden

#5930 Jan 31, 2013
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST wrote:
Observe the world around you,
the fat mother scolding her child,
water running down the street like a river,
the shop girls standing bored and clueless,
the crocuses broken and bent on the soil.
Sadness flows from these sources,
flows through your life,
dives underground when you are happy
but emerges later into the light.
The river of sadness drives the great mill
where the artists labour.
Very nicely put.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5931 Jan 31, 2013
They come to me
wrapped in bubbles.
My Cimmerian dolls!

Frail bodied.
Dormant little lambs.
Painted with black massacre,
intimate carnal intrusion by gropers,
finger explorers,
scarlet fruit thieves.

Their porcelain hard-skin
dressed for a life hijacked.
White faces frozen in horror,
night shrieks leaking from
their eyes.
My little China pieces.
Malnourished lamb meat.

They will not open
their eyes to feast on
my strong muscled pork.
Grown sweet
Sausage thick.

Mature healthy eggs.
Inviting and warm.
Housewife Pie.

They cannot open their eyes.
A feast!
Mature healthy eggs,
inviting and warm,
housewife pie,
waiting to be consumed.

They will spoil,
or be taken
by the involuntarily starved.

My poor Cimmerian dolls
will hibernate through it,
until their bubble wrapped bodies
do not become.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5932 Jan 31, 2013
Wedding Rings and Widow Webs

in a cabin famous
for its honeymoon warmth
and stars eavesdropping
on midnight kisses
from the window,
there's a spider
weaving her web
from the ceiling,
but in the sunlight
eyelet lace and wedding rings
come to mind.

and she, she is anything but nuptial;
she has her dirge clothes on,
a demon frowns its fire
on her back. She plans her steps
across the air like a bride,
but with a bitter ballerina's agenda.

Her husband could be away
because to her he would only
ever smell like proposal
and taste like commitment.

it might have rained
on their big day,
but perhaps she'll be over it
once she puts her poison
in her prayers.

Her Leftover Heart

her web is a construction paper heart,
strings taut, fervor only in the sunlight--
someone forgot to spare their valentines
from hanging by one thread

(and perhaps she knew
that's how heartbreak happens,
by making one heart face heights alone)

on her back,
the demon's lips
curve not into a grin
but into a wrathful cupid arrow.
she leaves her mourner's clothes on.

the fireplace whimpers
from the wind, its lust in ashes.
at night stars converse
of abandoned romance scenes
and kissless evenings
on the windowsill

and she is alone,
a heartbeat's dirge
residing on a web--
the only heart
ever known to keep
its strings exposed...

Level 2

Since: Jan 13

Location hidden

#5933 Jan 31, 2013
Nevermore said Edgar's Raven
cause with love there is no haven
no shore
no harbor
no anchor
'specially for a who re..

“Want A Friend, Be One”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

You'll Know Your True Friends.

#5934 Jan 31, 2013
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST wrote:
<quoted text>
Hey, once you were the pale princess
but now you're grown into the hag:
while your waist thickens
and your beard springs,
old hag-heart bristles and burns.
The ape and the spinster chatter and dance
as if to pull the story both ways
while time’s brittle finger crooks your limbs
and ivy binds the root
of your poisonous tongue.
The old hag Speaks out of time
What is she now but a thing forgot,
marking time in the sanitised aisles?
Where is the throb and hum of the crowd,
and the wheels that crack and wind?
Once, for her kind, things were simple enough:
to sink, to swim, or to fly:
a silver spool, the road unwound
and the trees held out their bare arms.
These days, though, there are seldom trees;
no scrap of blue poplin hangs above;
and this clumsy cart will not be steered,
but goes crab-like, grumbles and groans.
There was more plain sense in the old way of things:
in the water, the green-wood, and the stones,
How sharp and clear shone that last, bright route
and its sweet culmination of thorns.
Here come the night birds,
as thick as thieves,
and all of a cluster together
to fill up the skies
with their feather and flap,
the raucous, squawking
demons of the dark.
Though they circle at noon
and wheel in the sun,
with the dusk they come
croaking and cawing
when, sober as mourners,
with muted tongues,
they will neither crow nor sing.
They are sullen then;
and they roost their wings
where the jostling eaves
tell their numbers.
As the night leans in
and a hush descends,
not a heartbeat
is blown on the wind.
and she keeps smiling...:O)..
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5935 Jan 31, 2013
As I open the door, and turn on the light.
She is lying there waiting for my touch.
Satin red accented with black leather trim.

This is gonna be one hell of a night!

She was born in 1969 just outside Detroit Michigan.
She doesn't show her thirty-six years.
Her feminine lines and voluptuous curves remind me.
I have had ladies half her age and none give quite the same thrill.

As I stand there in front of her, I recall its taken six months,
and three thousand miles. To get to where we are tonight.

I feel her need and anticipation with every passing second.

I pull back the covers inch by inch.
She takes my breath away.
After all the years together.
She is still looks incredible.

Slowly I climb in not wanting to disturb her peaceful slumber.
I knowingly let my hands roam over her smooth skin.
I feel the warmth of the fine rich leather.
Oh' man IM getting excited!

I think to myself this girl is perfection.

She has grace, style, and teenage lust in one package.
She was built for the gods, not just one simple man.
I fumble around like an adolescent boy.
That certain switch that will bring her to life.

My hands trembling. Emotions running high.

Working that little button, and pressing into her.
Slowly at first waiting for her to come to life,
and respond to my touch.
The sounds of guttural moans as she begins to wake.

Its like. "hello stranger where have you been all my life"?

I move away from her side.
As I crawl around her I notice that sexy rear end.
That drew me in all those years ago.
Two words come to mind HEART STOPPER.

Many men have seen this view before. And all have been jealous of what I have.

As I raise her up, and delicately work myself under her.
I work my way back going lower and lower.
feeling for what i need.
ah yes there it is,

She is so hot that I feel as if my body is on fire but it is of little concern now.

Pulling out the glove
I make sure that is a good fit.
Don't want any accidents now.
Then letting my hands roam back to there intended target.

Twisting, pulling, hands slipping man is she slick
she has been dripping for a while now
maybe from a previous vibration session.
Sweat is pouring of my brow And down my chest.

Our bodies entwined like honeysuckle in a fence. Lost to each others embrace.

I have to keep my mind on what IM doing
that's it she is ready. I know it now.
Her hot, thick, slick, fluid drains from her.
I'm covered in it as I pullout from underneath.

I do my best to attend to all her needs and clean up. Whew she really needed that.

Standing in front of her I pull out my stick
and then without warning plunge it in again.
Over and over filling her completely
until IM sure her needs have been met.

She always looks forward to these special times it always makes her better than she was before.

I stand up sliding the covers back over her sensual form
I know she will want to smoke when she wakes again
I wish she would stop I have tried to make her many times.
But I guess that will have to wait for another day.


GOD I LOVE THOSE OIL CHANGES ON MY CORVETTE !!!
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5936 Jan 31, 2013
She is Heat,
She is heat that warms ones soul. That warns you of emending danger if one gets to close. She is the searing heat of passion that now runs through my blood. With every breath bring me closer to her. Till my mind is dizzy and my body shakes from it lose of air, of thought, of will.

She is the Blaze,
She is the blaze who glowing allure beckons you to it. Who wild dance of words and thoughts there is no escape from. That has seared my soul like no other and that its marks will never fade. Forever consuming the old self of my being. Giving birth from its ash to my new form.

She is Flame,
She is flame that has run across my body. Licking, at every tender spot. Causing me to jump and react to her whim. Flames of lust leaving there dark mark across my mind, my heart, my soul. Flames that moves in such a graceful, mysteries way. One is entranced to follow its beauty, its light or be damn to darkness and the cold. For once touched by the flame there is no going back.

She is Fire.
She is fire. Fire that has consumed me, burned me, warmed me on every level of my existence. Fire that has branded my spirit. That I show now proudly. Forever branded by
her passionate will, by her voluptuous power, sensual mind. She is Fire, She is goddess,

She is mistress and she is fire.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5937 Jan 31, 2013
There was a young maid who wanted romance
Who went into a bar and made an advance
The stud looked into her eyes and saw his chance
Then he sped her home to give her romance

The shy maid went to his room in a lover’s trance
He undid a proud pair then he dropped her pants
He laid her back as they join together in the passion dance
She whooped and purred ,“God give me more romance”

So he gave the maid her wish and she took a little bit more
Then he laid her back for more love and another score
The maid was disheveled, but her chastity squeezed his lance
All the night over he gave her lusty love and romance

As the dawn came she cried “Good sir I am undone”
“I wanted romance and you gave me your gun”
“Ah sweet maid” he cried as he held his ready lance
“You now know of his fame, and his name is ‘romance’

With that he gave the maid another invitation to romance
As she wiggled and cried ‘Tell romance to advance”
He gave her stroke after stroke. She invited romance to stay
Now between her legs she wants romance night and day

“ROCK ON ROCKERS!!”

Level 8

Since: Mar 11

Rockin' USA ;)

#5938 Jan 31, 2013
Adrian..get YOUR poetic verses..OVER to my PARTY!!.ASAP!!..OMG!!!
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5939 Jan 31, 2013
"PARTY-TIME SEX."

Hi Sugar,

We could meet at your place, or a hotel or motel
We could meet for breakfast, lunch or a candlelight dinner
We could meet in the morning afternoon sunset or by the night
We could go to the movies blue green red yellow or any color u like
We could talk to each other about the sun, stars the moon (or any other topic u like)
We could watch a single X double XX triple XXX or ALL X’s u want
We could have sex in bed, on the floor, or on the dinning table
We could have sex in the bedroom, hallroom, bathroom or the kitchen.
We could have sex in the shower I just love that !
We could have sex on the staircase, on the terrace
We could have sex in the basement, or the carpark (I don’t care)
We could do it straight on top or from behind hmmmmm what position do you like ?
We could have sex in the morning, noon evening or night or anytime you like
We could kiss each other here an there an everywhere
We could meet today, tomorrow the day after.
We could meet Mon, Tues, Wed …….(But it is a Saturday or a Sunday I would prefer)
I just want to play your HERO of your most erotic dreams
Its just I want to get into your pants, the sooner the better

Well I am no Poet, but sure I can do it straight.
If your a Lady looking for a Guy like me.

Just go ahead and contact me and LET’s HAVE A DATE ?.

Just send me your Phone|Mobile|Fax number an E-mail or errrr TELEX!!!! would also do......

I promise I will take you to unseen heights satisfied guaranteed !!

With Lots-of-love-n-kisses and a Big Hug Yo

Your Party-time Guy :-)

Anybody is interested in safe and secret sex, email me. Aunties and married women interested in sex email me. Purely sex interested women's only contact for immediate sex. Expecting your emails along contact details. Information given will be in confident and secret.

Expecting your mails to f uck you and satisfy you.

Your Party-time Guy
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

The Gap, Australia

#5940 Jan 31, 2013
Colorado Chick wrote:
Adrian..get YOUR poetic verses..OVER to my PARTY!!.ASAP!!..OMG!!!
Hi you 'Li'l Ole Rocker'.....I'm a little tied up right now, however there is something you could do if you're really lookin' for a swingin' good time.....after the party, perhaps

(SEE ABOVE)

xo

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