I’ll double down the double dare,
and tell you how much I like your hair.
But first, your eyes, I love your eyes.
Blue they are, a full sky surprise.
Ass, and breasts, and waist, to boot,
a laughing chortle, what a hoot,
but back to your hair, and the double dare.
Above, and below, I love your hair.
I push through space, through brightness, and shadow,
languidly pulsing my life force through the continuum.
On my tendrils the soft current of the breeze shallow
peaks my interest of tastes and sex. Tongues my medium
like agars replete with life, nourishing, and driving
my very self to reproduce. Bring me my mate, my bodied
complement, I search the flowing agar-agar for your scent.
Long has been my toil, my primal quest near atrophied.
Again, I catch the waft of your passing. Please, relent.
Rough banging upon my being, assailed by torrents maddened,
bereft of nourishing agar, cast upon the hardness of empty,
immobilized by I know not what, my tendrils movement dampened,
I long to be free. Yet, I feel the future of my passing entity.
When taking photos, some people judge what they see as unattractive. … I say,
“Quit judging your ephemeral beauty in todays images on your imaginary vision of your yesterdays image. Instead, look at the image of todays moment, and use todays image as a pointer to tomorrow. … To any image taken today, your five years into tomorrows self will always say, “See. Why can you not capture me like that guy did five years ago? I was beautiful then.”