by Pantherion Prime

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IT'S ON is a little bit of a testament to my thoughts and feelings around my growing experiences in the lifestyle... and my fetishes although not ALL shared are subtly hinted at, via not just the erotic content but ALL so the music I chose to use. These are primarily trip hop remixes and arrangements that I thought might fit the mood. Perhaps I will do a more gritty sequel... divulging ALL my secrets. At any rate...I hope you enjoy!


released March 31, 2015



all rights reserved


Pantherion Prime Riverside, California

Pantherion Prime is a pen name of mine...

it is an dentity... a personality that I use to scribe...
and describe the spiritually erotic notions and annotations
of my works in esotericeand rotic poetry.

I AM a multi-disciplinary artist who creates through sculptures through
poetry and music that could... and would reflect
the very essence of me... as a matriarchal man.
... more

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Track Name: ITS ON

I AM that .... great lover and discoverer of her... PM dawn
she the cloud atlas in the AM... of that I AM...I AM... its on...

never too early and... never late... a state of mind to be in.
just can't wait to take this jet black plane to yet an
other alternate reality... of a completely different world with you.
just can't wait to get... to the gate of our next... rendezvous

been waiting for you
just can't wait to share with you
an other moment... to devour our thoughts anew.

I AM the... true I AM legend of her map quest
in love with her laughter... enchanted with
the sense of smell of her...
and the essence of the taste... of her lust...

and at best I held her hand
when once we capped the pills of that... phantasmic
spill of dreams... pitched in these
organic screams of orgasmik...
a little bit of seXXXy and chaos magick

tongues slurred and sanguine in us... we inebriated lyrically.

we filled the little flagons of spirit...a little drag on... the dragon's tears of such liquorous touch.

a pour verse that carefully we have tucked in the creases of these curses between
the sheets of phuck faces at last night's reconstruction of only us.

we the beastly intentions in the sins
of our emotional contents... we both shaken
and stirred... then iced again.

no conceive of we to relent
no need for we... to repent.

the resurrection of what recurred truthfully in the frame by frame of the ritual... a pretty death so wet with floods of... bloody... love.

the spiritual residuals of the wee early morning hours.
the these ugly visages abhorrent to the squeamish

a touch of mental dis-ease to some others... the giving of a coven's dish... a genie's wish... for itself outside the bottle.

the throttle of the nape and neck of a
slave to love... to swallow

the pull of the hair... from the brow of our silhouettes... the crack of whip inthe shadow
the master's grip

a tight lip...that you know now
will not let slip loose... the noose
the knot... the snare.

the look 'pon we on one another cast of
askance glance... the denial of a prayer
the rhyme sayer of a spell that swells

though through a devil may care type of attitude
to we it seem as beautiful just the same... there's' a
heaven inside this hell.

we without shame... due to name ourselves
a little somewhat differently than the rest... and what of it... if we will it? and what of it... if we do?

so as it is written
as so it was and is within the NU testament
the scriptures of me and her...

we be the
letters of these in words and deeds that are scrawled across the pages of that book

as well as they made to crawl across the floor
when they are thus dictated as we took them down
the corridors of the hall of worlds...

I AM that .... great lover and discoverer of her... PM dawn
she the cloud atlas in the AM... of that I AM...I AM... its on...

Pantherion Prime from PRIME Scribes © 2014

more... than just a
fall away of flesh...

more than just the
the unraveling

of the enmesh of breath
the flood of blood... and tendons

the rot of skin... of we beneath them...
not just an epidermal bag of bones

we so much more than just the
known scent of ripened flowers and
heightened thick of pheromones...

we the bleed of these intentions
it is the disembodied we... that be

the emboldened pen point of the power
of our love...

these... intones
of persona that someday will become but
disemboweled entrails...

our guts spilled upon a page...
that are the mysteries of what the wise deem the
entreat of these... holy entries that but seem to be.

the degrees of these
master stories in these makings
of we... an oracular and spectacular work of art.

a place where you and I can find
a space... to chart a state of mind

one that is named for and famed for the framed part
of our world of words... we a word called yours and mine.

a lyric divine that with the perfected preposition
of an appearance of verse and rhyme
that silently begins its work

then it bursts with each cursive stroke and
proceeds to the reach of each
fine line inside of it... that ends and starts.

even when all of life is at the lowest of
parts of them... the markings of the
flood of lovely color tones is

a universally staged vibration... a
positioned station of etched stone that shall
inevitably die some day and is fated to fade.

but not so for you and I!
for we not to be

so able to raise so high can be
so easily taken and laid so low.

so low to the lowest known

from out births
we knew our worth
we are art and art earthed...

knowledge and wisdom perched
eternally between these years

and these ears that although
now on loan... it seems we own.

to the slowest groans of spirit
that the bell of death

in fear can toll... yet we alone...
together... will still... be able to hear it.

such is the door of our ardor!
yet it cannot
truly call for the depart of
twin flames souls.

heaven and earth shall pass
before us... for these arms of us are charmed

with the lust
of an enchanted embrace.

there will be a place for us
forever recreated and
reanimated in the

maintain of the memory
and of our shape.

and even when we descend
and are considered nothing

by all others... we are more than
something of such a passing hour
as are our past lived lives together...

yea...we are the gather of them
and though today we stay
in the waste-bin
of dust and bones...

still we will rejoice tomorrow
for we shall dance in the

borrowed shadows of light
to live in once again...perchance to love.

Pantherion Prime from PRIME Scribes © 2013

blessed be... the feet of she
who presents her self
at the round table of my banquet.
blessed be... the hand of thee
the one that... serves me
the one... who prepares my feast.
she but a shadow of silhouette of
sweet meat and spirits... a dark chocolate
intoxicant.... she.

ah! but what it... means to me
what it... means to me
so sweet...
leaves me a... wee bit... teary-eyed
but I... not grieving
I so darkly happy
I so... sweetly melancholy
I to but rise now here... and eat!
I to but rise now here... and eat!

I so... totally tantalized
my wanton eyes fixed for a while
for of a truth.... they in the
sizzle of her middle... so
uncivilly... yet... and still... so civilized
my mother's little gentleman
my manners intact at the dinner table
still I messy
I to but rise now here... and eat!
I to but rise now here... and eat!

aye! my eyes turning
thoughts burning... as I see the
swivel of her hips
to have her... voice so clearly near me
the endear of me
is to have these ears of mine
and this mind of mine
right there... right there
burning... just to hear it.
I to but rise now here... and eat!
I to but rise now here... and eat!

and she looks
and smells
and tastes to me... like a spill of wine
like the eat... of my
lovely bread of sustenance
for which I...
I to but rise now here... and eat!
I to but rise now here... and eat!

she feels like... to like
the tender hooks
of the lamb's raw mutton...
her loins... that I... so totally
a glutton for
so that... every now and then
the high and low to then
that later... go strung high up
above the flick of fire... for eye
to good to me.
I to but rise now here... and eat!
I to but rise now here... and eat!

so... emotionally, spiritually, intellectually
so flavorful packed with pungent of
the potent of her liquid kisses
she the unguent
of my dietary supplement
she my panacea... active in the
healing of my ills she is
my... reason why
I to but rise now here... and eat!
I to but rise now here... and eat!

so vital in ALL she is to me... the
piecing dart of my sharpest teeth
upon the rounding of my tongue.
and her flesh! oh her flesh let it be
stilled in stealthy skills!
as comes the predator me!

no disclaimer to be named here
I the claimer of the just fresh kill...
that ink bleeds the 3rd letter
edition of the secrets of her red elixir... she
the fixative to my gluten
she the deliciously seditious fix
I carefully... glue to me.

we be the confederates against ALL
the faulty governments
we the libertines and licentious beings
that off-set the mauling of
the false prophets that would starve me.
they who would if they could
carve from me the arms of my true
one and only... they plot to
take my queen... and never
ever let us thus be free.

can you not see that it is she
who chooses to be bound to me?
completely whole is she that one that
alchemically be to me... the music
of my muse the only worthy food known
yet to soothe the troubles of... my soul.

the kind of food that I eat with
glad tidings through
eyes and nose before I dare to
bear the touch and taste of her barest
and her rarest places of her skin.

her appeal hidden in my peel of them
layer by layer to the expose of them
the minions of a maximum of a million of
these unmasqued eyes without a face... in my flay
that play in and of ALL of her ecstasy.

and I find in her a depth of character... the
assume of a perfumed scent that
flows through clothes in the beginning
then sends a fragrant caress of buds
only grown once to become
deflowered in the end... they
indeed then seeded
twice by my vice and
thrice... by my virtue thus again.

the kind of food that... peek-a-boos
in the dark... my close in and of
my eyes thrown on the
cleavage of her breast
a solemn oath that I speak
in hopeful eyes and vows for
open thighs to see.

the marriage of me... that lives
in these partitions of her cheeks
and what is this but a little bit of the
why nots and what nots
and indeed that whole lot of
of other things indeed that
were not knotted so tightly

these toys that joy of the
frightful Beast in me
this freak that
doth with her... what he wills
and loves to lay her and
play with her
from the initial hour of the day
to the very last ray before night.

an elaborate entree of her
lust for me displayed as
hors d'oeuvre the most
delectably delicate dish... that
was made here just for me.

my palate styled and
stayed in the culinary arts
that are imparted of her
wayward whorish ways...
her bawdy laughter that lauds
empties me... 'til I devoid of hesitation.

so I dig in and I devour her
for she still the Lady of the Easter eateries
and although it is yet twilight dark... she still
what be to me that tumescent touch of me
she the breed of the insanity the morning
the in between and during
before and well e'en after
the hours of the main meal of my feast...

I thus the victor become the victim of his
victuals of lust to eat!
and I see no need of no one to save me
or make me leftovers
no one yet able take me drunken away from
the spread of this happily dead man
at her her table to die for... for I
m yet hung and yet hung over in her love.

fit to be tied to such as is the belch of
her exotic seasoning on my livid and lisping
liquored breath
yea! she the fine dine of her experience
my wants and needs that slaves me to the
marriage of til at last death... do us part.

makes the master me... that monster P
to thus crave unto and cleave into
these sweet deserts of such perfect
heartfelt dirty words...

I reminded of
the parting and the suck of lips within
the tartest of her treats.
titties and clit bouncing round
the moon light of my tongue
and as I thrust in her my every lead
I trust indeed her... cries are mine
and I must insist you see
that too... her whine is mine...

I the soul possessor
of that vapor... that escapes her breath
I the captor and the captive.

the professor of her emeritus
passively passed of as an actor.

the taper of that one who wishes
herself to be eaten... and desires
to have her virginity taken
as much as I am wanting to eat
and be eaten of her.

and though to no avail she
blows a little smoke to
throw me off the trail... I so
obsessive and ALL ware... ALL ways
in the mind of her frame
in words and name... am there

that lyric... write there is but a
spell bind of line that pours out of
my mouth before me
here in an intoxicant just like wine.

my incline of ear and lips to the listen and to
the utter of... a guttural word
but a visceral audio-visual of the swell of her invoke

a thing that I gorge me on until I damn near
choke upon the border of just knowing.
that path that I can follow...

the one that allows the flowing drips from the
mem'ry slips of me... to her... she my prey and I
will ALL ways find it right away... for it
really is just me... the dust right there at her running feet

when I am ahungered and I lust
when am I so thirsty for her
this food and drink of her I seek to so partake of her
ambrosia sweet... an erotically thought filled gourd
or goblet of curses beneath her blood curdling
screeches and her screams.

a misty mixture steeped in the elixir of her wet world
and it is my desire that I yet might delight in this
this bliss this kiss of crimson that I get at the very first
sight in line of her.

my promise willed within this fulfill of my villainous
and wicked impulse in me to rise... and eat.

blessed be.

I to but rise now here... and eat!
I to but rise now here... and eat!

Pantherion Prime from PRIME Scribes © 2014
Track Name: SHE OBEYS

from a greater distance... in what seems like just
a walk across the the room... with his dominance
he issues the... preparatory predilections of the Prime directive in this...

little missive to his submissive... and the slave
protocols as they... were originally issued...

as they were...made to be... and decreed to thee... these are the cited lines of meanings by which they each.... in context and in content...

the written word cast in speech... the way they were were meant to be used... corrected aright...
and not confused.

they are to be bruised... but not abused.... it is a lesson in
the laws and rules I teach in the mental dungeon of the darker parts that art... my little room.

this is followed by the expectation of nothing less and the tune of none too soon than
instant and willing obedience to commands... indeed in word and deed

it is the command of execution... verses seductively selected...
and fused in a series of phrased words only heard by her... when the Master gives

the bidding's of... cum lover cum... that are hidden in the
hard bark and rolled r's... that are the blood that runs through

the heart of speech.... they in the pit of picture perfect... military pitch...'til it reaches the sweet and the bitter of her bitchy, witchy ways.

he orders her... away... and she obeys.
he orders her... to heel... and she obeys.
he orders her... to stay... and she obeys.
he orders her... to kneel... and she obeys.
he orders her... to lay... and... there she stays...
motionless until given further notice,

and with the flood of a dark hooded love of her... he... covers her... lovely head
with the lines that first lead to the suggestion of her
raised legs... that assume the position of ears locked

to the rock of knees... the beads of
sweaty face and the pretty feet of she... held aloft to the see of the ceiling mirrors that be above.

he effects the secrets by which he takes her deep... and takes her sleep and puts her in in the
softness of a... fantasy... a dream

lost within the deep of her deeper depth of thoughts... the Great Work wrought by what... brings the changlings

in springs that drip with the entry and exit of last winter's whitened snow.

he recites the rites of the blessed tenets of the denizens...
slaughtering these particles of dust... that live within the lust
of bust of seed... and the ink bleed... in the need to KNOW.... and trust.

and the Beast makes his mark in skin and flesh.... she branded by the insertion of the
goldeness of the eye in the needle... and the
pull of the silver thread,

the string of her... fit and flitting with the sting of him
stretched so.... firmly across the tension of her trembling bow.

and by the vision of the arrow and the flow of his double stitched WILL
he issues the DARE of the ill... of her shift from the kill
in consciousness of her... filled... to all aware.

it is within a benediction and a curse... dispersed in a spiel of spells and spills...

that methodology of such that he effects these
belly to back orgasms and body spasms in an over extension
of cunnilingus... from the dealings of 9th degree working...

suspends her in the middle 'til her whimpers are finally exhausted and still... and even then he sees... that she... obeys.

and though he spares her not... nor leaves undone the spot of his knotted gifts

when commanded she lifts to him his riding crop... realizing fully what that means... and still... in the midst of it... it seems.... that she obeys.

commands stocked in whispers spent... between and along the piercing

of bent over in the 1st penetration... to what he finally deems to be the last withdrawal.

and with the fall of a finger.... he unlocks her lips... and with the insertion of the gag-ball

bids her to... keep within her SILENCE... and still.... without being the least bit hesitant... still... she obeys.

Pantherion Prime from PRIME Scribes © 2013
Track Name: THE KISS of the ADDER

I would even
love you in your twinge of... jealous mood.
I would even be... the mad
of your reason to be rude to me... the fall of your brood
like luther... "never too much" for a dude like me.

you see...

I would be he...
the only one yet... fit to feed... on the... darker parts
that be in the whole of you.
the fruit of you... the soul of you.
I would be he
who would squeeze... every little bit of it... from the tweak
and tether of you.

bind you up in the succulant... of you... with the ropes
of the dope in your lobes...
of the lode lines of my seduction.
I'd eat the pulp of it too
and suck on the bulk and chew of this
its erotically evocative brew.
take my bite of you
to the point in you... that leads... to the bone of its chalky dry.

yeah... I'd be that guy!

I would kiss the fang
of your adder with my
bladder full.
my kiss the pull of the trigger.
a little sting of the bumble bee... to be my high... to chase.
there where lies the nectar's taste ... of your bitter sweet.

and I... will keep your secret (shhhh!)
let seep in its black ecstasy.... 'til meets
face to face with thee... in the... waist deep
of the me into the freak in you.
the secret treasure of the shipwrecked you
the fore-sail that drips from the pulsing bloodlets
of the embodiment of your violently
boiling and beating heart.

I would suckle every droplet... every part
of the passionate parts of the wickedness... of your
poisonous spit.
I... sampling it like a prize... for my toil.
I... knowing full well without a doubt
that it is I... that with ALL my flaws...
the raze of raw... that has been the cause of it.

I would easily
sublimate the seeds of its essence in the fire pit,
transform the venom in it
by my art... by my part
seemingly like an alchemist.
take the steam of you to burn these elements
into this dream that... precedes the... incredulous in deeds
of a passionate... breed of... state of mind.

the place
where there... I'd find me
in the best... and in the worst parts of lovely you.
and I would be your beautiful and your ugly.
I would be your dutiful
gnash of teeth... between the clenched sheets
of cloven hooves... the feet of your horny goat
calves perfectly tied and ankles pressed against
the spread of cheek.

I would be the fisting of your pride
I would be the... night tide of a
reversible cloak of gloating.... my verse overshadowing
the mount of you.
I would be
the holder of the harness that pulled taut...
becums the hoarseness in the throat of you...

I would be
the goad
that in you the bad of the awful good to go through
the highs of this rocky hill of climb.
I would be the
increase in you... of the magnify... of my name.

between your lips... and thighs.
I would be the shame
of your naked exposed and...
released in the hold... of... the... fisted fragile
whispers of my intensify.
I... the sly manufacturer
of the fractured screams of...




I would have
my flow... strung to the bow
of your serpentine... my shaft to fly.
I would have you
stripped and flogged.
filled and filed with the supine feelings
of my triumphant entry.
I would have you see
the doubling of me
in my divine... and devilish presence.

I an impish terror.
a pit bull terrier tearing into your flesh.
I would give you the helter skelter
of my flickering tongue
give the homelessness
of your succubi... the luck of my tents... my shelter.

I would have your slither living in...
and up... and down my spine... I tingling...
until in the... mingling of you... with me...
I would be... the crumbling of my beast to
sundry shivers.

I would be the battering ram of pleasure
the splatter of puncture
wounds on skin... in trembling's mesh... these
ever gathered together
in countless quivers of divers arrows
that... love knows will level the low of everything.

my assault on your inhibitions
leaving nothing but me
to be received... in the red bleed of breathlessly.

to the best of my ability
I would fuck the taste of of hypocrisy
from your crimson mouth
and drool them out from mine
in such scribes.
I would love... the bitter truths of them... to the root of them.

I would drink from you
the harmonic of the demonic and the divine.
the blueberry wine
in the elixir of your malignant
the product of solicitous touch
in ductless glands.
I would be a salivatory salvation
of the damned in it.

I would..
impregnate it... with the full spill
of my wild and willful pungent stench.
I would...
pinch and punish it so that its
territory is marked in the
deep sweep of swollen pussy
this heat in me... in... of the heart of me
imparted... to the own of you.

the dead of me so dearly departed
like no other man. I would be alive instead
even in the face...
of the contrition... of your spite.

I would have you play a song on the pipe of pan
for the hand of you syrinx... my woodland nymph.
and it is there on a tree stump I would write
to right all wrongs... yes... I think
I would... love you to the brink...
of always love you.

there.... in the steep incline
of my ecstatic... for you... the emphatic of this fact
that yes... I would even love you.
my guilty in the
the committal of these crimes
that make you... love... me... too
as I... and only I... ever can
and do.

the emancipation of my sensitive soul... emaciated
jagged even.
yes... the hate of
you... in the throw of your venom in it
I would even... love to overstand.

I would even
love you in your twinge of... jealous mood.
I would even be the mad
of your reason to be rude to me... the fall of your brood
like luther... "never too much" for a dude like me.

yeah... I'd be that guy.

Pantherion Speaks through PRIME Scribes © 2015