IT'S 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

GNO-DEATH DO US PART 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 denominator... 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

TO RISE AND EAT 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 see...so 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

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

THE KISS of the ADDER I would even love you in your twinge of... jealous mood. gladly 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... why... why... why... why... why... why... why... why... 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. gladly 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