Tomic Riter

Tag: love

  • It won’t stop anywhere.

    the acidic smell of love sends me in a vertigo
your teeth feasting on my tongue
I have let you in before
I am letting you in again
my arms are open, my chest is bare,
my skin is in flames, my wine is sour
my head is pounding for your touch
I could hold your face between my palms
and kiss you until I get reduced to skeleton
it won't stop there
it won't stop anywhere
I will send us both right in the operation theatre
it won't stop there either.

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  • For you.

    first light of morning
how uninspiring
wish I dug you up with my lips
then with my teeth
and finally licked you clean 
with my tongue

instead,
I turn to the other side,
pull blanket over my head,
disappear.

Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

    CLICK HERE TO VISIT MY AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE AND PURCHASE MY BOOKS

  • Rewind. Repeat. Smoke and die.

    The wound takes time to heal. First, there’s redness. Then a little itching. Sometimes, too much. Then the new cells form and then, new skin. After a time, the wound disappears, like it was never there. But sometimes, the hurt continues. The flexibility just goes away. The bone gets weaker. The skin wrinkles. The muscles slacken. Even a little twist begins to hurt. Sometimes, you blow wind on where it hurts hoping it gets a little better. Sometimes, it does get better. Sometimes. The song keeps changing. The voice changing. It’s a whole goddamn playlist to cry over tonight. Lou Reed playing again. A call interrupted the mood. Not an important call.It was just my mother. 30 seconds long call. That much is enough to tell her I am still alive and everything is alright. Rewound the song. Played again from the start. Almost broke down. Almost.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Another day killed.

    Today. Did’t really write much. Didn’t write much but thought about a lot of poems that I could have written. Headache killed a major part of the day. Killed my mood. Kept me away from my desk and my chair until late evening. It has stopped raining now. Everything wet outside. The tree leaves. The roads. The iron gate to my house. My motorcycle. Wires swinging between the electric poles. Men and women who couldn’t reach home on time. Everything.

    This place is devoid of writers, artists, any human with a spark. Here, people just exist and then the die. Rarely, something moves them. No books in their homes. No paintings hanging on their walls. No cassette players or MP3 players or gramophones or records or even a pair of goddamn speakers in their houses. If you ever go to somebody’s house, all you can hope for is a nice cup of tea. But that doesn’t mean that you will get it. You can grab your balls or squeeze your breasts or do whatever with whatever you got while the tea is cooking for you but nothing can guarantee that the cup of tea that you get would be a really nice cup of tea. And no coffee. Absolutely no coffee. You cannot even hope for a cup of coffee. They don’t even know what coffee is. If you tell them, they will run behind you with bats and beat you to death. Coffee is like sin to them. And god knows how much they are afraid of committing sins.

    I don’t visit anybody. I never socialize. I can go months, even years without feeling the need to open my mouth and talk to somebody. I listen to music and I write and I read and I masturbate and that’s pretty much it.

    Ding Dong. Ding Dong. Somebody’s here. I hope their stay is short and I am back in my chair before long.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Them and another cup of black coffee.

    The urge to listen to that rock song once again woke me up this morning. Strange? What is not strange. So many decades gone and I still have to wake up everyday and take shit. But it’s fine. It’s fine as long as there’s good music to listen to. What if, one day, all the music just disappears from all the devices, all the hard drives and flash drives, all the cloud systems on the internet, all the music apps. Man, I would put a bullet through my throat. I would have my eyes snatched away by vultures. I would have a road roller run over me. I would pay the driver three times just to do the goddamn job without any regards to humanity. Yeah, money can do that. Money can buy loyalty, but only for as long as the money lasts. But really, how long does it last. And it’s useful only on this little dying beloved planet of ours. Today, some guy is the richest man. Tomorrow, some other guy will take his place. Guy or girl, whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. They talk about one dimensional progress. That’s the problem with the people who keep using too much of their tiny brains all the time – they think they are getting somewhere. It’s all bullshit. They are just fooling themselves and trying to fool everyone else. God, it’s a difficult matter. Grave matter.

    Sometimes, I think I am doing all of them a favor by just sitting here in my chair, looking out of the window, making love to you all the time, not doing anything much about the distress we have brought upon this beautiful world. It’s still a beautiful world and this life is still a beautiful life, pointless but beautiful, but for how long either will remain so, I really cannot say. I can feel the fangs of evil growing out of everywhere, reaching everywhere, tearing our flesh and our spirit to bits. Really, what man has been spared in this long history of ours. Almost everybody dies with a stabbed heart. Only more hearts keep popping up, waiting to get stabbed all the same. How pointless. And it just doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop. I could keep drinking all day and night to keep myself oblivious to all kinds of shit happening, but it won’t matter. The shit would still keep happening. All kinds of shit.

    My induction cooker is beeping in the kitchen. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP. The eggs must have boiled by now,and whether they are ready or not, they are going through my teeth all the same.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • All bluesy without you.

    Your hands would have been on my bare chest. Your lips would have been on my bare chest. Instead, I am here alone, listening to the blues, thinking about making another cup of coffee, thinking if I should have a quarter rum instead. My kitchen looks like a graveyard. We could have made love there and make the place explode. Your tongue licking my tongue. My cock in your beautiful wonderful perfect ass. You sitting on me. My finger in your mouth. Your hands grabbing my hair. My hands pulling your hair. My lips sucking yours lips, your breasts, your neck, your ears. We could have made love right now. Instead, I am sitting alone with a stomach full of plastic, and a cock without an erection, listening to Shotgun blues, to Mr. Hooker who is going to kill some woman because she is maybe fucking too many men.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • After waiting for half a day.

    Back at home from work but later than usual. Everything else can go to hell now. Just me and you. Watching you as I sit completely naked in my chair. I am already feeling your lips around my cock. You taking me in so lovingly, urgently. You taking me whole. You are my therapy. I am closing my eyes, feeling your tongue slowly sucking me in. Slowly but completely. You ask me, ‘Do you love it?’ ‘I do. I love everything that you do,’ I say. Your hair held in my hands. I am growing on your tongue, growing right to the back of your throat. Your mouth leaking a river on me. I keep giving you. You keep taking me. Sucking me in. Sucking me all the way.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Hangover maybe.

    They make sad faces everywhere. Faces with subdued smiles. Because if they really open their mouths and laugh, this world will come to an end. Such hideous creatures. Such dull monsters. Such jackals tearing up and the sky and the earth with their shallow sadness and boring humour and boring talking. Such rats not even good enough for our laboratories, or for feeding to our mean stupid heartless cats. I want your hands on my balls again. Your lips on my lips. My fingers inside you everywhere. But you died last night, only I died before you. Woke up with a headache. I think it’s from the terribly caustic rum I drank last night. It has turned me into a desert, robbed me of water. Waiting for electricity since yesterday morning. ‘Hey motherfucker. When will the electricity be back? What happened?’ I asked a man last night. ‘Hey sonofabitch. Something blew up badly. It won’t be coming before morning,’ he replied. It’s morning now and he was just talking shit. ‘Hey motherfucker. You said it would come back by morning. What the hell happened?’ I went to the same old man this morning and asked. ‘Hey sonofabitch. I don’t know. Something blew up badly. Maybe it will come back by noon,’ he replied. ‘Fine,’ I said and drank a cup of tea and then drove back home.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Banging on my desk.

    Working saturday sucks. It sucks more when it’s a holiday but you are supposed to work because you didn’t finish the work earlier on time. It sucks because the work will really never finish but your life surely will. And on your death bed, you won’t remember and cherish a single moment spent on correcting Excel sheets and Word documents and producing copies of copies of copies of the same folder on your computer. It’s noon now and too hot outside. I am sitting in front of a water cooler and it doesn’t make any difference to the amount of sweat on my forehead and around my lips. I am sitting and staring at the computer screen in front. I would rather we make love now. We could make love at the back on that table. We could make love right here on the floor. We could make love right here right now in my chair, you on top of me, me removing your bra, you pulling down my trousers, my cock inside you, your mouth inside my mouth, your hair in my hands. I don’t give a fuck about this job and this work. It’s an unending drudgery. It has destroyed my ass, my heart. We both want the same. We both want to make each other wet, make so much love. I am having an erection already, my hundredth erection since I woke up, thinking about you and me.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • I want you all the time.

    My face between your breasts. Your clit warm in my hands. My palms on your butt. I am kissing you and licking you. My face rubbing on your breasts. Your breasts pushing me down under them. I am warm under you. I am loving it. I am touching your clit, sucking your nipple, taking it with my tongue, then with my whole mouth. I am sucking you deep, sucking so nicely, my lips never leaving you. I am raising my hips to touch your clit with my cock. I am hard so hard. You rubbing your clit on my cock. It feels so good, so wonderful, so beautiful. You clit up and down on me. I am holding you tightly, my cock inside you, deep and strong. Your hips opening to me, my cock in and out of your sweet well, in and out. In and out. In and out. You moaning for me. You wetting for me. I am opening you more and more for me. I want you deeply. I want you badly. I want you all the time.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.