A taunt tongue  To slowly savor  The small bits  That collect  At the joining  Of collarbone  Salty and sweet  Tiny droplets  Sensuous and alive  And I am jealous  Of their closeness  To your skin  Powerless  To get closer  Than they are  So I settle  For a secondhand  Savoring  Not less sweet  Your scent assaults  My senses  And I reel in  When I only  Want to reel  You into  My first sense  For nourishment  Comfort I want  To suckle  As in the past  With a wet  Hungry mouth  Unashamed at  My n

A taunt tongue  To slowly savor  The small bits  That collect  At the joining  Of collarbone  Salty and sweet  Tiny droplets  Sensuous and alive  And I am jealous  Of their closeness  To your skin  Powerless  To get closer  Than they are  So I settle  For a secondhand  Savoring  Not less sweet  Your scent assaults  My senses  And I reel in  When I only  Want to reel  You into  My first sense  For nourishment  Comfort I want  To suckle  As in the past  With a wet  Hungry mouth  Unashamed at  My n

Sleepy mind awakens, Lethargic body sir, Big brown eyes open, and peep through slit of morning eyelids, Within a split moment, her legs were spread, Her back instantly bowed into an arch, While her round firm breast heaved toward the sky Eyes widen then glanced downward, Top of his head was seen slowly gyrating between the center opening of widespread legs, Surreal sensations of his tongue dipping and swirling deep in the wake, of her quivering pink sex, rushed through her extremities, Leaving

Flickering candles hide the silhouette of the darkness, That hide in the four corners of the room, Their luminance flow off the color of your bare flesh, Beam off the soft glow of your eyes, While my arms fold over your flesh softness Quiet stirs the air, While heartbeats beat without urgency, Minds think without... Thinking ... Wondering fingertips gingerly smooth out unseen wrinkles of our flesh, As the sounds of our world filters through our ears, While a stolen moment of intimacy goes unfo

This document presents a very original poem titled 'The Discussion Section in Essence'. The poem has been composed by Ana I. Moreno and is inspired on the results of her study on 'The effect of national/international audience on the rhetorical structure of research article Discussion sections. PRISEAL Conference, University of Coimbra, Coimbra, Portugal, 30 Oct-01 Nov 2015.' It attempts to answer the following question in a fun way: If I only had one minute to explain to would-be authors of empirical research articles in English whose L1 is not English what kinds of things to say in their Discussion (and/or Conclusion) section for publication in an international journal, what would I tell them? How would I do so? The funny thing was that her answer came out in verse, and a bit like a parody. The poem is dedicated to John Swales, author of famous works on Genre Analysis and Research Genres, who has had a great influence on Ana Moreno's teaching and research.

Estos dieciséis poemas fueron originalmente escritos en inglés y en verso. Este tipo de rima se llama pareado, couplets en inglés. Tratan sobre la sociedad, la filosofía y la religión.

circle-no-10: I did not choose to live when  time was of essence for all to see and feel and I stopped living but time continued with my breaks on full it carried on relentlessly and I had stopped thinking I would be  young forever with choices ad infinitum and no worries or sorrows past present or tomorrow I had stopped  living but the clock was still ticking

circle-no-10: Freedom, a concept and a dream, filling and fulfilling the void, yet caught in the vortex of life, spinning endlessly and always falling short, like a leaf in the autumn breeze, drifting, seen but never heard, in peace and yet disturbed always searching, never finding, the elusive dream, repeating nightly,

It’s Friday night and no drink in sight. A promise made, a doctor’s aid the difference played. The player now gone, tore a hole in my soul, the guiding light fading, the hope dissipating.

circle-no-10: I did not know what I wanted - then I do not know what I want - now Will I ever know?

circle-no-10: Sun-kissed and birdsong not doubting I’m in love - proper the sweetest kiss and the everlasting love I found fading fast as I awake My exploded chest folds back into place and hibernates

circle-no-10: You will have no way of knowing, without scratching the surface. Nothing can be seen, no one can be heard, until the ice is broken. Do you trust them? I don’t, never will. They say the truth is closer than you know, you just have to scratch the surface, and it will all be revealed. Bollocks.

circle-no-10: The wallpaper was too busy, yellow with white and brown stripes, not suitable for a child, leaving scars like hitting the head on a radiator repeatedly, only more subtle, and less blood. These days collar bones turns me on, and shoulders, and hip bones if not too hidden in fat, and attached to a woman of my fancy, covered somewhat. They need to please my eye, more than my mind and heart, the radiator is to blame, me thinks, as a striped wallpaper never would do any permanent h

circle-no-10: I could see your hands glowing, in the dark they stood out like like a lighthouse along the southern coast. I think you honestly believed you could heal, but delusions are like trees in the forest. I feel for you, honestly, but please let go of the dreams, and fast.

circle-no-10: Go gently with me as my bones are brittle and my heart is cracking more by every passing day with the sound of little feet fading further and further into the shadows of that we perceive as real and closer and closer to the edge of that which is only dream.

circle-no-10: Upon the path of the lesser knowing, wind chill roaming and icicles forming, the whores are out tonight. Beyond the realm of reason, insanity rules the world, with the false and the fake and the great pretenders, prayers for guidance are heard. The sole survivor ponders and preys upon the weak, the lame, the rotten and the stink, the shadows of solitude are real. With a sigh, and without hope, I close the door and weep.

circle-no-10: Is it too much to ask for A pair of lips With a gentle face To study in detail To study from afar I gently touch them and Suck Them - on a Saturday night They’re in my dreams Not far away I awake and Long for those cherry lips Is it too much to ask for A pair for Christmas This year also This year too