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Literature Text
i.
it was all skinned knees
and stop signs between us.
we pushed too hard
or not hard enough.
ii.
the last star i wished upon
turned out to be a satellite,
and the last time i kissed you
really wasn't the last time.
the scent of romance- pine needles
and sawdust clung to my shoulders
where your fingers left goose flesh
when i least expected it.
iii.
i'd be tangled up in you and bed sheets
if i didn't know you better than that,
[sweetheart,] you're thunderstorms on
Saturday nights and "Why don't you stay
for awhile"'s and the infidelities
that line my cheeks.
it was all skinned knees
and stop signs between us.
we pushed too hard
or not hard enough.
ii.
the last star i wished upon
turned out to be a satellite,
and the last time i kissed you
really wasn't the last time.
the scent of romance- pine needles
and sawdust clung to my shoulders
where your fingers left goose flesh
when i least expected it.
iii.
i'd be tangled up in you and bed sheets
if i didn't know you better than that,
[sweetheart,] you're thunderstorms on
Saturday nights and "Why don't you stay
for awhile"'s and the infidelities
that line my cheeks.
Literature
You can have your poem now.
yearning:
an intense feeling of longing
for something that may have never existed
despite our soaked physical evidence
strewn across the bathroom floor
beside our limbs and your vomit,
a retching twitch in your gut,
"and let it be known that men
are more sexually possessive in their thoughts
and fantasies,
often leading them to the belief
that after pilfering through the slough
they are owed a perfect human being
fashioned from the schematics written on their rib or
pulled over the shape of adam's incomplete skeleton,
lusting for happiness
and an easy way to keep it because
that first fuck was just so good,"
though honestly, i don't rem
Literature
Here in spring
If fatigue could grind down
cosmic energy in the center
of the universe
and in your center
like you are
grinding nutmeg and cinnamon
onto your cappuccino,
stirring
the little cup of storm
with your bent spoon
and eating raw walnuts
with the poet
tumbling
out of the person
in sportive vapors,
this is
what has mesmerized you
to me: being wrapped up
entirely
by the silhouette of your
coming and going,
nurturing the pearl
you have broken off of
a universal necklace,
your button picked off
of the universal sweater
draped around my shoulders
when we tour the little towns
that stand over the Hudson
like haloed hallucinations.
I would h
Literature
Confluence
According to the old religion, a scribe
must bathe in natural running water
before she draws what is dictated to her,
because writing's just like cleaning a mirror,
she says, it's like rearranging stains
left on wholesome rivers. For three nights,
I drew geometric shapes in the margins;
I had been instructed to take notes on
the underside of snow, and how it colonized
the lithosphere, musically and without hurt.
It felt like a call, but it wasn't a calling.
The paper was made in Himalayan foothills
by a woman who had cleansed knots from fibrous bark
and dipped her bleached hands into boiling water.
I mangled the page into a cottage, then
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those fucking satellites keep getting in my way.
--
I can't fucking write to save my life, and as soon as I admit it I choke with inspiration. I just can't win.
[Edit] Meztere is a pain in my ass, but finds my typos.
features:
(40) handpicked: mirrors, chromeantennae and dds by cristinewakesuphappy
--
I can't fucking write to save my life, and as soon as I admit it I choke with inspiration. I just can't win.
[Edit] Meztere is a pain in my ass, but finds my typos.
features:
(40) handpicked: mirrors, chromeantennae and dds by cristinewakesuphappy
© 2012 - 2024 toxic--sunrise
Comments18
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Each verse in this one carries little gifts to treasure and cherish, that make the poem shine.
"it was all skinned knees
and stop signs between us."
"the scent of romance- pine needles
and sawdust clung to my shoulders
where your fingers left goose flesh
when i least expected it."
"[sweetheart,] you're thunderstorms on
Saturday nights and "Why don't you stay
for awhile"'s and the infidelities
that line my cheeks."
In actuality, these lines are more than "little".
You have a wonderful way with words that makes me want to keep coming back.
"it was all skinned knees
and stop signs between us."
"the scent of romance- pine needles
and sawdust clung to my shoulders
where your fingers left goose flesh
when i least expected it."
"[sweetheart,] you're thunderstorms on
Saturday nights and "Why don't you stay
for awhile"'s and the infidelities
that line my cheeks."
In actuality, these lines are more than "little".
You have a wonderful way with words that makes me want to keep coming back.