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Styles 2d
Her body’s speaking in tongues
and I'm falling in love
her vibes fit me like a glove
in my eyes, we've already made love

she was sent from above
therefore delivered with love

I must do my part
and spread her love...
two finger lengthens apart
and give her love....
until my pleasure touches her heart
Àŧùl Jan 9
I really-really-really wanna take you home,
Tonight - tonight - yes, tonight.
You would feel relaxed when you spend the night,
With me in my bed - in my bed.

I really-really-really make a promise to you this evening,
Tonight be unlike any other you'd ever see.
You would feel the joy when you spread your pretty smile,
Watching me sink in my bed - in my coffin.

First I'd kiss into your mind a termination signal,
A signal which is mine.
I promise it'd be painless and clean altogether,
Death comes sooner.

The blanket over us will be our gravestone,
Tonight, yes, you try dying.
Try dying tonight in peace and love,
With me, in my bed - my escape.

I promise to take you away to a realm,
Tonight you'll enjoy dying.
Die kissing the lips of immortality,
With me in my bed - my abode.
After uploading it, I saw that the shape of this poem resembles a coffin! Spooky, eh?

My HP Poem #1958
©Atul Kaushal
Have you ever laid in bed
and cried so hard
to the point you’ve had to cover your mouth
so you didn’t make any noise?
~2021
Gabrielle Sep 2023
The rain tickles the roof
Trickles in spittle down the gutter
Uneven beats on a hollow drum
The soundtrack to my slumber
Steve Page Apr 2023
I can still taste the toothpaste,
my ears hold a dampness
from the flannel,
my pants give rise
to the airer’s freshness
and I’m yet to lose
the stiffness of my bed -

and yet
I remain hopeful of the day,
that it will weigh heavier,
grow mustier,
yield an aroma
I can relate to.
its early
neth jones Feb 2023
the world is flown
       and i sleep beside you wed
 our mossy appetite has become cleaved  
                                   a sleeve running between us on this bed
      a warm hum     the pores  pipe open
    intimacy issues forth    traversing the gap
  intelligence sliding    slack and froth    
        like moist candy-floss   icking and tearing

our shared dream
     our powerful phantom
         gussy travellers
       ravelling in sheets of smoky sea
 grey/green misting of the memory gland
gathering up dead celebrity
tuning structures to our jubilee
re-creation in a vibe theatre
we're partners conducting our behaviour
                         for a grand flotsam revelry    
                                      dizzed up and narcotic
         no doubt ; we are unreal

it is the neon hour...

i flicker
           feeling the rushing of your warm system
         i feel weather speed over our bodies
                               striping and refreshing the energy
            in the oil light blinking   i see you
          scar beauty over the berths' landscape
           you turn the body over and illuminate the eyes
          you are if to say     "plug back in to our shared motion"
           "we could be imperishable"
         "i cannot return without my inconsiderate spouse"
          you brush my hand which fizzes
                                          and i clothe my eyes
           re-enter our developing potion
          
          within   our great mouths feed alike
          our dual nature is a shared gratification   within
guided evolution of a somni-lucid state
you hurted me
but then I lay in bed
thinking about your kiss
to help me fall asleep

it doesn’t feel fair
that the chaos of loving you
breaks my heart
but mends all the pieces right back
way too heartbroken to fall asleep
Dev Aug 2022
Five hundred nights we shared this room
You still crack the blinds to watch the moon

No dogs allowed has been long overruled
You always felt that was just a bit cruel

Despite the hair, dirt, and drool
You welcome the new fur family rule

No more fussing with my sloppy side
Now you tidy the sheets in half the time

The center of the mattress is just as fine
Though you still refuse to cross that line

You still sleep on your side of the bed
Yet, Five hundred nights since I've been dead
Possible work in progress rendered from thoughts of sleeping alone while the wife is at work.
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