In your Sillouette,
Painted Gold, against Magic Curtain.
This Oz Stage, Hiding our bodies.
I am lingering.
You are gilded beautiful
Bare breasts pointed at Chandeliers
nipple Capstones sealing perfect Arches
I am a foot protruding from your sculpture
I am that blot behind your Hip Bone
Cold Draft from the Cracked window
A breath of ocean waves
Our bodies cast illusions
ripples of Moonlight
Dancing on our sillouette.
Black Moss collects in the shape of your tattoos
Silk screen thighs,
where the breeze whispered
where my fingertips wrapped your hipbones.
growing where we Calloused
In our Roughs
In our trenches
Rubbing Leather against Silk
You invested in our common interest.
A mirror, Fastened to the Ceiling.
Reflecting Our Two Loudest Vices.
And your body.
I love the Chips in your paint.
I hate the man who painted you.
infected by Tunnel vision Voyeurism
Sick with a Spiderweb brain
Spinning from your imperfections.
You are so, perfect.
Artists come from all over
To watch the magic curtain.
Your Golden arching Back.
My Mustard Toes.
we all look at you,
even you look at you.
we do not Blink.
Just stare, position ourselves.
behind this curtain.
Our callouses grow like the black moss
bodies marble under ocean pressure
erode from the chill winds
Your archaic exhibitionism
Carved From Counting Gazes
Mustard eternally pondering
why our sillouettes, different colors
Drawn by the same moon,
Casted on the same cloth.
muses on her
as he writes
from the blackboard
The teacher explaining
the rise of the Nazis
the resulting war
and the Holocaust.
His grandfather died
and his great-uncle
The stain of anti-Semitism
having touched his family.
He wonders if Shoshana's family
had been hit so from the curse.
in his neatest hand
the script the teacher
He hopes she
will be there
on the sports field
if the weather is fine.
He hasn't brought
his book today
he wonders if she
will allow him a kiss.
The teacher has
finished his script
and stands back
to view his work
hands on his hips.
He has seen a photo
of his grandfather
back in 1929.
Before the Nazis
came to power.
He is smiling
when he died.
Your love is my disease
So sick, got me falling to my knees
I'm begging baby please don't leave
But you can't hear me
Too busy falling like a meteor
Creating all these internal craters
Baby I was the sun
I used to shine so bright
You cut me down
And now I'm just a small star
In your universe which is so infinite
you squinted through
and took a picture
that yellow summer
we sat under green trees
that popped on the brown bark
the ground was littered with the fallen
a graveyard of white flowers
the wind turned them into dancers
broken butterfly wings
pretty like the boy
with the beautiful dreams
there was wetness on your cheeks
i took your hand
and snapped a picture
this is the first time i'm writing about you, yet it feels like i've been here before
maybe these are all the thoughts i've collected finally written down on paper
i think about you a lot when i'm feeling down, but you don't know that
how could you when you're out there chasing your dreams, and i'm here simply going through the motions?
i had a thought just now that reminded me why i'm still here
the life i currently live is not one that i dream of living
because of you, i realized that i can't give up
my whole life, i've been working towards this goal so i can't throw everything away
you may never know this, but thank you for being my constant source of inspiration
i love you
i saw your smile today and it was the most beautiful thing i've seen in a long time
it wasn't the first time i had laid eyes on such a lovely sight
but in that moment, i really needed it
maybe i needed it more than i did before because it felt as though all of my problems went away
at least for a little while
even for a fleeting moment, it meant something to me
imagine if one day, i could have the same effect on someone else
the same effect you continue to have on me
your smile, the most lovely sight in the world
His eyes like night, I can't find my way,
His hair like the brown of forest wood, I can't look away,
The pool of colours for I want to paint a picture of him,
Are too many, too many shades,
Too many tones and too many emotions.
Green, for the huge breath I take when I take a look,
Blue, for the happiness I receive,
Yellow, for the light, the light he emits,
Pink, for the blood rush he makes me feel.
Orange for the dusk, the time he leaves,
Purple, I want to see his sins,
And the black of charcoal, for when I take a breath,
Instantly he comes, and takes it away.