are antiquated crescent golden tongues
with cynic vile that our
momentary air is on the verge
of amphetamine protem freesia like
"scarlet decaying virgin eyes savor rouge dahlias"
because callous taunt placid slender
recent crime delusions
& "I am the artist in honor sincere to velvety
dulcet in artificial concave
i want to write you the perfect poem
i want to string words together so spectacularly that you tattoo them on the inside of your eyelids
i want to write you the world, wrap these lines in a bow and leave the package on your doorstep
i want to write you the perfect poem,
but i'm an imperfect person and love,
so are you
you are the bags under my eyes
i carry you with me wherever i go
and you draw the most attention to the brightest parts of me
my under eye bags are the only cosmetics i wear daily;
you are the result of late nights of laughter and 1 AM drives home
you sopped up the spilled cherry coke in the back of my car with napkins from my glove box
i braked too hard and it spilled all over your feet
it was a quiet ride home
my knuckles were white on the steering wheel and my head a blur of apology
my favorite mop;
my messes are yours and yours will be mine and i've never been one for tidiness but i'd scrub the world clean for your smile
the dent in my passenger side door,
the soreness in my muscles,
the paint stains in all of my jeans;
i can’t get rid of it, i’ll never get rid of it;
the dent gives my car character
the soreness makes my body feel real
the stains make me feel free and the jeans fit me like a glove
i like routine and you are a part of mine
text you tease you love you
wash rinse repeat
i could send you a thousand love letters
i’ll keep them in a shoebox instead
i'll write your name into the stars,
i'll carve my love for you in the moon,
print it on postcards,
press it into my skin
but i cannot write you the perfect poem
Fill it up. My dreams, aspirations. I hope.
One day they'll be true, I give it to you.
This cup filled with my future.
Pour it out. My anxiety, my fear.
I bear it all here. For you my dear.
My cup is empty.
My heart is true this cup is for you.
My hopes and my fears they all disappear
When i am with you.
tree your bough is resplendent
with the delight
that taunts me so
I espy her as she grows
my eyes are transfixed
by her glowing complexion
days go too long
quell my waiting pangs
coiled are my feelings
her essence appealing
to the taste buds
provoking her skin is smooth
and a flesh so succulent
bring her to maturity
she drives me mad with insanity
ripening to her full perfection
longing my heart strings
wanting the reward
ready to pick
the mouth exhausts
to caress her fruit
I've met the painter
who used his brush
to create your beautiful canvas.
I know of your palette,
of your vibrant colors,
of the story I receive
when I take you in.
But no matter how I try
I'm unable to see
past the shades you're composed.
For no matter how I long,
I realize that yours is a painting,
an image I so desire to view.
And I am just another,
incapable of seeing
the initial stroke.
You must kill the Beast,
That's what I've been told,
Bring your blade 'tween its eyes,
Like in the days of old.
I must beat It and break It,
That's what I'd been told,
I must bruise It and make Its
Blood run cold.
But I would rather have It go
to some foreign land,
Or else hide with the fish in the sea,
Have It go and sleep
beneath those soft sands,
And stay far away from me.
Yet I know this Beast
would haunt me even then,
Would return and rear Its ugly head,
It doesn't matter what has been
And I don't care what the others said,
I'm putting this matter to bed!
I wrestle the beast in my arms,
Howling how I forever vow
That this beast will do no more harm,
For I am its master now.
Cocoon this is reality
in an empty space
unlocked & flawed
like bleach is increasingly scenic
diluting with calamity,
revolving on arthritis
like the phlegmatic ambiance
it's vast unblemished didactic
" I am a cognizance
of petrified mimetic landscapes"
that I slammed the car door
resonating indulgent concrete
even though I might not be
venturing my hips
in an alluring angle or
"why are the rims of my eyes not