I long for your hand
reaching out to you
in your solitary time
it feels right to exchange
tenderness as rare
passion, jealousy, envy
claiming to feel
alive consumed indeed
that common look
wearing everything out
deeds feelings selfies
very little left beneath
simply I reach out
to your hand let it be
all with all its significance
I lay there
aloof and gone
I have not been touched
In so damn long
You stroke my head
As we lay close
In your bed
Not from a man
Nor my dad
kind gestures of my mother
shows her affection
but this loving touch I needed
her sweetest blessing
Pardie, mine is thine, parfay in
Mine siesta; I hadst a sweven of
Tender refine. We art perantique
To the temporal, sacrosanct we
Art, divinity's temple's. Patration
Hath been acknowledged, by the
Guardian's of the extrasolar, as doth
Me and thine beauty amour', lieth in
The eye's of ourn beholder.
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated
Thine is archaic for- yours.
Parfay- by my faith; verily.
Siesta- is an afternoon rest or nap.
sweven- vision seen in sleep; a dream.
perantique- very old or ancient.
Temporal- relating to worldly as opposed to spiritual affairs; secular.
Patration- archaic for completion of something.
Guardians- meaning angels.
Extrasolar.- existing or occurring outside the solar system
sacrosanct means- divine or holy.... (:::
sometimes you will meet certain people,
who will be able to open you up.
you will leak all over them,
and they may not be able to handle it.
do not apologise.
leak as much as you want,
but never apologise if they are
unable to swim in your sea;
in your love,
in your trust,
in your softness.
Hardened exterior ever so slightly
More of a facade, a mask.
Seldomly shines through.
But ask me?
It most certainly is not true.
This feeling, so unnatural
And surprisingly poignant too.
It seeds a knot in my throat.
I will not let them collaborate with me
For I cringe, as this cannot be.
I should not be this way,
But for now,
I am going to stay.
I do not have the courage
To face and claim this thing
But one day
My arms will be open free.
In the blackness of the darkest hour
I felt his arms tight around my waist
Loosening as they drew nearer towards by stretched
Naked, fevered neck
His stars all bolted my nerves to the bottom of my feet
Stuck like pink bubble gum, melty and stringy
Like 97 degrees
His sweet breath grazed by cooled, burning cheeks
His touch reminded be of swimming under the moon of
The darkest hour
I drink in his laughter
It trembles the pads of my fingers
Shattering my vision all over again
I wait for him on the loneliest nights, when
Rusted wheels of cargo trains roll in, tight and full of history
The neighborhoods won't quit, even when the day does
He's always there
Nonchalantly kicked up against some shiny car, titled to another
He's wearing his darkest jeans and his James Dean smirk today
I slurp it up
Soak it in like he belongs to me
Like I belong to him
Her name is synonymous to freedom
she's a cloud breaker and love maker
she is the gold that I see in the sky
she of tender heart and tender life
Her warmth and light is truly life giving
never too much and never too little
she is just right
bids you her last of light
as she visits others in the night
She is a main sequence star
a big beautiful thing
she is the commander of summers
yet so shy in the months of winter
with heart tender as she is tender to life
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris