Anapoetry_ - Hello Poetry

the absent embrace of your lips holds a vast expanse of emptiness any moment I believe your tongue might summon me, your slave, your willing servant to the precipice of your peach glossed cupid's bow hot breath and highlight infused sweat tittered in between our intimate moments our cheeks rubbed against one another our mouths overwhelmed, dripped in lustful saturation your taste had always been pomegranate your neck, salty as wild rice I recall your gasps excited by my mouth of bitter cocoa my skin loud, mimicking our Kush clouds its sad to believe we have lingered silently, mere inches between our navels our hands tracing each other's sorrow each finger pricked against a broken heart I'd like to believe our end was softer gentle like your hips the continual pressing of forgiveness against us, between us, within us whispered from your long lost lover pressed against your glistening lip

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Mar 3, 2020

Mar 3, 2020 at 10:24 AM UTC

forgiveness.

the absent embrace of your lips holds a vast expanse of emptiness any moment I believe your tongue might summon me, your slave, your willing servant to the precipice of your peach glossed cupid's bow hot breath and highlight infused sweat tittered in between our intimate moments our cheeks rubbed against one another our mouths overwhelmed, dripped in lustful saturation your taste had always been pomegranate your neck, salty as wild rice I recall your gasps excited by my mouth of bitter cocoa my skin loud, mimicking our Kush clouds its sad to believe we have lingered silently, mere inches between our navels our hands tracing each other's sorrow each finger pricked against a broken heart I'd like to believe our end was softer gentle like your hips the continual pressing of forgiveness against us, between us, within us whispered from your long lost lover pressed against your glistening lip

26

ah, love. singing. weaving through peace lilies a single swan's head craning, not yet in bloom I'm pruning and you roll your hands over keys soft and sad the TV mummers low, dancing along with laughs emanating from soft cotton yarn, balled up and around our raven fawn warm slats of sun wander in from the window and the music and the shears and the mummers and giggling peels create the song love intends to hear.

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Mar 3, 2020

Mar 3, 2020 at 10:12 AM UTC

Love has a song.

ah, love. singing. weaving through peace lilies a single swan's head craning, not yet in bloom I'm pruning and you roll your hands over keys soft and sad the TV mummers low, dancing along with laughs emanating from soft cotton yarn, balled up and around our raven fawn warm slats of sun wander in from the window and the music and the shears and the mummers and giggling peels create the song love intends to hear.

22

ravenous fingers are too soon satiated and settle into slumber under the bones of the oak they used to scurry like spiders weaving beautiful silk webs under her skirt she is now hollowed, without marrow, like the drinking gourd too eagerly poured, molding sharp clay into fertile soil won't be long before she shatters too worn and apathetic to be a lover and who will shoulder blame? the scornful sun? the weight of water? or the absent touch of her beloved.?

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Feb 5, 2020

Feb 5, 2020 at 1:46 PM UTC

Touch.

ravenous fingers are too soon satiated and settle into slumber under the bones of the oak they used to scurry like spiders weaving beautiful silk webs under her skirt she is now hollowed, without marrow, like the drinking gourd too eagerly poured, molding sharp clay into fertile soil won't be long before she shatters too worn and apathetic to be a lover and who will shoulder blame? the scornful sun? the weight of water? or the absent touch of her beloved.?

14

willow trees lightly touch against the outer panes perhaps in angst of seeing scattered leaves within the study. the room is muddy, hosting burnt auburn couches and rust settees, chestnut book casings, and warm amber figurines. the forest inside is a colorful fall, but the book spines stay frozen unlike the oaks ********** outside shrubs within find home in terracotta outside the vines dip their toes in soil and the master pens and pines inside the spines of ancient trees, while the willows outside stand watching, tapping their fingers asking to grow inside.

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Feb 5, 2020

Feb 5, 2020 at 10:27 AM UTC

Writing Room.

willow trees lightly touch against the outer panes perhaps in angst of seeing scattered leaves within the study. the room is muddy, hosting burnt auburn couches and rust settees, chestnut book casings, and warm amber figurines. the forest inside is a colorful fall, but the book spines stay frozen unlike the oaks ********** outside shrubs within find home in terracotta outside the vines dip their toes in soil and the master pens and pines inside the spines of ancient trees, while the willows outside stand watching, tapping their fingers asking to grow inside.

15

I finally found you again its been years but I could never forget your barley laced breath, sneaking cigarettes burning everything but yourself your burial only hid the covers of your flesh who knew that you would resurrect into someone I had never met dipping himself in liquor his angered tremble is reminiscent of yours how foolish was I to believe you would ever let me out the broken door of my existence you must have missed this you must have wished this curse upon me! I suppose its expected when a tomb remains occupied with life if only you would die if only you would drown yourself lifeless in liquor if only you would bury me too and leave me well enough behind.

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Feb 5, 2020

Feb 5, 2020 at 10:05 AM UTC

Ash Tray.

I finally found you again its been years but I could never forget your barley laced breath, sneaking cigarettes burning everything but yourself your burial only hid the covers of your flesh who knew that you would resurrect into someone I had never met dipping himself in liquor his angered tremble is reminiscent of yours how foolish was I to believe you would ever let me out the broken door of my existence you must have missed this you must have wished this curse upon me! I suppose its expected when a tomb remains occupied with life if only you would die if only you would drown yourself lifeless in liquor if only you would bury me too and leave me well enough behind.

28

Trees are allowed to grieve. crumpled sorrow falls in vividness painting the floor in ruby red blood, rust orange sweat, decay brown despair. trees are allowed the luxury of death reverting back into their core, their roots escaping the brutal truths winter brings hardened in the wind confirmed in the frozen ground they have rooted in. festooned in the envious demons they surmounted trees are allowed to bloom again triumphant over their darker seasons. without giving cause without giving reason. Perhaps this is the vitality of the forest the humble and solitary transformation found in death.

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Dec 2, 2019

Dec 2, 2019 at 11:00 AM UTC

Death in the Forest.

Trees are allowed to grieve. crumpled sorrow falls in vividness painting the floor in ruby red blood, rust orange sweat, decay brown despair. trees are allowed the luxury of death reverting back into their core, their roots escaping the brutal truths winter brings hardened in the wind confirmed in the frozen ground they have rooted in. festooned in the envious demons they surmounted trees are allowed to bloom again triumphant over their darker seasons. without giving cause without giving reason. Perhaps this is the vitality of the forest the humble and solitary transformation found in death.

19

I’m whirling about There’s fruit I’ve never seen And chainsaws Hanging from the ceiling Collections of rusted And nostalgic Remnants Playthings of my Past memory The people here Mimic the eclectic offerings Every part of the group Teems with Individuality I feel cherubic laughter Quiver my lungs again I head for home Clutching a book I acquired From this impeccable Trove

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Mar 23, 2019

Mar 23, 2019 at 4:11 PM UTC

Flea Market.

I’m whirling about There’s fruit I’ve never seen And chainsaws Hanging from the ceiling Collections of rusted And nostalgic Remnants Playthings of my Past memory The people here Mimic the eclectic offerings Every part of the group Teems with Individuality I feel cherubic laughter Quiver my lungs again I head for home Clutching a book I acquired From this impeccable Trove

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