danielle-luongo
American
I write poetry only when it feels right. Only when the burst of emotion is strong enough, and I'm motivated to sit down. Otherwise, my poems get lost in the expanse of my head. / / I'm an English teacher, which I think takes away from my likeability as a poet, but as my 19 year old sister would say: "Whatevs". You'll always find me with at least 2 worn books in my giant purse. I also like dinosaurs, cheap wine, and a good laugh.
When we became more,
We were hip bones and scars.
We were late nights, bottles of wine,
Long hands pressed to my side.
When it ended, I watched the world burn.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
Sometimes things happen that check you,
Pulse returning
To something, somewhere.
A sharp inhale of breath,
A year bloomed in stale water,
And I'm just half glad it's not me
You're reproducing with.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
Just this once
became nights spent
lying spine to spine.
And now you have her:
a skeleton that matches,
more or less.
I'm left with what was
never spoken,
nothing
But convenient.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 9:39 PM UTC
He was everything I loved about all of them.
A motley of colors and shades,
beards and razor blades.
The soft thud of a heartbeat,
The flutter of fingers,
Piano keys.
He still didn't want me.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 10:41 AM UTC
As always
I'm deliciously jealous
looking
at your profile:
the shadows of other women
flutter through your
cheeks,
and I
do not care,
but I do
in more ways than you will ever understand.
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 3:20 PM UTC
From before the gravel
ground too deep
From before a year
crunched beneath my feet
and sighed,
I can't remember what you said.
Now it's gone,
soaked with another man's
words pretending to be mine
and thrown out with the newspaper.
Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 9:53 PM UTC
Breathing
heavy like the gap between our bodies,
air thats leaking out the sides,
flesh pressed against flesh,
the pressure building in our spines.
Tension
tight like the space between our thighs,
hips inverted,
lips pressed against mine,
the pressure building in our spines,
the pressure building in our spines.
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 6, 2010 at 7:45 AM UTC
I am a frivilous liar.
They fall from my lips,
buttons from a blouse,
sprinkles from your birthday cake.
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 6:56 AM UTC
I clung to your bed sheets
sinking claws into claws,
filling voids with piercing words.
Tacky white glue
always dries on permanent.
Forgotten paper hearts
tear so well.
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 6:56 AM UTC
The past has such heavy weight
like sunken ships
and ancient cement barricades,
so permanent
even in their irrelevancy.
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 6:54 AM UTC