david-j-martin - Hello Poetry

I would call you a cool glass of water I'm not going to because, your so much more Your a tall glass of Georgia peach ice tea Condensation drops forming, from the dying summer heat The curves of your glass glisten and highlight rogue rays of sunlight, sneaking past spaces in the live oak trees Your each ice cube that cools my lips, leaving sweet secrets tangled on my tongue No wonder I find myself thirsty all the time claiming dehydration, just to have another sip

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May 19, 2010

May 19, 2010 at 10:33 AM UTC

The Thirst

I would call you a cool glass of water I'm not going to because, your so much more Your a tall glass of Georgia peach ice tea Condensation drops forming, from the dying summer heat The curves of your glass glisten and highlight rogue rays of sunlight, sneaking past spaces in the live oak trees Your each ice cube that cools my lips, leaving sweet secrets tangled on my tongue No wonder I find myself thirsty all the time claiming dehydration, just to have another sip

13

Such stories tumble weeds tell, insinuating that they'll always be around that they've found some common ground and how it was only you who could stop the wind. But, thats never really the case. Truth is they're just stuck on the barbed wire inching towards freedom in the breeze. Just when you get use to their smell and that sound they make as they tap the ground, the north wind picks up calling them away leaving you with nothing but broken twigs and brief moments of sweet entanglements

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May 19, 2010

May 19, 2010 at 10:30 AM UTC

Tumble Weeds

Such stories tumble weeds tell, insinuating that they'll always be around that they've found some common ground and how it was only you who could stop the wind. But, thats never really the case. Truth is they're just stuck on the barbed wire inching towards freedom in the breeze. Just when you get use to their smell and that sound they make as they tap the ground, the north wind picks up calling them away leaving you with nothing but broken twigs and brief moments of sweet entanglements

12

Choose carefully, what you have to give has secret powers. Each cell that sparks from each fingertip that touches your skin. It all creates silent notes which make silent songs we both dance too. In the wrong hands the song just comes out flat and broken with no understanding or meaning, like a train wreck on a barren prairie field. Such disrespect for such a perfect instrument, created by the hand of God, to birth beauty in every moan. This is why men use to have to perform feats, and risk there own lives, just to prove they were worthy enough to stand guard in your shadow. But what beauty, what indescribable sounds your body makes when it is plucked perfectly. When each nerve sparks in the rhythm of both heart beats and every breath brings deep bass against our necks. We move like smoke in a light breeze. We find anchor in the salt left by our sweat. The universe bends to our silent song and when it is played just right, there's never a dry eye in the house. So choose carefully who plucks your string. And when its over I hope your left inspired to sing.

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May 19, 2010

May 19, 2010 at 10:26 AM UTC

Love and Erotica in D Minor

Choose carefully, what you have to give has secret powers. Each cell that sparks from each fingertip that touches your skin. It all creates silent notes which make silent songs we both dance too. In the wrong hands the song just comes out flat and broken with no understanding or meaning, like a train wreck on a barren prairie field. Such disrespect for such a perfect instrument, created by the hand of God, to birth beauty in every moan. This is why men use to have to perform feats, and risk there own lives, just to prove they were worthy enough to stand guard in your shadow. But what beauty, what indescribable sounds your body makes when it is plucked perfectly. When each nerve sparks in the rhythm of both heart beats and every breath brings deep bass against our necks. We move like smoke in a light breeze. We find anchor in the salt left by our sweat. The universe bends to our silent song and when it is played just right, there's never a dry eye in the house. So choose carefully who plucks your string. And when its over I hope your left inspired to sing.

14

Its all in what I haven't said the words I really meant dreams I've never told you about passions I've never shown kisses that never made it to you heart beats never pressed against your chest My feelings left in actions never shown whispers still unheard smiles that never touched these lips and glances that missed their mark

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May 19, 2010

May 19, 2010 at 10:22 AM UTC

Never

Its all in what I haven't said the words I really meant dreams I've never told you about passions I've never shown kisses that never made it to you heart beats never pressed against your chest My feelings left in actions never shown whispers still unheard smiles that never touched these lips and glances that missed their mark

10

That look you have. Those gun shot staring, never gonna forget this, blood diamond sparkle, type of eyes. That perfect slit that hides your tongue. Red cherry massacre whispering my name.

0

May 18, 2010

May 18, 2010 at 6:07 PM UTC

La Petite Morte

That look you have. Those gun shot staring, never gonna forget this, blood diamond sparkle, type of eyes. That perfect slit that hides your tongue. Red cherry massacre whispering my name.

9