dercio-lichucha - Hello Poetry

I prefer the floor Not the bed For the bed Is not a bed But a mouth With her tongue out Calling me to rest On her soft body And only when she sees That I am at ease Does her mouth begin to close But just as her sharp teeth Are about to cut into me I leap! And am caught By the floor I prefer the floor Not the bed Because the bed Is not a bed But a bed of wet sand But not quite like a beach Calling me to rest On her soft body And I sink smoothly Into her embrace But only when I am just about out of breath I leap! And am caught By the floor I much prefer the floor

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Jan 15, 2021

Jan 15, 2021 at 7:59 AM UTC

I sleep on the floor

I prefer the floor Not the bed For the bed Is not a bed But a mouth With her tongue out Calling me to rest On her soft body And only when she sees That I am at ease Does her mouth begin to close But just as her sharp teeth Are about to cut into me I leap! And am caught By the floor I prefer the floor Not the bed Because the bed Is not a bed But a bed of wet sand But not quite like a beach Calling me to rest On her soft body And I sink smoothly Into her embrace But only when I am just about out of breath I leap! And am caught By the floor I much prefer the floor

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I dance in the fire And never burn. The flames Roll off my skin. Like in a dark room He sees me. Spinning like a ball of fire. His breath, shallow. His shirt, wet. His eyes, red, with my image. He stands and walks Round flames. But as he leans in for a kiss He catches fire And goes From black to ash I laugh As I watch The wind carry his ashes Because, I never burn.

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Dec 1, 2020

Dec 1, 2020 at 10:46 AM UTC

Temptation

I dance in the fire And never burn. The flames Roll off my skin. Like in a dark room He sees me. Spinning like a ball of fire. His breath, shallow. His shirt, wet. His eyes, red, with my image. He stands and walks Round flames. But as he leans in for a kiss He catches fire And goes From black to ash I laugh As I watch The wind carry his ashes Because, I never burn.

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I wait in the shade Under the tree A mango in my right And my legs crossed I wait with a song And I sing along With the birds In the air In the skies With a smile I wait, all laid in the grass And with my hands Behind my head I wait to see his ashes Be carried by the wind Then I will know His throne is mine

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Nov 25, 2020

Nov 25, 2020 at 9:22 AM UTC

I wait

I wait in the shade Under the tree A mango in my right And my legs crossed I wait with a song And I sing along With the birds In the air In the skies With a smile I wait, all laid in the grass And with my hands Behind my head I wait to see his ashes Be carried by the wind Then I will know His throne is mine

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She is born of earth. But the other rejects its own nature. Her body Is a muse. But the other has no breath of its own To inspire. She opens up To the rays of the morning. But the rising of the sun Does not excite the latter. She dances With the whispers of the wind. But stiff and stifled The other is not tickled. But what of the soft perfume That lends charm To even the most common daisies? What little charm the other has Are fabricated By the hands of man This other In the struggle For a life not its own Is perverted into paralysis And paralyzed in pretense She is The Lily of The Valley. But you are a plastic flower.

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Jan 10, 2020

Jan 10, 2020 at 5:50 AM UTC

Flowers of Plastic

She is born of earth. But the other rejects its own nature. Her body Is a muse. But the other has no breath of its own To inspire. She opens up To the rays of the morning. But the rising of the sun Does not excite the latter. She dances With the whispers of the wind. But stiff and stifled The other is not tickled. But what of the soft perfume That lends charm To even the most common daisies? What little charm the other has Are fabricated By the hands of man This other In the struggle For a life not its own Is perverted into paralysis And paralyzed in pretense She is The Lily of The Valley. But you are a plastic flower.

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