fotis-banis - Hello Poetry

I never felt more alone Than when I was with you. You gave me tunnel vision, Broken eyes and a broken mind That no amount of liquor therapy Can ever cure.

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Apr 11, 2013

Apr 11, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC

Untitled

I never felt more alone Than when I was with you. You gave me tunnel vision, Broken eyes and a broken mind That no amount of liquor therapy Can ever cure.

6

There are mountains with my inscriptions, winds with my whispers, waves with my past reflected in their depths. They are all you; of you, for you; an entire planet that had once been untarnished, now covered with inescapable meaning. How will I ever forget you?

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Jan 26, 2013

Jan 26, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC

no one said it would be easy

There are mountains with my inscriptions, winds with my whispers, waves with my past reflected in their depths. They are all you; of you, for you; an entire planet that had once been untarnished, now covered with inescapable meaning. How will I ever forget you?

13

Your legs are an uprooted tree, longing for the taste of soil. The water won’t flow in an ocean filled with stars, the spaces between them dark like ink on paper, lines drawn through a multitude of times, too many words occupying the same space so that nothing exists but a verbose blackness. *Your hands are wisps of smoke, edgeless clouds that coil around me and dampen my bare skin.* The current is cut by the planets, interrupted by the nebulae, pushed by the galaxies and surrounded on all sides, at some point, by land: the ambit of the observable universe. Your body sinks; the universe ripples and falls, forming around you; the heart in your chest gently pushes, gently pulls, shifting the planets and stars that envelop you. Your toes burrow into the sand, your arms creep through the skies, and all at once I see that everything is beautiful.

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Jan 13, 2013

Jan 13, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC

Sunday

Your legs are an uprooted tree, longing for the taste of soil. The water won’t flow in an ocean filled with stars, the spaces between them dark like ink on paper, lines drawn through a multitude of times, too many words occupying the same space so that nothing exists but a verbose blackness. *Your hands are wisps of smoke, edgeless clouds that coil around me and dampen my bare skin.* The current is cut by the planets, interrupted by the nebulae, pushed by the galaxies and surrounded on all sides, at some point, by land: the ambit of the observable universe. Your body sinks; the universe ripples and falls, forming around you; the heart in your chest gently pushes, gently pulls, shifting the planets and stars that envelop you. Your toes burrow into the sand, your arms creep through the skies, and all at once I see that everything is beautiful.

23

If only you could see yourself the way I see you; the air would taste bitter, every motion that didn’t emanate a passion for you would feel forced and every moment would be spent on unfulfilled wishes for your attention. The way you walk intoxicates me, your feet moving as if you were oblivious to your own beauty. There’s an innocence to you that I want to burn away; I want to kiss that smile until it has meaning, to hold that body until it realizes what it can do. Your curves are equations that I plot in my mind, your eyes are dreams I’ve held on to for years. Your touch is locked away under the oldest memory I have, a vault that I visit when I need to remember that there is good in this world; that you are still here, not for me, but here nonetheless.

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Nov 28, 2012

Nov 28, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC

**

If only you could see yourself the way I see you; the air would taste bitter, every motion that didn’t emanate a passion for you would feel forced and every moment would be spent on unfulfilled wishes for your attention. The way you walk intoxicates me, your feet moving as if you were oblivious to your own beauty. There’s an innocence to you that I want to burn away; I want to kiss that smile until it has meaning, to hold that body until it realizes what it can do. Your curves are equations that I plot in my mind, your eyes are dreams I’ve held on to for years. Your touch is locked away under the oldest memory I have, a vault that I visit when I need to remember that there is good in this world; that you are still here, not for me, but here nonetheless.

33

When I'm not with you, I am not with me

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Aug 3, 2012

Aug 3, 2012 at 4:35 AM UTC

You Have Me