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lydia-brents
lydia-brents
I’m thankful for the way you look In bed after you rise. You blink like you’ve just been reborn Then reach and rub your eyes. I’m thankful for the smile that grows Across your glowing face. It rouses me like morning should With ease and heat and grace. I’m thankful for your sleepy hands That slip between my thighs. “Good morning” pours from woken lips, Your cheer a ripe surprise. I’m thankful for your body there, The way it takes up space, But opens up to bring me in, A deep sunrise embrace.
0
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Thanksgiving
Stab the can with a key. Hold it sideways, so it doesn’t leak. One. Two. Three. Tabs popped, cans up. Gulp down that goodness, Until your half crying from the foam and try Not to puke.
0
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
Broetry
There are ponds In the valleys Off of which Steam floats in summer The way steam floats From your lips in winter. There are mountains Above valleys Beneath which There are boulders, Strong as your shoulders. Both make me feel small. There’s a warmth That wraps the valleys And the mountains When the sun hovers And there’s a warmth That wraps my bones And my waist When you’re beside me.
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Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
My World
It’s no end, nor a start where I am and you aren’t. It’s not fair that my heart lives so far, far apart from its home here inside where it beats and it thrives, but it’s still so alive with you there by its side. So I wish I could say, to the heart that I gave, sit up straight and behave, but it’s lost its poor way. Now it cries in your palm, though it’s safe and it’s warm and the storm will soon calm, but these days are so long.
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Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
The Bitter Middle
It seemed like love took it’s time with you and I. We waded in grey for it to decide if motives were pure and when love was sure it gave us each other and more. It gave more than I knew you were capable of. There was power behind those warm hazel eyes. And I was no match for the magic that was you.
0
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 9:41 PM UTC
Retrospect
They say the devil quotes scripture in his red velvet bathrobe, as he haunts his own hallways, with a voice that poisons orchids and entices the masses.
0
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
Hymnal
In 5th grade the boys Would kick daisies Behind the library During lunch. I sat on a hill Quietly watching Flowers shatter In the air. The bell would ring And the boys would leave And I'd dance in that golden mist As it settled.
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May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
Spring
The evening swells slowly, Growling at the fleeting heat. I’m unafraid of the night that moans. I howl my own dark lullaby to exhume the moon. The ache of deep thunder rests in my chest and Reminds me I’m smaller than even a star That glints meekly on a black velvet gown. I melt like the ink of the sky on the end of a day. I dissolve like the flakes of snow in the rays of the sun, To feed the earth And beneath. The sea drinks me down, and me it. Every creature below was once mine. Now we share in this gorge that splits land And we see we are kin.
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May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
On Whitman
Splash. I'm lodged in your vein.
 Blood oozing from your now
 punctured skin. From the polished,
 wooden floor, to your plump big toe, I dart.
 My fingernails clawing at your cells, keeping
 my thin slice of a body imprisoned within. Soon tears
 will flow with blood and I'll try to hang on longer. Hang on
 until silver tongs rip me up. I'll take palm-fulls of your injured flesh as souvenirs. My presence will stay, covered by a cloth, slowly seeping
 deeper, turning your muscles green, suffocating every
 plea for health. Infection will spread like the cracks
 in that polished, wooden floor that gave me life.
 Your arteries will begin to tighten until your
 limb altogether becomes useless. It’s
 funny how someone as puny as 
me can have such a huge
 effect. Maybe you 
should wear
 shoes next
 time.
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May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
The Splinter Speaks
Holding water in her mouth, She looked about to cry The salt inside would eat her up And leave her raw and dry. She could indeed just knock it back And swallow up the sea, But this would give an endless thirst That would not let her be. You’d think why not just spit it out Onto the golden sand, Push through your lips that salty gulp Erase the pain at hand. But all she had to quench herself Was this Pacific’s best. She’d rather die this way in fact Than drown like at the rest.
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May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
Ocean Throat