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meagan-moore
meagan-moore
American Student: Pursuing undergraduate majors in Biological Engineering, and incidental minors in Art in Geology / / I do and enjoy (aside from poetry) - photography, hand built and thrown ceramics, cooking, gardening, print making, wood carving, poetry, caving, climbing, yoga, swimming, weight training, classical ballet, loving, reading, research, microscopy, illustration, oil/watercolor/acrylic painting / - no particular order
A moment's acquaintance with the scintilla convenes as a gallant trail blaze through a dilation of the universe. A dismantling into compulsion and magnetics.
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Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC
Scintilla: 10/7/16
Ultimately, language will be replaced by subtleties. The amplified magnitude of your true essence commingling amidst another's - unbounded and effortless. Parallel perspectives - instinctive and raw Each quark and quirk facing the void Evoking recognition of confidence wrought amidst the entwined advent of your ability to manifest emergent and fresh. Hewn vibrationally in the full spectrum of presence, we lightly upon wave form.
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Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
Treading Wave Form 10/7/16
Before mere precepts of the sweat eluding your pore against my form Before the head nestled into muffled coo edging into my clavicle Before DNA coalesced into synapse erupting the lattice of your brain
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Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
Collision
In sandalwood grove I learned the echo of water to your form My hands cupping clay-stained water And smearing the settling sediments About your prone frame I kissed resin from between your knees And beckoned hippo’s bray in dusks heat Tangerine rinds cusp dipped dew between Your collar and my own As I newly learned the friction of water about my body Sinking headily into tones of each other’s woods
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Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
Water's Friction
The trees thrashed in concurrent wind Bolstering a growing hum Akin to mine own
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Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
Hum
I posit the bliss of my form to your own Rendering novelty without pretension Pressed between tongue and mouth roof prone I divulge eloquence to uncertainty of evoked tension Urging understanding of the necessity of patience As moments of bliss are built on anticipation Unearthing potent pith and fragrance Encouraging transcendent stimulation As we become more than mere acquaintance Effulging pollinate conveyance Lingering in pools of succulent temptation Seeking negation of complacence I proffer thusly this bequest To quell your soul and mind upon my chest
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Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
Orange Sonnet
Silent tokens passed between us Rondures to fill the hand When our own could not Encouragement inked into flesh Pungent crisp orange oil mist Inoculating heady aroma to memory We both devoured them The juice running down your face Was my own
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Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
Orange
I wish to show you the sun you’ve introduced my bones Your spectral class hums convective plasmoid origin Conducting soft rays as symphonies through my form Articulating blood cell’s lattice prismatic Alighting from within each facet integral Of kaleidoscopic ebullience
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Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
Stained glass:
Hollowed echo of blue-tongued screen Blushing grin behooving trance Transcendental cusp of ponderings Lingering in collaborative sweat-knit And swollen dendritic emanations
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May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
Memory, Distance, and Circuits
Jazz echoes about the rondures of the cavern The surface air pulses past cool, as my blood warms I’m being led by a curious young man I’ve been writing The bevy of picture-postcards enchanting my whims I pad barefoot into a waterfall basin Lit only by the muted tangerine rind of gas lamp, shedding garment and silhouette to wet rock, his breath amplifies across my form, as wet ink soaking into page swimming in a restless descent, and forgotten edges his fingers sprawl as ferns about my form in a glen, tucking about my frame, and dipping me comfortably further into the mud he’s pressing my form into the pulp of the cave scrawling ephemeral post-cards with my frame
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May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
Cave Letters