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tanakar-1
Canadian
All is love. All is love. All is love. Over and over these words slop and slosh in the bleak that has been too long a force. I wait for you to get off of work. I want to talk with you. Meantime, I'll write conversations that I can hop and skip over to you. All is love. All is love. All is love. Did you know that the favoured flavour of wandering is to settle down? Down with you. You. I like writing that word. In the crawlspace of my reaching hands is where you live. In the zig zag of release is what you have snapped your fingers to achieve. All is love. All is love. All is love.
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Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 4:06 AM UTC
All is Love
I flow through you inside and out of you filling my cup with the totality of your passion through the wishing well of devotion I am captured. Flying as if I was made of airplane metal My song is your name and my dream is your hand holding mine, an echo of my love for you I flow inside and out of your silence around and about your words Every song I hear somehow is a vision of you Intoxicated I feel as if every wine bottle on the planet has filled me I am full no room for anyone else no desire to be with any other woman I flow through you inside and out of you and in very way you surround me
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Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 4:45 PM UTC
Inside And Out
It's soothing to think of nothing to sit on a park bench daydreaming about this and that remembering good happy thoughts feeling pleasant sunshine touching only the empty mind
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Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 2:46 PM UTC
Daydreaming
We were sitting in a bar afraid to be sober afraid to go home afraid to be seen as being alone Mr and Mrs Wasted we had a title we were proud we belonged to the same bottle of decadence We travelled the same road of perpetual oblivion We smiled that same ghastly smile of the constantly hidden eyes leering with the glaze of the perfectly pickled Every night we played the same songs on the jukebox afraid to change the routine for fear that doing so would signify progress We talked the same conversation to the same people in the same bar in the same time zone we belonged to Elegantly disguised as a happy couple by the lost minds that surrounded us Once we determined that we were sufficiently bottled enough to be presentable to the world we would go home and make love We would each pretend the other was someone we liked
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Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 9:59 AM UTC
Mr And Mrs Wasted
Sunlight brings clarity. Opening eyes. New day. I sense you all around me. Pleasant pieces of twirling thoughts cascading like warm summer floods in and through me. These are my collections of you. My moments of completeness to know that you have revitalized the dormant cords of happiness I can aspire to. With glances back, I again return to the time we first met. Children really, though we thought ourselves old. Innocent and wise. Correct and rebellious. Losing touch, as happens with so many teenage alliances. To now, as adults. With open smiles that puts us back to where we began. Thank you.
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Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 9:58 AM UTC
Opening Eyes