vladimir-tres - Hello Poetry

The breeze whisked gentle against the curtains. Getting subtler, subtler, and subtler. The sun yawned. Her window stayed open. Then the breeze had all together hushed. So the sun, spilled into the bedroom. The floor met the sun, dancing there, on the carpet. Then on the dresser, the walls, the bed. It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold, then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist, living on her islands. Here the sun became barley. The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly, her islands then became a continent. Ramona lay her arm in a curve. It was the undressed river of her mattress. She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun, peering through the window, shined in all day. Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun. She lay there watching the last of its exhale.

0

Jun 11, 2013

Jun 11, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC

here the sun III (experiment) became barely

The breeze whisked gentle against the curtains. Getting subtler, subtler, and subtler. The sun yawned. Her window stayed open. Then the breeze had all together hushed. So the sun, spilled into the bedroom. The floor met the sun, dancing there, on the carpet. Then on the dresser, the walls, the bed. It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold, then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist, living on her islands. Here the sun became barley. The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly, her islands then became a continent. Ramona lay her arm in a curve. It was the undressed river of her mattress. She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun, peering through the window, shined in all day. Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun. She lay there watching the last of its exhale.

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bedroom. The floor met the sun, dancing there, on the carpet. Then on the dresser, the walls, the bed. It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold, then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist, living on her islands. Here the sun became barly. The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly, her islands then became a continent. Ramona lay her arm in a curve. It was the undressed river of her matress. She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun, peering through the window, shined in all day. Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun. She lay there watching the last of its exhale.

0

Jun 11, 2013

Jun 11, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC

here the sun II (experiment) bedroom

bedroom. The floor met the sun, dancing there, on the carpet. Then on the dresser, the walls, the bed. It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold, then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist, living on her islands. Here the sun became barly. The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly, her islands then became a continent. Ramona lay her arm in a curve. It was the undressed river of her matress. She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun, peering through the window, shined in all day. Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun. She lay there watching the last of its exhale.

17

Here the sun Then a continent forms in the ripples of hot bed sheet. The sun undresses again while a tide ripples. hot bed sheet rolls back thinly. . The sun undresses again a tide. lake, ripples andundressed river of her matress . A the continent lakes It undressed again into beige, the hot lake on the bed sheet as they both exhaled the last of sun. Sure enough, the hour that marked when lamps blunk inside one-by-one began. Their bulbs let out invasions of artificial light. Everything laminated in. Into the retinas; the hair, skin, the curtains-- the moths; in the ***** blonde synthetic light waited patiently for the dusk to swash. the black rivers of night; she lay there, on the bed, with charcoal and a sketchbook. He was on his way to her. Midnight had come. Midnight was a breath of tired darkness. Midnight was inhaled by the moon. Midnight filled the lungs of the day. Midnight had come.

0

Jun 11, 2013

Jun 11, 2013 at 3:22 AM UTC

here the sun(experiment)

Here the sun Then a continent forms in the ripples of hot bed sheet. The sun undresses again while a tide ripples. hot bed sheet rolls back thinly. . The sun undresses again a tide. lake, ripples andundressed river of her matress . A the continent lakes It undressed again into beige, the hot lake on the bed sheet as they both exhaled the last of sun. Sure enough, the hour that marked when lamps blunk inside one-by-one began. Their bulbs let out invasions of artificial light. Everything laminated in. Into the retinas; the hair, skin, the curtains-- the moths; in the ***** blonde synthetic light waited patiently for the dusk to swash. the black rivers of night; she lay there, on the bed, with charcoal and a sketchbook. He was on his way to her. Midnight had come. Midnight was a breath of tired darkness. Midnight was inhaled by the moon. Midnight filled the lungs of the day. Midnight had come.

18

I just feel like im in high school with you we just kiss and its cool tender submissions of an endorphin'd heart; as long as I get one kiss

0

Jun 9, 2013

Jun 9, 2013 at 6:16 AM UTC

Untitled

I just feel like im in high school with you we just kiss and its cool tender submissions of an endorphin'd heart; as long as I get one kiss

4

maybe dos, obvi! obvi dune, moon! se si! et mellon tu, mi-ta-da

0

May 29, 2013

May 29, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC

half:

maybe dos, obvi! obvi dune, moon! se si! et mellon tu, mi-ta-da

8

Phlox Linum, Phlox Linum, som satin south alyssum, vivace kiss weave violin wind ****** caress calendula bloom bow bagatelle bloom allegro linen Primrose! Phlox Linum, Phlox Linum,

0

May 25, 2013

May 25, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC

it is done

Phlox Linum, Phlox Linum, som satin south alyssum, vivace kiss weave violin wind ****** caress calendula bloom bow bagatelle bloom allegro linen Primrose! Phlox Linum, Phlox Linum,

11

there it is, the big rumor on how to properly be living on how to properly present the rumor of our selves, because we really just are a rumor are you alive? how much of the day-to-day you is real? how much of you isn't entirely fictitious?

0

May 25, 2013

May 25, 2013 at 9:19 AM UTC

Right Here:

there it is, the big rumor on how to properly be living on how to properly present the rumor of our selves, because we really just are a rumor are you alive? how much of the day-to-day you is real? how much of you isn't entirely fictitious?

5

I the branches don't seem like strangers they fit in greens, on greens grass waves there. Then someone will throw them away. lime in the milk of the sun. is it ashamed of the garbage behind it? II Brisk is the feeling. sunlight bruises beside the leaf; below the wind when the breeze meets each shadow is like rainfall. III So it's you Baby blue, So it's you.

0

May 25, 2013

May 25, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC

outside an office lot;on an afternoon;seeing a bundle of hedge-trimmings in front of a blue dumpster:

I the branches don't seem like strangers they fit in greens, on greens grass waves there. Then someone will throw them away. lime in the milk of the sun. is it ashamed of the garbage behind it? II Brisk is the feeling. sunlight bruises beside the leaf; below the wind when the breeze meets each shadow is like rainfall. III So it's you Baby blue, So it's you.

18

my love like a garden; filled with flowers; find way to them; my love Beautiful abandon; rain them things; rent these seeds; should orchids water, Doldrums. Discords of Doldrums. Beautiful. Beautiful.

0

May 12, 2013

May 12, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC

my love like a garden

my love like a garden; filled with flowers; find way to them; my love Beautiful abandon; rain them things; rent these seeds; should orchids water, Doldrums. Discords of Doldrums. Beautiful. Beautiful.

12

You look at the paintings you were so proud of only a few weeks ago and you hate them. You want to spit them in a fire; as if erasing them will deliver you from the embarrassment of ever having created them and you slaughter your orchids. You abandon the thought in realization that they simply misunderstood your art.

0

May 11, 2013

May 11, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC

they simply misunderstood your art

You look at the paintings you were so proud of only a few weeks ago and you hate them. You want to spit them in a fire; as if erasing them will deliver you from the embarrassment of ever having created them and you slaughter your orchids. You abandon the thought in realization that they simply misunderstood your art.

11