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 Nov 2020 Sag
M P Hill
Exposed
 Nov 2020 Sag
M P Hill
Don't dig more graves than you can lay in
 Sep 2019 Sag
seraph
press
 Sep 2019 Sag
seraph
pressedpressedpressed so tightly to your chest,
i scratched and clawed and clung and held on.
your hand under my sleeve, up my shirt,
so tender, it hurt to look at you.
we lay in the dark blue of the night,
so silent, i might cry,
you pressedpressedpressed your chest so close to mine;
all my nerves fired at once.
 Jan 2019 Sag
Tyler Smiley
I forget that my palms
are not your arched back,
as I continue to dig
deep ruby crescents
into thick skin
late in the night.
"Don't drink your calories—
unless you want to get drunk."

Her eyes trembled with tears

Weakness stretches out,
not searching strength—
for another soul to be
weak with

A heavy languor spilled into the room
all she can think about
is the patterned ceiling,
which was a book for her to read
while entwined in damp blue sheets
 Jan 2019 Sag
Robin Lemmen
There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest

There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare

There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you

You are tortured
Stereotyped
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk
 Nov 2018 Sag
Autmn T
Foggy Visions
 Nov 2018 Sag
Autmn T
I was always more scared of being abandoned than I was of being destroyed.
 Sep 2018 Sag
Reece AJ Chambers
They have been together,
give or take, for fifteen years.

Their marriage in the clasp
of puberty, its voice deepening,
its stubble sprouting.

Not long ago, shopping.
Necessary. Kid’s birthday.
It comes around quick,
like lunch, paying for the Ploughman’s
at the self-service in town
when the clock flicks to twelve.

Her right hand on his right hand.
They still do this,
though not quite as often.

Today,
he returns from work, wrenches
the tie out from beneath the collar
of a shirt she ironed yesterday.
Son, out.
Daughter, also out.

The fridge plagued with magnets
and a list; Milk,
                  Bread,
                  Eggs?
Inside, two beers,
sweating cold.
Later, he thinks.

How’s your day been darling?
We need to be at the school at six.
Oh yes.
They need to hear
how their progenies
excel at the expressive arts.
He hasn’t been expressive in years.

Hours expire.
Now his bare feet slide
under the duvet.
The wife reads a while,
Sunday Times bestseller.

Then she hugs him,
touches the skin she has known
since she was nineteen
at Northampton, literary sponge
absorbing Shakespeare and Joyce.

It is warm.
It is something
that has not changed.
The two of them are content.
They know they can
always have this.
Written: August 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. Please note that 'Joyce' refers to the former Irish writer James Joyce, 'Ploughman's' refers to a term sometimes used for a cheese and pickle sandwich in the UK, while Northampton is a town in England - the nearest large town to where I live, and also where I studied my undergraduate degree.
 Jun 2018 Sag
Tyler Grazia
No better days occur
Than when I’m alone
Especially with her
Silencing my phone

Ignoring the white noise
Whenever we meet to play
We use our hearts as toys
Speaking of true love each day  

But true love is a myth
This much is true
Unless you feel a kiss
Far after it’s through

My dear friend, find shelter
That is far from love
For she is a hunter
And you are a dove
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