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I forgive you,
For all you've done
Come back, baby...
Even after all you've put me through I'll still always love you.
Your voice gives me a stutter
I have to m-m-mutter
Every insecurity
Every truth
Every feeling
Every lie

Your voice takes my breath
I have to write  
About the butterflies
The shaking
The falling
The m-m-melting

Your voice gives me shivers
Running down my spine
As your hand sends water-fall sensations down my back
I clutch my own skin to try to stay in myself
and
      I am
               m
                   e
                      l
                          t
                             i
                                n
                                    g
.. My poetry is ******
My head is spinning
And I'm all alone
Fingertips
running over her hips
Your touch on her thigh
Has her screaming silent cries
As your hands go low
And your begging her to show
But she doesn't want to go
All the way
She tries to keep you at bay
But you are persistent
And she tries to be resistant
But your pushing is to hard
And your acting as if she has no heart

So she lets you in
Thats all you are,
From your hair to your hips
It makes me want to do flips

These demons make me not care
These demons make me...
want to tear your clothes apart
Something about your smile
Something about your legs
Its like your stacking pegs
Getting no where
because caring is something
that isn't their


I love the way you look at me when were done
I love the way your body looks when your on top
I love the way you look
I love the way
I love the
I love
No!
I lust
The most **** thing about a guy has nothing to do with his clothes, hair or eye colour.

It's in the way he looks at you with longing, when you finally find out he wants you just as badly as you want him.

When he pulls you so close to him that there is literally no space between you, because he can't stand the thought of there being any.      

When he kisses you, so that it feels as if he is stealing the air from your lungs, and for those few seconds you forget what air even is.
    
When all thoughts go out the window and its just him, with you,in the most simple way possible.

Now that is the definition of ****.
Pure passion is ecstacy...
This one wild eyed child,
with the breath like
gin,
those cedar branches between teeth,
those handfuls of eyes,
those broken whispers and spit on my eyelashes,
a kiss between a day broken like cigarettes in the package.

Could you make love to a series of words,
or a painting on the wall,
or maybe a laugh between ***** sheets where our skulls bounce off each other,
could you love a dead smile?
 Apr 2015 Astrid Ember
Natalie
do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.
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