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 Feb 2012 J
Waverly
Untitled
 Feb 2012 J
Waverly
love doesn't end
like piano keys
across an array,
the dream of a body
and a mind,
across the spray
of the ocean
and a memory
of kisses
shared in the screen
of a heart's blinding display,
i have hoped for a long time
for a bridging of time,
a feeling of the stomach
and it's dramamine
against hope.
 Feb 2012 J
JA Doetsch
She lies in bed and impishly smiles
Her naked body is my temple
I think about her every once in awhile
Love is always distorted, rarely simple

Her naked body is my temple
I explore every inch of her mind
Love is always distorted, rarely simple
I am saddened by what I find

I explore every inch of her mind
I think that I know her inside and out
I am saddened by what I find
everyone has something to lie about

When I left her it was November
I think about her every once in awhile
I cannot help but to remember
She lies in bed and impishly smiles
First attempt at a Pantoum
 Feb 2012 J
JA Doetsch
We will walk through the Cherry blossoms
in Japan, hand in hand, meandering through
the falling petals.  Our winding path
will weave through the countryside  with
no goal in sight.  We will stop in front of a
particularly beautiful tree, whose branches
are just beginning to look naked.

I will look at you, brush a stray blossom
from your hair...and whisper

           Aishiteru
               .                                                                ­                   
                   .                                                                ­                
                     .   .                                                                ­            
                               .                                                                ­          
                                     .                                                                ­        
                             We trek the Arctic circle and witness
                             the absolute beauty of the Aurora Borealis.                       
                             We're be bundled tightly in our parkas,                                     
                    ­         but we are still be able to feel eachother's                                   
                  ­           warmth.  We laugh as we throw snowballs.
                             We lie in the snow and make angels.                                          
               ­              Well...they'll start out as angels, but in the                                 
                            ­ end, they'll just look like snow that two people                          
                             have just rolled around in.                                                  
           ­                                                                 ­                      
                                              We can't help it.  As we embrace,                             
                           ­                   I whisper
                                                     Negligevapse                                                    
­                                                         .                                          
                     ­                                     .                           ­             
                                                          .     ­                                   
                                                         .                                          
                     ­                                   .                             ­             
                                                     .                                            
                   ­                              .                                                  
             ­                              .                                                        
       ­                                                                 ­                          
         We stroll the beaches of Hawaii, refreshing ocean                                    
         breezes cool us.  I picked you a flower,
         which you now wear in your hair.  Your cinnamon                               
         brown skin offsets your beautiful white smile.                                       
         We run through the breaking waves, our feet                                                
         leaving ephemeral indentations that are as                                             
         fleeting as our cares.  We fall over into                                                     
       ­  the surf and let the ocean wash over us.                                                     
        ­                                                                 ­                         
              I kiss your nose and tell you                                                          
   ­                   Aloha wau ia oi                                                               ­             
                              .                    ­                                                
                ­                  .                                      In China, we race eachother along   
                                     .                               .   the Great Wall to see who can get 
                                        .                   ­        .    to the end first.  We both end up   
                                           .                     .       dragging eachother across the         
                                             .               .           finish line...which happens to be      
                                                 .   .   .               a few hundred feet away.          
                                                 ­                        The locals shake their                
                                           ­                              heads disaprovingly, as we stifle      
                                                    ­                     a giggle.  I lean in and remind you  
                                                           ­                                       
                         ­                                                   Wo ai ni..                    
                                                             .  .                      .            
                         ­                                 .       .                     .          
                                                       .            .                   .          
                                                     .               .                 .            
                                                   .                  .   .   .   .  .            
                                                 .                                                
               ­                In Soviet Russia, girl kiss you                                              
               ­                and I gladly let her, for she                                               
              ­                 and I have had one too many shots                                 
                          ­     of *****.  Our faces are rosy and                                       
                      ­         we lean into each other as our feet                                     
                       ­        make hard noises on the cobblestone                                       
              ­                 streets.  Saint Basil's Cathedral                                          
             ­                  looms over us, as our lips dance                                           
                ­               a familiar dance.                                                           ­       
                                                                ­                                  
                              ­            Ya tebya liubliu                                                        
 ­                                                .                                                
                                                 .                                                
            .  .  .  .                          .               ­                                   
         .             .                      .                                         ­           
       .                .                   .                                                      
      .                    .  .  .  .  .  .                                                 ­       
    .                                                           ­                                   
We gaze at the Taj Mahal, a building                                                         ­   
built for a man's true love. I would                                                            ­      
build you a city.  we take in the                                                              ­          
mighty majesty of Everest.  I tell                                                             ­                
you I'd climb it for you.  You tell                                                             ­              
me to stop being silly, and say
you'd get bored waiting for me.
I give you a back rub instead.                                            

  Hum Tumhe Pyar Karte hae 
                                                            ­             We travel the dutch  countryside
                                              ­                            and kick off our wooden shoes to
                   .                                          ­            watch the tulips blooming.
                       .                                            .     I dedicate an entire field to you.
                          .                                 ­    .         You blush.
                              .                           ­   .         we fall asleep in front of a windmill,
                                 .     .                  .          watching the shapes of the clouds pass
                                         .      .      .             over us. I whisper in your ear
                                                             ­                                                                 ­      
                                                                ­       Ik hou van jou
                                                             ­             .                        
                                                                ­         .                          
                                     ­                                  .                            
                                   ­                                  .                              
                                 ­                                  .                                
                               ­                                  .                                  
                             ­            .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .                                           ­ 
    France has never been as beautiful as                                                               ­   
    it is now that you're here.  We skirt                                                            ­         
    the cities and explore the countryside,                                                     ­           
    Endless fields and clear skies bring                                                            ­     
    out our inner children, and spend the day
    romping and rolling until our clothes                                                          ­  
    are stained and our muscles ache.  I                                                         ­             
    lay beside you, panting.  In between                                                          ­       
    breaths, I manage to impart                                                           ­                
                                                ­                                                            
    ­                                                                 ­                                       
               Je t'aime                                                           ­                                 
                   .                                                                ­                        
                    .                                           ­                                             
                   ­   .                                                             ­                         
                        .              ­                                                                 ­     
                          .  .  .    .    .       .          .                                                    
                                                                ­                                            
                    ­                                            We explore Roman ruins and concoct      
                                                   ­             our own love story had we been born      
                                                      ­          in the Ancient city.  I would have        
                                                    ­            been a mighty General, who saved      
                                                     ­           you from a terrible dicator.  You            
                                       ­                         tell me to stop quoting Gladiator.       
                                               ­                 We share a kiss under the shadow           
                                               ­                 of the colleseum.  I brush your         
                                                   ­             hair from your face...                       
                                  ­                                                                 ­       
                                                         ­                  Ti Amo                              
                                                                ­               .                          
                                                                ­                                          
                      ­                                                        .        ­                    
                                            ­                                                              
  ­                                                                 ­        .                              
                                                                ­                                          
                      ­                                                                 ­                   
                                             ­                           .                                  
  ­                                                                 ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­                
                                                ­                    .                                      
     ­                                                                 ­                                    
                            ­                           You smile and reply                                   
                        ­                                                                 ­                 
                                               ­             I love you, too
Feeling hopelessly romantic today.
 Feb 2012 J
JA Doetsch
Your once silky voice
has turned to gravel
to my ears.  Your
words are sandpaper
to my self esteem

Your personality has
been eroded by
bitterness.  It
sweeps away
all that made you
interesting, a raging
river of disappointment

Your skin is cracking
to the point where
I fear that any part
of you that I touch
will crumble to
the floor.  

If this keeps up
soon you will
be nothing but
a pile of sand

Another mess
for me to sweep
under the rug
 Feb 2012 J
JA Doetsch
Little Miss Muffet,
she certainly loved it;
rolling with boys in the hay

She always had company
but now her belly's a bump, you see
The father?  No one could say
Good title?  Not sure.
 Feb 2012 J
Waverly
an L.
 Feb 2012 J
Waverly
She loved rolling L's,
I'd plop down on her bed,
she'd have A$AP or some
OFWGKTA on,
she was a New York girl
in skinny jeans
and camo Jordans
with them gold doorknockers,
a transplant
both from there
and into my life,
she'd run her pink nails
long as needles along
the Swisher,
and I swear
she had to know something
about internal anatomy,
cause she'd do that ****
to my belly button;
how long have you been practicing?
How many bodies have you split open
and left for dead
in the ashtray?
You rolled a tight L,
and I hemourraged
for five minutes,
it became a local anesthetic
until the procedure
was over.

The woman could do more
than just lick the insides clean,
she was humane,
she'd fill it back
with something you could burn.

She could roll L's
to Webster
all day,
not even the big L's
like love, lust, lascivious
more like
loner, longing, and live.
Each time you turn and walk away
I find myself searching
for the sunny days
I know
once ran through my veins.  
Until I wish
I could dip my fingers
into the places
where your teeth bit into my heart
once again.

I think of all those conversations
where I believed
that every shadow
lying on the floor
made our lives exciting.  
Like an ocean of wine
one drinks within a dream
full of memories,
capturing all
we have been fighting.

Reality seems to lie inside
everything I forget
about loving you
when it blends inside my heart
then hides.
And I can't tell
what is black or white
each time you walk away
and leave me feeling
only........
gray inside.
 Feb 2012 J
Waverly
When things were going great
we'd eat transcendental dinners,
we'd take livers
in rainbow saucers
and ladle them
in tartar sauce
until our mouths
were full of salt,
sometimes we'd go to Thai China
and make interstellar fighters
out of the wise guts
of
cream-colored Starships.

But the nights when we went
to Burger King were the greatest,
we'd have simple dinners:
99 cent burgers
and fries like elephant ears,
we'd sit in our booth
in the corner,
you farting ketchup
out of like
twenty packets
into a red **** pile,
and I farted
like
twenty farts
out of my ***,
but I like
simple things;
they are natural
even if they don't sound
that way.
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