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L T Winter Sep 2015
This copper-light
I wield scoffs steadily
At the gate we watch.

Though lapless lions
Bare nonchalant goose-bumps
Cheating windy copses

From sandy-lane slumbers,
It's bleeding peaches and gums
Because agony is only
Two decimals less than
Those without.
L T Winter Sep 2015
L: Hello B.
B: Hey--

L: I breathe dragon parts and leprechaun skin.

B: You're broken flames blinking gold-dust away with the sun.

L: We were dancing ancient tongues
for icy dreams and lead-lined seams.

B: Fireworks stole away our seals as we cried at frayed stitches, bleaching eyes.

L: I knew the clouds you kept, but I'm singing rosey buttons and westward hedges.

B: I'll see you--in the soft winds- murmuring to bushes and stifling sound-light.

L: Cataracts bind us for more will come.
Not a clue, something diff?
L T Winter Sep 2015
It's-similar-salted.
Grain-
Kissing friction in my chest.

She's a glint of missing--
Harmonies,
Half composed; nearly
Finished alphabet-
Auras.


Coppicing eloquence as
Sanctuary sits-
Chirping on shoulders,

--Symbiosis.

Sharp-sand rubs,
Time--
Into hanker-chief glass.
L T Winter Sep 2015
Clover's tonsils
Accessorise air
With magnates
And hawk-fractures

Crackling bones to boxes,
Catching  maskcara wraths
Slipping on hiccups-
Beguiling in silence

There's lip-syncing
Fear in the fire.

Where-

Neptune bleeds
Polymorph dancing
It's complicated-
Mis-understood-alliterations.

Wheezing on shy mountains
Crying ash into canyons
Accepting beings bought
Of sleep.
L T Winter Aug 2015
There's more singular saplings
Reading violet dandies
Instead of make believe
-Manuscripts

Where voids
Live in non-existence.

-Mountains creep slowly,
Towards the sun
While trees trample-
Moons with footprints.

And I--I feel stuck-
Suckling quicksand
From beneath my bones.

-Waiting for midnight
To catch away,

The rain.
  Aug 2015 L T Winter
mrs kite
i wish I could be beautifully sad like you
a dark velvet blue
suffocating all who try to get close

maybe my depression is only of
my own fabrication, a desperate attempt
to have something in common
with you.
L T Winter Aug 2015
Younger now--
Winking-wards-back-
-Never feeding satchels
With broken thumbs.

Slightly sniffing-
Sorrows in--
Decrepit hand-bags,

The silence is short.

And supposing day-beings
Are breaking evenings,
For nights that always come.

We know attics; see-how
Detached I am.
That boldness of single
Salmon-sand.
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