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  Apr 2018 liz
strawberry fields
the sun drips
like
a
yellow yolk

oozes
down
the gold knots
of my spine
breathe the first of Spring days
the radio plays our favorite song

i see you backwards
quickly
all the times we had
vulnerable;
gone.

the sky is blue, the lake is blue
your eyes are blu
and they say i look like your
sister
oh gods. help me
i can’t feel anything
except you
and everything here is you
Edit: Thanks everybody! I didn’t realize this was a daily until later.
  Apr 2018 liz
Ricotta
fishes could swim through my ribs
when I saw you

flowers started growing on the palms of my hands
when I saw you

the stars made their home in my eyes
when I saw you

lover
I will join you by the riverbed
and rest on your collarbones
Sun perched in the trees,
why do you stare at me?
I’ve not sinned!
Sun perched in the trees,
why can’t you leave me be?
Rest already so I can breathe,
I’m barely standing,
on my knees.
Your piercing gaze,
jets through me.
You ******* sun,
let the night take thee.
A stain in the sky,
blistering high,
perched in the trees,
let me be!
I’ll trade you for anything,
even disease,
just bury yourself deep,
into stone and granite.
Settle behind cloudy seas,
burrow into hillsides if need be,
just avert your gaze,
sun perched in the trees.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
  Apr 2018 liz
poetessa diabolica
I have an illustrious dream,
     want to be Leonard
          Cohen's gypsy wife,
he's kissing my lips on
    Boogie Street,
impetuously we dance
    to the end of love
       'til closing time
       midst his secret life,
he serenades me with
     I'm your man
         when we take Manhattan,
bewildered by his poetic beauty there
     waiting for the miracle to happen,
a sip of wine, a cigarette
         in love we disappear,
   here it is, you got me singing
        be that dog in heat,
I'll take this waltz and
   another please, cause
             everybody knows
     I hunger for your touch,
  his famous blue raincoat
         and the dew on my thigh
goes a thousand kisses deep
   in the cave at the tip of the lily
  with its very own breath of brandy,
slipping into the masterpiece
             where Lenny is eternal
If you don't love Leonard Cohen's poetry and music, it probably won't make much sense.
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