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Allison Baxter Aug 2016
The pitter patter of your whisper
Warmer than vegetables in the crisper
Flat skin between my ear and cheek
The bandana preferred me not speak

You make me feel lovely    
Lavender in the air around thee
You make me think rudely
Back of scratches would allude to me

The stupid roses you got
Standing there, a complete geek
Something poetic you said i forgot
A dozen kisses never got to speak

The fan disappointed, even on high
Listening to Whole Lotta Love
This fahrenheit oh my!
My dear I held everything above

******* on my ear
My eye landed on thy dear
Fingers rubbing through my hair
Merely so, a sly affair

The night was stained with wine
Hand washed the morning after
In cold water specifically
A silk robe clung to me, quite fittingly

On my motorola I dialed
An electrician would come tomorrow
I look at the love letters compiled
And notice my coffee, grown mild

Going over the night at least seven times
Thoughts dirtier than eleven crimes
Above my head floating, like tethered astronauts
Thinking all of my treasured afterthoughts

Eventually dreamt up my fantasies of you
On the end table sat my gloves, quite blue
I made sure always keep track of the two
I spent my whole life looking for you

And finally turning fake memories into real ones
In terms of weight and emotions, I feel tons
Until the weight of the night anchors my lids shut
I will spend the night thinking of who forbids what
Allison Baxter Aug 2016
Not one to push an opinion
Not one to take a stance
Show me your definition
and upon it I would dance

Concerning others business
I’m anything but engrossed
Just because i should be
I’m not the one who knows most

My hand covers my mouth
To others affairs i am deaf
My lips declare not a thing
I’m introverted af

At no time do my teeth
part to speak with foul tongue
If I were to do so
The bitter i would be among

Wish i spoke in Beatles lyrics
Cause the intent of my words
Is apart from what i say
Remaining silent like sleeping birds

Cold sheets of applause
Lungs clenching in trepidation
At least that's how i interpret
The way it folds out in damnation

I’m told my hands mold worthy things
Of mind blowing things alone
Vacant voice but blistered palms
My hands I do not own

Incapable to explain with mastery
Can't communicate ideas accurately
Leave lookers perplexed and spaced out
Confusion comes to me naturally

Never meant to be arrogant
Nor brash nor bold
Declaring these things a sin
Let the rosemary blushing begin

Left misunderstood and misinterpreted
Hopelessness held at the end of my brush
All my energy mixed into the paint
An oil can only say so much

— The End —