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ciannie Nov 2015
my heart
was never broken
only parted into two
the plumpest fruit
the sharpest knife-
one half went with you

I laid,
at your mud,
the sweetest song I had
though it's not certain
if you heard
leaving there I was glad

I don't
believe I told you
how you drew my eyes
but then, too late
you're gone deaf
and I'm alone at nights

My love
could've been yours
I wanted it so to be
with you, till old-
chance ripped away...
...and you never even knew me
ciannie Jul 2015
always to the lips
please always back to the lips
the centre point of all the sweetness
you can perform on me

and if not to the lips
if you do stray from the lips
my waiting cheeks shall take the sweetness
you direct unto me

if further from the lips
if you wander far from the lips
still I shall take in ecstasy the sweetness
you willingly give me

to places so named the lips
yet still not quite the lips
I would writhe amongst the sweetness
you so apply to me

back up, but not yet the lips
travelling towards the lips
I would giggle, ticklish from the sweetness
you do present to me

closer yet to the lips
womanly buds instead of the lips
I shall clutch tighter to the sweetness
you leave gently on me

and finally the lips
always to the lips
the centre point of all the sweetness
I could ever accept from you
hm. hm. hm.
ciannie Oct 2015
you played our song
in the aftermath of a heated discussion between close, close
lips and tongues

you were taller there
and I was tucked beneath you, in the crook of your arm and chest
warm and immovable

our song struck its notes
and together we sang it, both voices barely reaching audience
but in such clarity to our ears

only my voice caught
about halfway through, as I thought of you, and where we were headed
to the end of our lives, I hoped

and I sobbed to
the crook of your neck, in joyous foresight of our years as two to come,
racking my breast

you were worried
my tears scared you, in case I cried for reasons of hurt to my heart, but
my heart only hurt

because it was close
to bursting with overwhelming feeling, spilling over, a flood, a tidal wave
streaming from my eyes

my gratitude to
your existence, to any God for granting me you, your warm body and
freckled flesh

a hundred thousand
knives of love slammed through my ribs, into yours, turned to needles, sew
us into forever

I want to do
it all with you; the growing, adulthood, children, a house, our futures
I want them combined

till you wrinkle
and your freckles sink, and I kiss them with lined lips, and smile with
old eyes at you

for the longest time
possible, and I feel this is not just a hope, but a certainty, and that this
is what life is for me

and that is what
made me sob, into your body, and deeper still, because I know my life
is set with you

and how can I
be happier? than in the moment when I realised this, like being dunked
in the coldest water

it is a certainty
and I cried for it, for I know I am fulfilled, even in that one brief moment
of our youngest years

youth does nothing
to stem the flow of tears, it provides the richest nutrition, and I am not blind
but eyes wide open

my fairytale exists
and he is warm, bone and blood and beating soul, beside me, and I know
he is forever

and the way you
held me while I cried, and carried on existing, a certain smell and quietly
living, is how

I know our
connection is more than any can understand, and you squeezed back
as I clutched your hand
ciannie Nov 2015
Feel my breath adorn your stiffened shoulders
Now your cloak, as thick as heavy satin
Beneath ruby black sleeves your skin smoulders
From tattoos inked in my red-lipped Latin
Our songs are pressurized into jewels
I place the lovely earrings on your lobes
That stern gaze I taught you won't suffer fools
Nor entertain hissing genophobes
My precious mineral complexion acts
As the speckled fur underneath your crown
Tenuous heart strings of mine set their traps
And from my throat queue the trumpeting sound
Hold still, stand up proud, bare that throat fresh blue
Take the steps - and thus I coronate you
attempt at a sonnet
(a poor one)
ciannie Nov 2015
the butterflies bubble, dawdle, build up
homes underneath the skin, as she looks at him
as he looks at him
as she looks at her
as they look to each other

cocooning between blood vessels and pulses
their wings spread as intoxication, renovation
hands reach up
for him
for her
and stars are plucked and presented

they are the stars that first looked around the space
and came to rest, upon the ignorant, beautiful breast
of him, of her
from his eyes
from her eyes
and they glitter, and flutter

the chemical pours through the muscles and the butterfly
blooms, takes wing at hill-start, straight to heart
infinitely wonderful
for him, for her, for them, and for forever
different kind of style??
ciannie Oct 2015
and you have irises
whose colours shall bleed
and mix in genes
trickling into your children
morphed into flesh and bone from
***** and blood
and skin colours clash and blend
to form their coverage
but it will have to get tougher
tough skin
if they want to stop harsh words
from sinking in
words launch from tongues of people who forget
that they are part of a colour pallet
this world is a messy, disorganized dance
and colours run and blend
and each is beautiful
and no one is superior
generations of ink and paint and chalk travelled the world
blossomed into culture
different climates, different patterns
same scientific formula
so these people need to stop
with only thinking of themselves
and realise that we are all under one ruling
breathe the same elements
and there is no room for a higher shelf
and our duty to each other is
to always give our help
no matter what
give help where it's needed, regardless of differences
we're all human. we all need it.
ciannie Nov 2015
moondust: i take some, pour it
down my throat.

the sensations fill my stomach.
i release a powder of knowing
with every breath

stardust: i hold some, drizzle it
into my hair

it dries my scalp to concrete
sets my hair golden, fizzing, spitting
burnt from tip to root

sundust: i taste some, keep it
nestled on my tongue

biting into my cheeks, exploding
blinding me inside out, nuclear and archaic
stuck in my teeth

earthdust: i rub some, all over
my body won't react

clay shell, molluscs, squirming skin
plants sprout from my fingernails, eyelashes
my neck covered

spacedust: i kiss some, light lips
my cheeks clench

it dusts my eyelids, pretty, multi-coloured
turns my belly-button into a black hole
i take in everything.
spacey, mm.
ciannie Oct 2015
like the transition from work clothes
into nightwear, good book in hand
like slipping, trembling, into bed after a hard day and
being overwhelmed with warm slumber
sinking into the mattress
pillowed, soft, safe and caressed
- thats how I feel, held close to your breast

a hotpot over a stove, cinnamon steam
rising, curling, condensation at windows
reflecting black and illuminating snow
drifting, heavy, while the chill waits outside the door
and the house breathes heartily
and the cat curls up even more-so
- thats how it feels when your arms wrap around my torso

the northern lights dance just for us
and the sahara sands swirl
the oceans, each seven, perform and twist
in our honour; countless
clouds serenade our connection
a tornado blows through Kansas, just to see us closer
and mountains smile, and bow from their hips
-thats what I see when you kiss my lips

and all the cosmos
floats in your irises
colour kaleidoscopes, the genes of ink to water droplets
stains on paper skin, the prettiest of each
character of you, and
from the pool of my gut bursts forth a constant trillion butterflies
- thats what can be seen when I look to your eyes

it just feels so easy to love you
it was so easy falling in love with you
last two lines come from my boyfriend
ciannie Nov 2015
His golden nails are tapping.
He awaits the future, greyly.
Bored of patience, forbidden from napping.
He ages more than anyone, daily.

She pirouettes each day, gorgeous.
Third in the nine-person dance line.
Her talents are enormous.
She's a little ill, but doing fine.

The nurse takes care of her wards.
She rules what her mistress creates.
Everyone and thing adheres to her laws.
She loves not, but never hates.

He looks at the nurse on the lovely sphere.
Taps his watch, keeps her in time.
The nurse's wards have learnt to hear.
Their technology is a mime.

The nurse and he have a special bond.
Ever since the dancer decided to bloom.
Of one another they are fond.
But sleep each in a separate room.
time and nature.
ciannie Sep 2015
we pretend to sleep
knee over knee
breath brushing breath
arms around, waist and neck

our noses are touching
skin to skin
face heating face
chest rising and pressing

a purposeful lip touch
cheek by cheek
heart fuelling heart
beat pulsing, limbs weak

and thus, a kiss
gentle, a while
shyly we pull back
and elated we smile
ciannie Nov 2015
A dust storm blows through Kansas
Stinging, lashing shrieks
The sand blows holes through a Canvas
Who collects the words, and sleeks
The gunfire of their sound, for weeks
His brows steeled and heavy
The whirlwind quits its wails
And leaves, lily-livered in its belly

A tsunami bellows over Mastushima bay
Body slamming into townsfolk
A long-time build up lead astray
One sun-browned girl is left to choke
But then spits out the damage, in half broke
And the colossal wave recedes
Quietened, calm and apologetic
Anger fleeing as it bleeds

Snow drifts and crawls its way past Moscow
Gentle, almost alluring in its ways
Children present their tongues, and the sow
Charges, squealing, into guts and begins frays
Which twist their ears burnt, lasting for a thousand days
And eventually a conscience melts the qualm
And the damage rectified on-surface
But frostbite clings to fingers; done already is the harm

Weather will hound and scorch and spit
And eventually untether
And though people bite and kick and hit
No emotion lasts forever
attempt at a ballade
ciannie Nov 2015
no tsunami reached higher
no gasoline fuelled more fire
no conductor reached crescendo
no wall called protego
as loudly as my grief cried
to rip you back from that void
back to my side

you couldn't have stayed,
and I understand.
I am trying still to be that man
that man you kissed, caressed and threw
deep into the universe of loving you
but it's very hard to be that man, my dear
when you, my sun, cannot be here

it's difficult to see myself each morning
through the mirror of our bedroom
hand empty, where once yours was sewn
when we were young, how we stressed
that infinity was ours
and we were joint, dually blessed
  for years upon years, and all the hours

I know I was blessed- to have had you I am grateful
but I cannot help but be resentful
of the world in which I breathe
where endless love is trademarked
but thousands are left to grieve

and oh God, have I grieved, and cried and stared
at the empty space your death prepared
-I have clutched bottles in my fist
held fire between my teeth
crushed my footprints beneath rags
and rammed iron through my wrist
I have pulled away each eyelash
poured acid on my cheeks
cut away elbows, knees and fingertips
have stalled my breath for weeks

at what point will I realise
that this pain cannot compare
to the knowing and rejection
that you're no longer there?
different style again, not sure??
ciannie Nov 2015
couples spill from Cornucopia
caught, clutched, crunching
onto pavement as they slam
and the gravel ground scrunching

the force of their sudden landing
holes burnt through atmospheric rubble
new age, new kids, new scorn
a five-thousand-decade struggle

and singles sprout subtly
sporting secular ideals
throwing nuclear doubts and partitions
jealousy: frozen frosted steel

hearts in half and searching
they thaw eventually to the sway
the hallowed pairs light up red strings
to help them on their way
references to about three cultures in here, idk if more
guessing game~
ciannie Nov 2015
his t-shirt
it is warm around my body
where he would be
if he could be
and its smell rises upwards
and he
holds me invisibly
under cloth
within our night
ciannie Nov 2015
curling around each other
like two shells pushed, intertwined
by the thrashing waves.

the sheets were crisp, now
they are slept on, rumpled, a white Sahara
from a birds-eye-view

a leg moves up a leg, shifting hills
hand roaming over curves, in crooks, through hairs
travelling fingers on a familiar space

warm, aging, with lines where
the flesh was once plump and new, unused
undiscovered by the other

days after days, through years and years
in that bed, coupled, through seasons, in and out of clothes
each change subtly accepted

every kiss shared, every entwining
kept boxed in the duvet, imprints of every evening
or day spent here

pressing close, bodies and souls
laced in the tightest, toughest, inseparable knot
clenched together

the mirrored smiles, low breathing
domed, encased there, while the atmosphere outside billows
lying forever
soft and ahh, I hope
ciannie Oct 2015
guess you're gravity
clear, sharp, perfectly
formed in glory
you tell such story
or stories, from sweet cheeks
smiles un-meek
laughs loud
shoulders proud
knees locked
hips cocked
all eyes flocked
your neutral stance
my eyes glance
every other second, they relate to me
of your beauty
spies of their own will
spies of skill
or maybe not- you realise
you catch my eyes
and you **** your hips
flex your lips
you open your chest
beckon me to rest
under skin
to see what lies
the reach
of outside eyes
inside matters, kind of thing, idk
ciannie Nov 2015
if we hadn't have met that way
would we have met any other?
that's the question I hate to think.

there can't be an answer to it, I feel
because you definitely did come to
and are in my life, but still, even so

would I have known you in the way
we hold each other now? so close? so
deeply fallen in our time, in each other?

I cannot say, but I can still hope, even
if that hoping is silly, since you have me
and I have you, and we have that weight

of knowing the other is in our hands, trust
like non other. keeping each other safe, like
our song promises us. close, close in hand

we understand it was circumstances, lucky
lucky circumstances getting us close enough
to one another for our souls to connect, and touch

we understand it could have gone another way
but fortune is ours, and we ruled those circumstances
king and queen of those gifts granted sweetly to us

and from those circumstances, we made vows
to keep each other safe throughout the seasons
of our life. how lucky. how fortunate. how lovely.
yeeeet another soft one
ciannie Dec 2015
if I asked, beckoned you close
whispered sweets and teas and
soft words, sentenced comfort
opened my arms and begged
you there, would you come?

take off your hoodie, your top
bras on the floor, maybe mine
maybe yours, maybe from both
or just me, I think, if it's you there
reading- the one I am thinking of

no clothes but underwear, because
that's a comfortable thing, to feel the
sheets against skin, flesh to flesh, and
yet to keep something covered, fine
hairs in check, no friction, so we can
slip close together, smooth, lithe, solid

only a portion of our heads on the
pillows: half on, half off, equally so
chins sunk into the mattress, blanket
overhead, a cave for just the outlines
of our faces, and the meeting of both
our breaths, warming bare chests

flushed nose, *******, tummy, shoulders
plush under palm as touched, held, gentle
this is a new kind of ***, of making love
and it involves just your eyes and hands
above the waist, rolling over the hips, to
study. revise me. learn each crinkle and
every dip. all my curves, a puzzle from
each pimple, the roundabout of my ears
my see-saw lips, umbrella eyes that don't
and wont keep out the rain that will flow
over my hilled cheeks, and maybe yours
if you find where I am wanting you to be
close, warm, plush, alone and lying with me
ciannie Nov 2015
she awoke one morning to find wings upon her back
spread out across the length of her room
she had trouble getting out of the door
and every room she left and house she exited
she knocked things askew
destroyed more and more

she met a boy down-town of a similar strange sort
he was covered, every single last inch of him
in crawling, hugging spiders
his face was obscured and his tongue black
as he spoke, more came from his throat
fatter, hairier, wider

they fled together to a beach where a big bonfire sat
and around, for hundreds, in the fog, were others
others like them; outsides varied, insides same
there were some with wings too, the girl saw
but all stopped what they were doing as a sound was heard
and eyes turned toward the colossal flame

the people sat and gathered at the fire's base, close-knit
she linked arms with an old man with tears pouring from each wrinkle
and a little girl made of air
this crowd watched, enraptured for hours like moths
until the bonfire spluttered, stuttered, went to sleep
and wrote in the charcoal left: 'despair'

the boy with the spiders took her aside; his hands tickled
he bade the girl to wade out with him, into the swash
which giggled beseechingly at her toes, flecked with frost
the crowd of the beach overheard, and together they all joined
to slink into the fog and ocean depths united
to become, like the people of the night before them:
eternally lost.
based off a contemporary story idea.
ciannie Dec 2015
with a hair tuck the atoms bent
to curl in a loop around her ear
compressed into a snaking stream
of custard comets, pouring down
her neck, over collar bones, passed
the ribcage made of gold limestone
holding grains of sparrows eggs turned
to sand, from ten thousand years ago

seeping into skin, grey fake tan of
statues, mountains, ocean beds alike
the ache in the pulse at her wrist from
the steady thrum injection of the worlds
squeezed, twisted, turned and churned
into a potion, a medicinal miracle, a fine
powder substance that grows at liquid's

dripping through her palms, fingertips
to create a stain upon the sugar paper
flesh of others, like a children's picture
turned tattoo in highlighted colour and
sound, drumming into ears, road works
on the way to the brain, cause a migraine
cells screeching to infiltrate all they touch
bred, genetically modified, embitterment
of the human race, a flawless system of
this, that, none other, its aim to destruct
befores and reconstruct them differently
against the wishes of the girl who calmly
indifferently, lazily, unknowingly, seductively
tucked that lock of hair behind her ear.
not drugs.
ciannie Nov 2015
I breathed, and with my breath
gave birth, again and again and again.
My lungs housed planets
which flew from my lips
to rest in a space not too far from the nest
of infinity-wide hips.
I perfumed myself with the stardust
that lay about my shelves,
while my eyes wandered to the children
who kept their quiet and took their time
to build their lives away from mine.

Nine children: four boys, four girls-
One lonely in-between, the closest to my breast,
chilled by the distance from its father's heart.
My third child, of the cleanest hue
leapt bounds ahead the others, covered
white, green and blue.
If the others are jealous, they never say so
for their silence is their virtue,
their mystery their status.
But, despite her siblings' monarchy glamour,
it was my third baby, who became a mother.

I paint my nails with the polish given
as gifts from my un-answering offspring.
They throw me pieces of their atmosphere
to wear around my neck,
and I accept all these gifts with gratitude,
glad they exercise respect.
My third child sends me probes, satellites,
and sends rocket ships to her uncle.
Her children thrive and mine her body,
and she sits daintily, between her sister and her brother,
allowing them to farm her so; her duty as a mother.

As I age, the wrinkles of my skin deepen, and
occasionally, something far away collapses.
I find I age better than their father; better than
all the fathers that came ahead.
I have always outlasted them.
I will never lie upon a deathbed.
It is my duty as their mother to watch
as my babies eventually perish.
Aged well, aged strong, dramatic endings.
But such is life, and such am I, and I am always law-
and after death comes life again, multitudes and more.
ciannie Nov 2015
fear me not, though I am armed.
I have opened my entry to that next country,
and my heels sit upon its border.
gentler, guiltier than last time, I reach for thee
and as I drown and I dry, I hope for her to see.
for my drama and theatre studies lesson today we had to reimagine the Shakespeare of Othello's dying speech into our own words, and then perform it- this was my reimagining.
ciannie Oct 2015
-and the dark seems profound
in the corners of crooks of building's elbows
they cradle that which they have found
stray cats
flown litter
happy ivy

sentient, but quietly, built to stand and shine
the streetlights are the only soldiers
but they glow indiscriminate, haloing crime
tonight, none
they see
me go

red carpet, grey glistening black, bone slabs
cigarette buds lie, my roses
and chills scuttle in the underbrush, hard biting *****
the night
doesn't seem
so frightful

whisper this, over and over, louder than the sea
which crashes, as is its business
but no one is awake to hear it, none but me
constellations glow;
their cities
are alive

away in the custard ink of our unknown space
Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus...Pluto
dance, smoother than an apparatus reflection, emotion in face
wishing my
eyes could
be telescopes

metals, dirt, bone and fur, gas and water and soul
cocktail elements, curved, twisted, moulded
our perfect globe, full, awake, but- within the solar pole
we are
so tiny
and lonesome

our companions of the sky, past our eyes, kept curtained
by the dark which so cradles in crooks as the sun slips
explored mechanically, unknown personally, unburdened
but the
stars are
our proof

of family.
from them.
listen to Sleeping At Last's song 'Mercury'- (in fact, listen to ALL their songs omfg they're poetry to music)
ciannie Nov 2015
it's the leaves that smell, sat there
like soggy cornflakes on the pavement.

we kick them up, they stick and stink
and loudly we love the scent, love the magic.

the air is drizzly and the sky is flat like the
soda we have in your rucksack, waiting.

no one else is around, and though the sky is pregnant
the clouds haven't given birth

so we keep the umbrella down, and maybe if we are lucky
we can be like Mary Poppins and fly away together

but no, the wind is lazy today, and our feet ache
but we twist, you scoop me up

my shoes muddy your jacket, you catch my hair in your zip
we fall to the damp ground

and as our breath meets before the kiss, the sky decides to open up
and we become drenched.

but it's okay, because that kiss warms away all the ice
and we sit with the cereal leaves, together, and the smell is nice.
another soft one
ciannie Nov 2015
Smoke left to curl against the sky
Toes crinkled under shoes
Funnelled out and contemplating
All he had to lose

She had left and flown as whispers leave
The lips of those who hush
An atlas crushed unto her *******
No guilt of burning trust

Bitter had she left him
Like the dregs from PG-Tips
And, burned into his memory,
Her swaying, leaving hips

His anchor was stripped away
He was flotsam in a sea
He shuffled out and left the edge
"Nothing now, for me."
kind of not cheerful...
ciannie Oct 2015
perhaps our cause is selfishness, but in the most honest way
we say it
we do
our thoughts are released, and yes, mingle
always interjoined, like two separate words sewn together into one
we share, and also
we justify each other
i am selfish, about you
i admit, i give in, you are the one to whom i exercise no charity
to myself, kept to my breast, melt between into my liquid soul
my heart will pillow you
with its thrum
don't you find it rhythmic?
a selfish question: i need you to say 'yes'
you are gravity
and i slam,
hurried, sped through the breath of masses who slip out of sight before even being passed
into your body
press my face to yours
lips tangle
in sentences, in action, in smiles, in outright cackling laughter that somehow you
find adorable
and i say again, i am selfish of you
i crave you to myself, all my own, become unto me
for i cant do without you
now that i have your taste
and the same is said for you; from you to me?
you need me?
you crave me?
mind mirrors mind, and you become the meteor?
i, your destination
i to fold into your soul
(gladly gone, meet me there)
so we both hold the other in selfishness, no love to share but
love to keep and be kept
and that is magnitude
our gravities combine
single form, single line, singular to the last freckle and toe
you and I are an Us
and we're selfish together
because love
is need
selfish want
and so, so, so very splendid
attempt at free verse? not sure how it intention here was to create surreal imagery.
ciannie Oct 2015
i wish you could be here again
i'd give anything to see
the tremors of your beating body
alive, with me

you said before you left
something so profound
and i have tried, and tried to remember it
you never wrote it down

you taught me so well
the anxiety of our life and the care
with the last of your breath, you told me again
separated the hurt with the fair

i could never foresee
and probably should admit
that i am terrified to live in a world
without you in it

the pain, it's always there
you were so accepting, could you have gotten on?
if it were me to be you...
with half of a whole heart gone

met at sixteen, parted at sixty
that's forty four cycles, forty four gallons of tears
dried out my partial body
i am already suffocated without you here

what did you say, as i bent to kiss your cheek?
as the tremors of your life quietened, and you were partially left
what did you say
in your last moments of breath?

*"you're beautiful, this close"
inspired by the Sleeping At Last song 'Saturn'
again...poetry to music, guys
ciannie Oct 2015
i'll keep you safe
legs on legs, breath mixing breath
until joint death

you are my bonsai
focus of devotion, the one treasure
close to forever

sweetness of your eyes
hot lemonade lips, you promise hope
a kiss-infused kaleidoscope
safe, lemonade, bonsai, legs, kaleidoscope, devotion: random words strung together in a rhyming poem, part of an activity in my creative writing class \(@u@)/
ciannie Nov 2015
he is lying, sound asleep
his breath expelled with the careful calculation
of a heart wide awake
wide open-
wondering, what would it be like
to take that heart between my fingers
hold it close
pry the sides apart and kiss
all there was to see?

running through the vessels are images
the sweetest, the most honest
he has never been so bare
dancing amongst his bloodstream
is me, are his dreams
his secrets-
shut the heart like a diary, put it back in place
pressing it lovingly
lying once more, by his side, studying his curtained eyes
that unconscious smile at my heaviness

the mattress is a little lumpy, God knows
but there are blankets aplenty
it was me who guided him here
weary, tired but still gleeful
into my arms
my ******* act as pillows, and as his head rises with my chest
overwhelmed becomes me, tears ***** my eyes
fall into mine and his sunshine and bonfire hair
tickles his freckles
pours into his skin
fuels his pulse
sets aflame his muscle
a messenger to his spirit
and he wakes

he asks me what is wrong, drowsily, hand where
perhaps he had felt his heart removed and replaced,
chin at my collarbones.
my eyes ripple and convulsing, choking on affection,
my arms fly about him, my whispers entreat his ears,
my gifts for him
the effects he has on me are tidal waves impossible to plot
though known is it to me that he has a calendar of them
within his chest
so, "nothing" comes my answer, care consuming volume
"okay" says he back, then settles down to once more
fall asleep upon my *******
no real style here..
ciannie Sep 2015
constant bodies around our lands
who slip and trespass within
one another
and their depths appear quite endless
although they cannot reach a core
ink and sky churned to one
sustaining of most life
mostly mystery
sort of a riddle, not quite, pretty easy if I am honest
normally I rhyme...this...this was painful for me
ciannie Nov 2015
a girl found a crown on the street
clink, clank, and rolling to her feet
cold gold touched her pinkish toes-
during inspection the jewels bit her nose

she wore it all day long, in strength
found her chores list lessen in length
people blinded by it's brilliant glint
it gleamed eyes away, replaced the print

each precious stone reworked memories
envious green glass once enemies
now pink, mirrored, singular, hers
to match the crown, she wore silver furs

her cloak dragged upon the ground
other children picked it up, and found
themselves wrapped inside and gone
the village became smaller, the cloak became long

the elders dug deep at the edge of their home
while the girl was away, living alone
they discovered bones, gnawed to stumps
bugs and beetles, full, in mounds and humps

they fit the girl's old clothes perfectly
renewed dead flesh, but hurtfully
her eyes were gone, the crown's centrepiece
the flesh left again, puddled their knees

the girl had died and was eaten, long ago
it took some time, they cried, but now we know
the metal melted her fat and skin and sinew
pock-marked her bones, rotted right through

replaced a monster with her spirit, living dead
used her soul as the cloak's first thread
vacuumed others, knitted them close and thick
a pretty trinket turned poisonous trick

the elders chased the monster away
along with their children, that day
they cried and created new children, then
never let them wander again.
ciannie Nov 2015
the jaded bird took his perch
in branches thick with voice
his song a croak, his beak quite broke
a lovely sight, though unlovely noise

a plumed up bird, dressed in furs
cut into his space
she sang quite sweet, high and neat
sang right into his face

the jaded bird, of course, was hurt
by that most spiteful act
he moaned in pain, never sang again
until a finger tapped his back

a timely toad, brown and slowed
eyes blinking with slime
opened his mouth, north to south
and took his merry time

he sang a sound that squelched around
his throat before release
then he bellowed loud, and sore and proud
and the bird fell to his knees

the toad taught the bird, who listened, who heard
who was patient, feathers bristling
they sang together, sung for forever
and never cared about who was listening
story ish again.
ciannie Nov 2015
her dress is made of molten ore
silk against her springy skin
her eyes are pressured pebbles of summer core
nine hundred lives from wearing thin
the scarf she wound around her hips
softer than a lamb
the teeth behind upturned boat lips
smile graceful and pre-planned
she extends her long, slender wrist
coaxes us all into one mineral
a tender jewel, a pretty twist
worn until her funeral
ciannie Oct 2015
the trouble lies
in your thighs
plump skin, of pink, apricot, nutmeg
fresh flesh fetched far
taught to knee, cuffed at ankle
red carpet to round hips
they ripple, as you stomp
as they should
you're a peach bottomed girl of pear tree house

she is a willow girl
her legs, they wind
country lanes that slim and thin
less lard, longer length
one music note to pink, apricot, nutmeg toes
pillars under sacred, upholding
the light twist of hips
is there the same problem
does it there lie
in that girl's thighs?

your thighs are equally moulded
pink, apricot, nutmeg
soft and plump and trembling, still
in mountains, or molehills
you're a peach bottomed girl of pear house
she is a willow tree girl of birch place
together, women
you have thighs
and neither of
those thighs
relating to the 'thigh gap' issue- as long as you're healthy and happy, you're beautiful, from your thighs to wherever. (male and female issue, despite my all-femaleness here)
ciannie Oct 2015
My lifespans is a duvet
(come, cuddle close), to share
And the pillows are our heartbeats
to uphold our star-crossed stare

Under the duvet is my body:
my lips, your sole supporters
I'll throw you words (with love, of course)
so please kiss these pink performers

And then my neck, my *******, my stomach
where you shall witness loving need
As I clutch close, (both you and then)
the fruit of both our seeds

From there, my thighs, knees and calves
long and curved (around your own)
These legs shall keep me sprinting
you in my arms, bound home

My arms caress your form
and my fingers brush your skin
Inked tattoos of heat and presence
my existence (you wrapped in)

Finally, I show my feet
planted firm, against your toes
And I tiptoe up, within our bed
to come close (nose to nose)

And I whisper "love", arms wrapped around
(to keep you from falling through)
"I can't help but feel, within my soul
that my universe is in you"

And you gather me up, the entire quilt
(cupped in your hands, warm as your breath)
And you smile down, with shimmered eyes
and say: "together until death"
Need a better title, any suggestions??? (!!)
ciannie Oct 2015
we two are architects
building, forming one silhouette
laying the foundations of our future
and we transfer these unspoken plans
through our clasped hands

two beings of mass pressed close
and I can feel your warmth, how most
of your soul leaks through those eyes
and tries, to funnel me in
although I'm already running

the world rotates around our stillness
it cares not that we've found fullness
in each other's hold, but it sees
and it believes in our treasuring of the other's parts
and so spins quietly while we still our hearts

some people walk by and wonder
how two humans could be struck asunder
by the need to be together
for our lifespan, for forever, and how concussed
we feel by love

we two are architects, building something pure
forming something more
than anyone, even ourselves can understand
as we transfer the connection
through our hands
ciannie Sep 2015
I want to get lost
where the world is yours
where the skies reflect your innermost thoughts
and the clouds are your ideas
and the rain they wring is your desires
which flood the sahara of your hopes
to watch them trickle through the cracks,
your doubts,and come to feed,
to nurture your needs
till trunks of talent grow,
and twist, and expand
and, like the traits of your hands
reach up to the sky to touch your ideas
take their nectar, patiently blossom
while uncertainty floats about as flotsam
to see the universe as your playground
the stars as you picture them
unearthed and unfeatured, and then
explode into the atmosphere
with heavy annotation
extraordinary reworking of ordinary constellations
the noxious gas of your speech
choked full of that which I cant understand
but for which I yearn to know, as a human, as a man

if I could choose where to get lost
a place to throw myself in
the point where I stand my ground
and forget all sense of skin

where I am only eyes
like plunging, wide-stared
underwater, secluded
and breath ill-prepared

it would be in your eyes-
then your mind, then your stare
then your soul, then your damages
everything there
ciannie Sep 2015
we donned our aprons
I scraped back my hair
you tightened the drawstrings
we stood together, to stare

the glossy oak block
of what could be
and you and I, with our chisels
an aim to complete

at first we did trace, hand holding hand
pencil strokes start small, then sweeping
and you took my waist to steady my stand
and we shared our first scratch, both weeping

after this first mark
had struck the smooth wood
can this be? we thought
we knew, it could

and we stood apart and looked
and readied our stance
lips smiling, hearts reaching
and we flew into dance

scribbled did the wood become
its grain chiselled beyond belief
not yet finished, much more to come
and with each stroke we felt relief

this ballet shall continue
your body on my frame
your mind sharing mine
the other's heart we both claim

our masterpiece gets drawn
slowly across the years
but it feels fast, like seconds
and we hammer without fears

we slip into one from the dance
you the concrete, I the brace
our aim for artwork has set a trance
but I break to see your face

let's not whirlwind through our masterpiece
lets take this time to contemplate
the whirlwind may take time to come again
but with you I will wait
ciannie May 2015
To me your smile is a sign
a sign that makes me flutter
makes my knees soft as butter
sets my lips prime to stutter
no sentence can I utter
except perhaps a mutter
words revolved in clutter
something along the lines of
stick it on the front of a card
ciannie Sep 2015
-and we were sat
in front of the sea
illuminated in moony streetlights
watching the silver worm of the swashing waves
inky black except for that contact

and across the water
distant lights shone, red, yellow, white
fast food commercialised with the big yellow M
sitting in our laps
the night cold, and we two shivering
although we both refuse to be warmed by the other's coat

and our song plays
and I look to you
sat by me on the cold bench
you, physical, mass, warm and breathing
you existing
and the song carries on

our mistakes, they were bound to be made,
but I promise you I'll keep you safe

and I do promise
because you are there
breathing next to me
and you exist
and that's all I need
poem from a memory of mine, a very treasured one too

— The End —