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 Nov 2013 Ash winter
k
roll with me
 Nov 2013 Ash winter
k
your hair feels so good running through my fingers
and her body's so perfect as its dancing on my body
like we're made to fit perfectly together
sweating and happy and in love with everything
lights in my eyes i can't see you but
**** i can feel you up on my body with my fingers
running through your blonde hair and sweat dripping
down my back and your lips on my neck
hands stroking the length of my body feels like
heaven and i'll never have enough of us and this
and the music so alive the rooms spinning
and your hair feels so freaking good
kiss me like explosions I'm on fire
and the world has never felt
so beautiful
 Nov 2013 Ash winter
kategoldman
We've invented a million ways to tell a story

Adjectives and synonyms to value our thoughts

Little saucer eyed dolls use happy sad pretty ugly
Our sculls thicken around swollen brain links
We develop lingo and secret codes to dance around the truth
Inventions of complication
Syndication on an over developed dialect
Our words grow longer
As our recolection of the very idea we hoped to convey becomes skewed
Muddled in adjectives
Convoluted in rhymes
Twisted in talk
We forget our own simple thoughts

Our roots are buried underneath a blanket shadow

Thesaurus nation
 Nov 2013 Ash winter
M S
Space.
 Nov 2013 Ash winter
M S
you said you needed space;

darling,
i can offer you galaxies and the vast infinities within.

or,
you can fill the gaps between my fingers with yours.
And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
“We are, ” they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away their letters. So much more durable
Than we are, whose frail warmth
Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.
I imagine the earth when I am no more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a strange pageant,
Women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.

— The End —