Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Feb 2019
girls and boys and girls! its
a sultry summer, swinging, sighing, swishing hips by mine
slipping elusive behind stone arches, cursing on my lips, **** (whispered, softly)
glazed cherries in a glass bowl they drip and melt, and oh hell
my fingers are red and sticky and sweet but i love it i love it and
she's smiling like a dream
she's saying goodbye until next summer
until another year, another dream will find her way to me.
summer vibes
 Feb 2019
red stains, fading, cracked, scented

     if i kissed your prints, would they kiss me back?

sighs, thoughts, spaces between prints

     spaces between words, between parted lips and floating thoughts the world! is so crowded with space but yours is the one i want to fill .

     but where are the lines? lines of loss, lines of lawns, lines of ink and rips and more stains and letters, in the hands and on the pavement

where are the lines?

why won't you go there?

why do you hover in these foul, indomitable spaces? why do you seek that which you should not?

     if the shadow of lines slinks in your quiet expression, then why are you still here?

     if the echo of your soft face lingers in my hands, if the whisper of your breath and the heat of your skin still singes my own, then why do you disappear?

lovely wraith, lovely memory of a thing that once was, why do you sit so alone?

because i am coming to your space, and if you can see me, of shadow and fog, then i will meet you there,

     on a line of our own.

>because it's a death premeditated and i can see it unfolding,

     sharp wounding painful

and the discourse in the sky is telling me so, yet why do i keep walking west?
lots of questions (this isn't a poem of answers. don't look for one).
 Feb 2019
have you ever felt a masterwork in your heart?
          a repertoire of delicate sounds, of heartstrings and chords manifested?
tell me, far away, you can hear mine own, relentless thrum of the borrowed and forsaken, the lost and weary ,
hear its rising echo off alleyways and dim streetlights and broken windows and the backseat of your car, tell me
i am not deaf to a thousand sighs when
i can feel the sinews pulling towards the light, when
i know they tighten in repose and soften in memory.

i read somewhere that the world ends not with a bang but a whimper.

but eliot was wrong, because mine ended before it ever left my mouth.
 Feb 2019
if you kiss a statue in the dark,does
it leave a mark?like the moonlight's

cold stain on pale columns of necks and
thinner bones of knuckles,or like the

heavy-handed cracks on thighs and
mine own,leaking gold to's

easy to admit a mistake in the dark
what you say,but marble lips leave

little space for contrition.there's irony

in that,in rennaisance-made lovers who
screamed for dominions and settled in

ash instead.history is adjusted,and the
cycle continues.but they left their jaws

open,and the light is pouring out.
the secrets that statues never tell us
 Feb 2019
the city is beautiful until it corrodes.
the city is beautiful until you are trapped.

send me home,whispers your heart beneath
a grey blanket,but the city is where love and

genius live,we can't leave,we can't go
send for home
,it yells,and now it is tearing

you apart it is picking through the sinews of
your warmth it is shredding you out

you push it peels you stop,it peels,
the book of chaos sits next to you

should you open it now?where does wisdom lie?
is it in your palms,or beyond that,somewhere

hidden, unfolded?
you don't know because the city is still beautiful to you.

you don't know because you never open that book.
(but your heart peels on.)
"well if you wanna find love then you know where the city is" (the 1975)
 Feb 2019
you curl your fingers around the nape of the
passenger seat and the cold
metal stings but you can feel the
ghost of the prey brush your body
like the streetlights on the backseat last night
before you clutched the headrest and
you reach in the dark but
your hands miss the leather

the warm body heat of the car
thrumming up beneath you slams
your head into the dashboard where
the light turns from a bruised yellow to a crippled red
you are awake again
the steering wheel is cooler than you remember
smoother, sleeker, stealthy the wheel
will turn the predator around in a circle because
it seems to mimic itself where
in mimicry it is found
oh tyger tyger simmering out
you drive.
the gear shift does not obey when you
push it up rough and messy but it
locks in gear while you
wrap your fingers around the curve
and grind to a halt in the road
you cannot make this cliff.
the light in the dash blinks.
the trunk is opening and the vehicle is still moving
you roll down your window to ask the night a question in the glazed white of moonlight that is
so much like forgetting
will this road take me back to Del Sol and the Girl Who Lost Her Lover on Route 66?
she doesn't respond but
that is okay because the vehicle is still moving
and the leather is slick between your thighs
and you are going down
tonight you will descend.
the night will draw you home.
goodnight lover.
this was started out as two simultaneous stories but obvious i digressed (again?)
 Oct 2018
oh sweet moon-milk of mine
soft crescent (swift faded
honey-pink curling  now
lie down.
oh blushing beautiful lovely
boy-doll waning cheeks
feed up, love.
caressed smooth marble skin
slow down
luna lit cherubic boy of mine
perfect cupid arrow
i literally wrote this for jimin so uh yeah...
 Oct 2018
Valhalla, land of martyrs, where
brave men come to rest their banners.
Hear the glorious call, beckoning,
for a thousand more await you in the hall of gods.
May you step into the light
with your sword at your side--
the blood on your hands speaks of victories untold
by the lives of mortals,
stories that will be sung
by the blades yet to swing and
warriors soon to be bred.
Rise, do not weep;
ascend, brother,
for the gates hewn by time welcome you.
Come forth in armor no more,
and we shall embrace you as the king
you have proven to be.
Worthy in all manner,
purest of heart, strongest of will,
forged from those beastly fires of heaven;
enter, and your reign shall never perish
under the withering storm of eternity.
Enter, and be remembered for yours, the legacy unforgotten.
*rifles through old scrambling in hardrive* *pulls out two year old stock* ah yes, this one.
 Oct 2018
a glass chalice shattered on marble steps,
a cherub speared by his own arrow—
    do not tell me you do not hear it.

where moon boys and glossy girls live boldly,
they glow, shining and tacky like transparent saran
a rope around your neck and
for where death is present, so too is its midwife.

inhale exhale
in the dark
help guide me to the exit sign

oh! perform for the lords and ladies,
lie down under lights and washes of blushing love,
over your body
lay a rose for crows who do not sing.

but beware, when slowly will a golden shroud descend

and you will fall to your knees.
(as petals fall to the ground, so soft)
and it will part a way
(if buttery light could cleave so)
not clear but swiftly fading, slowing

illuminated faintly dimly glowing
above me reaching inhale
exhale inhale exhale inha—

thank you.

oh fallen child, where have you gone?
is there really balm in Gilead
or is that the mistaken hope of every saint and sinner?

it is a silent night tonight, blessed with only one star,
and i hope that it is yours.
for the world went black when you closed your eyes
and will need new seeds of light.

how did we fail you so badly?
how did we fail to see underneath, fail to
hear you screaming, telling us you felt wrong.
you spoke out for us, lifted us in our silence,
and yet, we said nary a word during yours.

it is not hard to tell someone they are loved.
to let them know that they have done well, that they have worked hard;
to lighten someone’s heart with a simple word or two.

for in this life of stop and go, the rush and sigh of a few billion souls
runs fast like rapids beneath the feet, and
it is not so hard to be
lost ,
swept up amidst a current of
mockingly pulsating restless life,
all the while being buried ,
fathoms beneath a violent sea of wrath,
a tempest held in depthless waters, a fight unresolved—  
where, under the shadows of a brooding cloud and a weeping rain,
our sorrows will wash over us.

but what good is a battle unwitnessed?
address it say its name.
stop hiding it behind plastic flowers and brittle leaves,
under rice-paper skin and honey smiles.
rip the valance off
of this drapery of deceit
and lay bare before the world the truth.

it was suicide.

he took his life.

mental health is real.
perfection is not.

reach out.
speak up.
give love.

if anyone can be saved, then
let not your death be in vain.

rest in paradise, jonghyun.
if you are aching, if you are drowning, know that someone, somewhere, is afloat because of you.  please, do not hesitate to seek help, we are here for you. it is not wrong to feel how you do, to be who you are. you are loved, you are worthy, you matter. reach out, for you are not alone.
 Oct 2018
draw a bath. close your eyes.

soak in your bath. (and then sink, lower)

look up, and then higher than that.

read the discourse in the light. read the flutter, the frivolity, the fumes. read it all.

and sing. whisper. scream. rage. rage rage rage rage rage rage rage. sigh. fall back. lament.

pull the stopper. drain your bath. wait.

stand up. stand tall, and then taller than that.

turn and look. really look in the mirror.

but just look. observe. vigilant.

turn away, not ashamed, not proud.

wrap a towel.

step out.

rinse & repeat.
not unclean.
 Oct 2018
gods and goddesses stilled mid-flight,
immortalized in a glory fast fading.
distilled sunlight filtering through, unheeded,
as a devastating dawn for redemption awakens.

     dust scattering over marble hands, forever supple,
as angels fall from grace,
wings clipped and torn asunder.

the sigh of a thousand lost souls, searching;
the thunder of a thousand chariots, unbridled.

     a wing outstretched, a bow pulled taught;
drawn, not fired.

frozen heroes lifting voices unheard;
     the calm before a storm, a fight unforeseen,
silver linings beckoning victories
of heaven's epics left unsung.

look up into the clouds and you'll see a history unwritten,
for they speak to you in murals
of smeared colors and pure light.

but hush! sweet child,
off you drift into an insincere sleep,
until these stories buried beneath your lips,
     singed, searing, burning away memories of the battles that
   linger ,over your tongue  ,
are no more than a shadow of a flame.

   and as his lashes flutter closed over blue eyes
   and his heavy golden curls fall on white sheets
   she whispers,
        the renaissance was not painted for you.
look up. and then higher than that.
 Oct 2018
push and pull like a tug of war dance
on dissident minds speak
in twisted tongues refuse
the cards you are dealt this is not wonderland.
you left your home to wake up to black horsemen and
sleep to a warm darkness
it's a house of cards
you live in
by tattered shreds hangs your reality torn up bits
flying because this is not paradise.
this is a door blown open this is a scream ringing
clear as night
it’s the midwife of death
bearing a basket of wilting roses and a glass of
vice it’s
deteriorating in the touch of dissipation
melting away like the fabric of a net of
lies lies snakes slithering from mouths it's an evil
nobody could have seen
birthed from the depths of your heart but
it's the truth.
hidden underneath your skin oh dear
wake! for the ground misses your kisses
and the public seems to just adore you so
arise! for your redemption rests in the hands of a
forsaken god, and he has left judgement
in the eyes of a juryless court;
for you are the king
and you must do what a king does—
the fascist anathema.
 Oct 2018
somewhere in summer, where red cherries sat in a bowl, glistening, and where her skinny lemon bicycle
and her daiquiri ice top sat discarded, aside
          —somewhere in her summer she grew up.
it was in between caressing winds and delicious sunlight,
sparkling through windows, drawing locusts on her face, his face.
     it was somewhere before summer had started, rising;
          it was somewhere after summer had ended, profound sadness.
               it was summer herself, joyous and hopeful and alive and buoyant,
it was in the middle of touches and kisses and sighs that she grew up.
italy, 1984.
first love.
Next page