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 Jul 2015 Day Wing
N Paul
Introduction
There they stood; keeping silent company.
Yet of His face, wept searing electricity.

To the lovers of life*
Here they stand, keeping silent company.
No utterance dealt; yet clear in both their minds
A single, brilliant truth:

He longs for her with a savage delight.
And it cries from every fibre, exalting!
It is in the bearing of his eye;
Rifling through her tender flesh
In search of what he knows, from voices ages old, is there:
That her heart will beat for no other as it beats for him right now;
That in this moment, their Souls are bared
To each other’s glares- naked, and blemished, and cowering-
Yet his eyes remain fixed and sure:

And for this, she loves him.

For they have seen each other for the First of Times,
Truly! And as with many the Ancient Laws unfurled,
They stand aware, in lack of ever being taught,
Aware with every atom, every straining tendon tight
That their time's so very short.

And so they drink… wordless
To each other, to their youth, and to their bodies
Shining like never before in the noonday air
Garbed in cloth that snaps and furls around their waists.

They imbibe with electric eyes,
Eyes that are new born to this world of light
And come out screaming, living, and sensitive
For lack of ever being touched.
They revel in their new-found joy;
Pouring from Her figure,
Of Her sleek, supple waist and the arch of her back,
Bristling with delight,
Of His strong hands and easy smile,
That spoke of laughter scattered
Across countless campfires of summers past.

Their light does burn intense as any fire,
And when their brimming anticipation
Overspills its crimson chalice
The silence shall SHATTER.
To find peace again in each other's arms.
Fumbling in sweet darkness-

Of heavy lids, of earthy flesh,
With lips embraced...

In ravenous finality.
I don't know much but what I do know
Is that I need to get out of this town.
Too many bad memories are causing me to drown.
And I never want to come back
But I don't know how well I can handle the goodbye's
But I need to escape
The fire in their eyes.
Love is the drug we take
Turning our lives into a disaster
Addictions are uncontrollable
They never make you happy
Forever
They never stay the same
Forever
Suffer the consequences
Of choices you make
Of mistakes you make
 Jul 2015 Day Wing
Nicole Dawn
Why?
 Jul 2015 Day Wing
Nicole Dawn
Why is it
That the biggest hearts
Are emptied the fastest?

And the brightest souls
Are blackened
The quickest?
 Jun 2015 Day Wing
Jade S
Love is defined as a feeling of warm personal attachment or affection.
Personally, that definition pales in comparison to how I feel when I look into those capturing circles of chocolate.
How I feel when I look at that beautiful smile that sets my heart, mind, and body ablaze.
No, because I feel...
I feel a range of emotions from this interpersonal connection to this deep entanglement.
These feelings race through my heart, out both ventricles, through my arteries to deposit this tingling sensation
throughout my body like a thousand fiery red ants scrambling up and down my interior.
Is that how love feels?
Is that simply just a feeling of personal attachment?

Emotions flood my body and even deep beneath my rib cage, past those guarded brick walls..
These emotions intensify and I begin to feel this 'love' again.
That's the art of love.
Knowing that one day flowers can begin to grow in the darkest parts of you,
knowing that rare ripples exist in this world that have the ability to create waves of radiance amidst gloomy waters.
knowing that through the vehement sour thoughts of another being wrapped around you, I can still feel an interpersonal connection.

You are the one thing that means absolutely anything,
everything.
I will run my fingers over every part of you, searching for the slightest crack and pour my love into each crevice of your shattered heart.
I will love you recklessly (again),
again, I'll risk loving you wholeheartedly.
Is that the art of love?
The beauty of infatuation?

The allure of love is the desire to keep the memories tattooed to our brains,
the desire to stitch ourselves together, even faster than we're tearing apart.
It's not just a feeling of mere warmth.
The art of love is knowing that when he leaves, the flowers will be plucked as well; knowing that this can happen and still refusing to let that stop you
from pouring love into all disparate crevices despite the possibility of having a barren garden next week.
It is choosing to knit us together when we appear to be crumbling at each seam.
The beauty within love is the ability to incessantly feel even when it becomes too much.
The art of love is the ability to love when even living becomes a difficulty.

-jjss-
it's over now, but this is how I felt, how I feel about real love.
 Jun 2015 Day Wing
Pluck
Faith. Hope. Life. Joy. Simple.
All of the things that claim in the Lord's temple.
Rather than excitement, I'm consumed by speculation as I walk through these church doors.
Maybe big time temples get away from the main point, from what's right? Strange that the most famous person here is not the Lord.
 Jun 2015 Day Wing
Elise Davis
Shucked oysters on the table,
horseradish and shells left on the plate,
empty glasses of beer,

He looks at me and smiles,
Under the bar lights I notice
His black wavy hair has thinned a little in the part,

Oddly it filled me with love for him,
I imagined him as an old man,
Gray hair... maybe none,
Lanky as always but moving slower,
His bad back bugging him more than ever,
His skin rough from too many sunburns,
Still telling strange jokes…

Only by then they will truly be dad jokes...
Grandad jokes...

When I look at him
I can see a lifetime.
 Jun 2015 Day Wing
Chelsea Morris
Calls left too late,
his empty words on a blank slate.

Six syllables,
marked in a question.

No ***** given.
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