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E McNamara Jun 2018
I feel like ripping wet paper
and smashing mangoes against my lips.
E McNamara Jun 2018
Your tongue must taste worse than gunpowder
Bitter and cold
Because of the words you speak
Bloodied and vengeful
Against everyone, including yourself
Hate, dark as fresh coffee
You live in a house that’s burning
Slowly to the ground
Your hostility, slicing those trying to save you.
My lips sizzle against your lonely ones
And my palms ripped, bleeding, from grabbing yours
I am the earth
That smothers your ignited hatred
we put out each others hurtful hatred
  Jun 2018 E McNamara
Lora Lee
Lick the words
from my lips
let them slide down
your throat
like fruited jewels,
   dark, hard candies
   that melt into cream
a healing liquid  
oozing into my
               ventricles,
pumping milky beats
out through
           your cells
permeating the deep
of my wild
  
My syllables will
   wrap themselves
      around your syntax
frothy hybrids
of buttered silk
                and irony
heart-to-heart
conversations that
flow into the ether,
as heaven's night
endlessly begins

We twirl our tongues
into guttural utterings,
lustful verse
that glides from
slick-fervored ice
to an outpour
                    of lava
We feed each other
dreams
our saliva like honey
dripping with dawn's
tender glow
as we open up
like baby birds,
begging to be nourished
at all costs

Here,
in this lingual forest
Your breath finds a home
on my tastebuds,
my tongue
in your
          cheek
            
In between the tumults
of our
exploding oceans
This
     is how we
  love
E McNamara Jun 2018
My lips are fresh berries
And my heart, a creamy peach.
When I speak,
My mouth drips mango juice,
Delectable and raw.
My mind is plentiful dragon fruit.
My eyes are green melon,
Bright and dewy.
My fingertips, fragile blackberries,
Tender and rich.
My lungs are tangy lemon slices.
To match my lemon soul-
Consuming crisp air.
My tongue, pleasant as pomegranate
**** and joyful.
I am alive.
Can you smell the peaches?
E McNamara Jun 2018
i wish i could fall into
those pots and vessels
and shatter like ceramics
we are pieces of pottery
E McNamara Jun 2018
I thought it was friends before passing guys
I thought it was always truth before lies
I guess you didn't value me
To the fire, you threw me
You chose my blood over me
He doesn't even love you
He told me.
What did you expect?
You both agreed it meant nothing
But to you it was everything
Now he broke you
And I can't comfort you
Now you broke me too
Friends can break your heart too
My best friend chose my brother over me. I tore us apart.
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