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ummily Feb 2017
if it wasn't your soul...
or the flawless symmetry of your face,
or even that stainless yet smokey smile
then it was the statue that they built of you
in the city
and how even the birds knew your name.

between laughter-like sounds,
i can still hear them calling you.
you made your mark.
not on my heart
but                                                        ­                               on the other

side

                                            in an unexpected space

on my rib cage
a tiny "xo"
marks my skin forever


in black ink.
ummily Sep 2016
Secrets can be silent.
But most often they are whispered
Surrounded by cup shaped palms
Transported from trembling mouth
To eager ears

Sometimes they are muttered
Throughout staggering sleep
Unbeknownst to the speaker,
Sounded out by partly incoherent coos
And deciphered by insomniacs

Sometimes they are slurred
by drunken tongues and spilled
Like a pint across the bar.
The glass shatters on the floor.
Left dangerously displayed
Until swept up and forgotten in the morning

Sometimes they are written
Soberly on a stark page
The ink courses through your veins
The pen carves the way


And you’re here.
ummily Jul 2016
There is always truth in deceit.

A truth that could be realized no other way.
A truth that tried

time
and
time
again to rear its head

Truth lies  (tries)

in deceit.

TRUTH LIES IN DECEIT.
Don’t you get it?

Look to your deceits and find


your *Truth.
Ranting & Raving
ummily Jul 2016
As he slept beside me,
Sharing a bed that was not ours
I traced my fingers across his frame
Gently brushing the skin covering the bones
That held him together
So I could remember
How we used to lay
That way.
  Apr 2016 ummily
Petal
We are none truly alone,
I've written of this before
I shall write of our souls
And the invisible chains, once more

We are all connected,
By these universal chains
From the beggar on the corner,
To the broker squandering gains

We are seven billion shades,
Different shades of the same hue
From me here in my mountains,
Across the earth to you

Whether you're a dancer,
Stepping to a tune
Or a night fisherman,
Gathering food, under the moon

These universal chains,
They bind us each together
That's what the universe wanted,
And so it is forever

Each time you defame,
Your fellow human across the way
You're defaming part of yourself,
So be careful what you say

This is how its been since the beginning
This is how it is until the end
Be kind to each other,
Remember we're all akin
Oh wow! Thank you my fellow poets. Thank you for reading and liking my words.<3
ummily Apr 2016
We didn’t make a move for at least
fifteen minutes
an hour
a lifetime.
Except for the blood in our veins.
The blood in our veins moved fiercely
throughout our bodies
Like each heartbeat could be the last beat.
Like we could die in our sleep tonight
If we could only sleep tonight.

Our hearts thumping
Our bodies throbbing
Waves and waves of magnetic energy
Surging through us
Into the springs of the mattress
beneath us.
Deep into the wells of our longing
Connecting me to her.
Me beneath her

Our breathing slowed
Then deepened.
She made the first leap.
A leap?
An inch
A micro-movement.

Suddenly
She twisted
in such a way that her hand gently landed
next to mine.
Finally,
Her skin on mine.

I can see the colours now
Of the electricity rushing through our bodies
Swelling
And filling the room.
The mattress could have lifted off the cool ground that night
And taken flight
Soaring through the roof
Erupting through the ozone layer
And flooding the night sky.
ummily Apr 2016
La Ratita Presumida
“... y sentia muy feliz. Pero al terminar, el gato se lanzo sobre ella para comer se la. La Ratita lorgo escaper y aprendio a no fiarse de la aparencias”

Generally speaking, the most romantic matters take place beneath the moonlight. It shone down on the city of Barcelona that night with a certain intention, a mysterious plan. She went out for a cigarette, or a “thought” as she liked to think of it, her soul already marinating in a bottle of cheap, red wine.  She let the moonlight pour its possibilities upon her skin as she exhaled into the night.

It was this recipe:
¾ bottle of red wine,
1 pack of Marlboro Lights,
a pinch of red lipstick and
a dash of moony-mist  

on the dimly lit terrace that started it all.

Just then, a tall, blondish, smart looking guy walked into the room. She felt as though she could see the weight of his brain sitting in his head. Almost visible were the synapses firing within.

He spoke so smoothly, in a comforting, southern accent.
His words cast visions of sunsets,
surrounding her
in an unfamiliar, yet soothing
warmth.
She drew closer.
His southern spark lit her cigarette and
with that flick of the match,
an immediate magic ignited between them.

They spoke of Matthew Macconaughy, death and anxiety... death by anxiety, art and music and love and ****.

lovelustlovelustlovelustlostlove

“Just come with me,” he said,  “I’m not expecting anything... we’ll get brunch!” , he said. Ooooooh that’s a mighty word there, “BRUNCH”.

“Brunch”,
A word capable of bringing this girl,
to her knees
~the birds and the bees~
she left with him.
                                                              ..­.

“You had me at ‘brunch’.”
They took a cab to his shoebox-sized flat in Gracia, “the best neighbourhood of Barcelona by far”. They linked lips, caressed, clutched each other’s flesh and faded into one as the sun began to rise.
                                                           ­   ...
The sun came beating through the dungeon –like windows of the shoebox-shaped room. The laundry hanging outside-as it must in this city- cast shadows across their ***** skin. It appeared to be dancing quite joyfully, despite the intensely hung-over state of the two strangers that lay entangled amongst the sheets.
As promised, BRUNCH ensued.  They chatted, and laughed and flirted. They shared secrets that no one else knew.

“I like your brain”, he said.
                                                               ...
In the weeks to come they spent every waking moment of each weekend in each other’s company. The rest of the time was spent as the charismatic protagonist in the day dreams of the other one’s mind.  

Hospital General, Sant Cugat Del Valles, Valldoreix, La Floresta, Las Planes, Baixador de Vallvidrera, Peu del Funicular, Reina Elisenda, Sarria, Les Tres Torres,  La Bonanova, Muntaner, Sant Gervasi, Gracia, Provenca,  Passeig de Gracia, Placa Catalunya.

The Trains chugged on
And on
And just remember it’s hard to stop a train...

Gracia -the best neighbourhood in Barcelona- sang like a bird in her ear and a sore thumb pressing its weight into her aching heart.  

Take me Spanish Caravan, yes I know you can...
...I know where treasure is waiting for me
Silver and gold in the mountains in Spain
I have to see you again and again.

Take me Spanish Caravan, yes I know you can.

                                                           ­        ...
That dreaded, dreary morning, the rain beat down. The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane -Or all over, really.

She helped him stuff his damp laundry
into his star-spangled suitcase,
himself into her...




He came,
she left, and so did he.




*I'd like to see you again
and again.
a short story.

a ghost story.
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