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i often wonder
if you still feel my kisses
burning your skin
terrified of the moment
where you no longer
remember how i taste
sweeter than honey
dripping down your fingertips.
i would do anything
to have your lips stutter my name
let your words grasp my hand
watch your eyes search for mine.

to wait for you is impossible yet divine
when we exist in places
so far from where we are destined.

we are parallel lines

i would do anything
for us to be a painting instead
i'd color you in hues of unrequited love
and put us on a frame
i'll give it to you and say

'keep it. keep us. keep me'

'why'

'because we are so much more than just parallel lines'
finally found the inspiration to write again. i believe sorrow brings out the poet in everyone.
moonshine
     is for people
less    
than you
but the moon,
is for people

    worlds greater.
i feel odd today
 Feb 2018 Friedrich Morgenstern
z
when people are in love
they often say
they simply fell
tripped over their own two feet
face forward
and into the arms of their beloved

i did more than simply fall
onto the ground of your love

you, for me
were an ocean
and i dived
headfirst
roughly
harshly
almost painfully
into the waters of “you”

i knew i could not swim
but i did so anyway
i was drowning
entangled in you
surrounded by this being of “you”
engulfed in this feeling of “you”

and i did not know what came over me
but i let myself drown
i did not try to swim back up
because if i went back to land,
releasing myself from your grasp
that would mean losing the feeling of “you”

and after
submerging into the depth
the love
the passion
of “you”

how could i ever leave?
I
I stand
Like a pillar
between
A star and a
moon

Not revolving
I'm
perfectly
still

I'm no longer
crawling
For I am a
mountain

Standing
to kiss the clouds
while planted
into the nurturing
Earth
351

I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there—
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler—

I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner’s name—
For doubt, that I should know the Sound—

I judged my features—jarred my hair—
I pushed my dimples by, and waited—
If they—twinkled back—
Conviction might, of me—

I told myself, “Take Courage, Friend—
That—was a former time—
But we might learn to like the Heaven,
As well as our Old Home!”
is there any such thing
as too much ink
too many pens
more paper
than the human heart can fill?

the heart does nothing
but pump the blood that is necessary
to fill my fingers
to move
to scrawl too much ink
with too many pens
on more paper
than such a treacherous ***** deserves.

but the heart will get its ink
if it has to bleed dry in order to fill
the pens that it thinks it should have
to defile more paper
than any forest should have to give.

the heart will have what it wants
forests
nibs
and veins
be ******
Any critique is welcome, however harsh.
In all your lovers
There is not one like me
For as many as you take
There will never be

Adieu.
If I killed you
Would you prefer
A knife
Or gun?

It wouldn't matter
They'd both produce
Gushing blood
Red blood
The dark liquid that is inside you

You'd bleed
Cry tears
From the wound
That I made
I'd probably look back
And cry for you

But that's just my job
To ****
And to make others bleed
I want to destroy.
I want to burn,
to break,
to bleed;
I want to feel the sting
of shattered glass
tearing through the tough skin
of my heels.
To see red.
To ache.
I want to breathe smoke.
I want to fill the emptiness with hollow things
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