Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Love is a poem that always hurts,
But never when you need it to.
Have we ever met before? I imagine,
It's impossible that i could have guessed
So easily, that all those subtle edges,
Were sore spots worthy of defending?
Love is a mess we make
So we must clean it up today
Your eyes tell their secrets to the water
While ducks swim on your flesh
In fleeting silhouettes, patterns of divinity
Begin to deepen their impressions
How about a moment
To stop and think and reason
Love is a vision
Whenever its played
At a certain volume
Love has no edges
Because its only a projection
Do we keep ourselves locked away
As oil prices drop indefinitely
And the stars seem farther
From our eyes than ever
How are we coping in a quarantine
Or is this tyranny really for our safety
Upon our heads a plague
Or is it a pox of reason
I love the rhythm
Of watching you breathe
Love is a machine
In need of some oil
We are spoiled and splayed out
Still there is no doubt
That whenever we really need to
We can’t seem to feel
These feelings too deeply
romantic persistence
is equipped with it's own
fail-safe exuberance
but sometimes a parachute
remains necessary whenever
the act of falling in love
happens too unexpectedly
Smile,

You're on tell-a-vision.
She said to me,
Whenever you get high
You often get real quiet
I said, that’s because i’m alive
To whatever’s happening
Here inside my mind
And it feels as if
Death is a warm blanket
And I never know
When or if, I will
Ever wake up again
Next page