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 Feb 2013 Andie
D Conors
she
 Feb 2013 Andie
D Conors
she
she
is what she is meant to be,
she is the sensuality
of her femininity,
she
seeks beauty in all
she sees,
her essence is complex simplicity,
she
is contradictory,
she is all
that's satisfactory,
in her days
and in her dreams,
she
is lovely,
loving me,
she
is everything,
woman,
perfectly
a precious, priceless,
part of
me
that is
she.
_
Femininity
http://beautyineverything.com/4618419981
d.
27 oct. 10
 Feb 2013 Andie
Constantine
slamming onto white keys on a piano,
enough rude chords to think the strings would snap;
From such harsh playing passionate sweat falling from eyelashes
from closed eyes. Age could be shown by hands rough corners and the
story behind every wrinkle. you could't see years past his beard, just a stern man
hunched over with fastidious fingers. Whom was not even playing music anymore but
just sound, brutal and beautiful sound.
 Feb 2013 Andie
Byron
In All Horror
 Feb 2013 Andie
Byron
Nighttime reminders and hard places
animated genius on the evening sun
dwindle down-around
and I am drifting now
approaching all horror in tears
 Feb 2013 Andie
E. E. Cummings
Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you
 Feb 2013 Andie
E. E. Cummings
my love is building a building
around you,a frail slippery
house,a strong fragile house
(beginning at the singular beginning

of your smile)a skilful uncouth
prison, a precise clumsy
prison(building thatandthis into Thus,
Around the reckless magic of your mouth)

my love is building a magic, a discrete
tower of magic and(as i guess)

when Farmer Death(whom fairies hate)shall

crumble the mouth-flower fleet
He’ll not my tower,
                        laborious, casual

where the surrounded smile
                                hangs

                                          breathless
 Feb 2013 Andie
E. E. Cummings
let’s live suddenly without thinking

under honest trees,
                        a stream
does.the brain of cleverly-crinkling
-water pursues the angry dream
of the shore. By midnight,
                                a moon
scratches the skin of the organised hills

an edged nothing begins to prune

let’s live like the light that kills
and let’s as silence,
                            because Whirl’s after all:
(after me)love,and after you.
I occasionally feel vague how
vague idon’t know tenuous Now-
spears and The Then-arrows making do
our mouths something red,something tall
 Feb 2013 Andie
E. E. Cummings
i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon
 Feb 2013 Andie
Isaiah Vincent
If I stood between two blaring horns. 
I would hear nothing. 
All the noise and worries would cancel out. 
And I would be safe in the realm of interference. 
But why should I isolate myself?
Is it in my best intrest?
Do I care?
Let me be in my destructive atmosphere. 
And let me stay oblivious.
 Feb 2013 Andie
Anna Swir
She was an evil stepmother.
In her old age she is slowly dying
in an empty hovel.

She shudders
like a clutch of burnt paper.
She does not remember that she was evil.
But she knows
that she feels cold.
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