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A milky layer ascended
and your eyes became
opalescent
The fluidity found
within that blue gaze
was trapped under ice
like a mighty river
snared in December
And all I could ask myself
was "Is she alive?"

The colour rushed from your cheeks

From the red of the blood
that dripped from your septum
due to the ivory powder
you inhaled for perfection
and the blacks and the bruise
of lies and deception
to the green of greed
and yellow of attention

You grew pale
like a corpse
under a cool moon
made of melancholy
and miseries

I'll admit, though
I admired your animosity
The way you chose not to care
almost seemed passionate and planned
rather than spun together
by years of defeat

When I finally realized you weren't coming back
I began to panic

My eyes darted over the phone
and my fingers began to dizzy
I struggled to find the nine
that came before the ones

And just when I believed you were gone
when I thought we had lost any hope
you gasped

The shuddering sound you made
as you grabbed onto that last sliver of life
will haunt my nights
for weeks to come

It was all too beautiful
 Oct 2012 Korey Miller
Josh Koepp
if two butterflies lock together in the air

sharing their color in a wild embrace

their wings, their hearts, seem to fly fast

faster than before
and they will be faster forever more i am sure

               2 wings and 2 wings now four wings
four lips
two to a body
who are entangled together making one entity

living in a moment where when one half of you breathes
the other becomes breathless
the air stolen but if asked for
it would have been given upon request
       even insisted upon that one takes it
      and the other wouldn't resist

i insist, because my whole life is written nowhere
and is only spoken word of mouth
let me share my story with you and just for a second
my one story
your one history
will bloom into understanding through the courting gesture of

word of mouth
its a language all its own, written only upon shower mirrors
when we feel the most alone
with the imprint of nervous energy, before we begin realizing that
we cannot do our language justice through writing
or even story telling
we must be story experiencing
story weaving, and story dancing with our tongues in ballrooms
switching leads, and songs and dances
lit only by the warmth of the fireplace

lit by the gentle swaying of our embrace
and the taste!
it tastes like conversation
patient and understanding conversation
amid the dancing and the lights of a masquerade
where participation is not mandatory
                      because you always find your own motivation

and all of this started with a look
the one look, the one comment

"you really look beautiful tonight" your hearts don a mask, gain a rhythm, and step two steps closer
"why thank you" your heart extends a rose and is favorably taken, a hand is taken, the dance begins
"especially in this light, right here" your heart asserts a pose, and waits for the music
"no one's ever said that before" the music plays and it leans in for its partners hands
"well...." young hearts lose themselves, a slave to their own slave, as their mask falls to reveal a face

and they dance once more

just like dancing a kiss reveals everything
every sad song that brings you pain
every time youve danced in the rain to dismantle some inner child
every time you've fought the plain and the innocent
and how innocent your lips have been
where they belong

mine belong in forests, spontaneously and under street lamps
and in places i have not yet discovered could hold in a moment of such utter bliss

but my next kiss, will be there
my body lies prepared and i swear
i will not miss but if i do it only means
my wings could not fly faster with your wings
 Oct 2012 Korey Miller
Josh Koepp
Every morning i greet the sun smelling like jasmine and spice
the rays roll through my window
bend nicely and tip their hats only to figure out
that i am a man
and they switch between reaching down to kiss my hand
something they subconsciously planned
ever since that smell of sensual perfume heated up
even the hottest, and the coolest
made them too woozy to stand
they switch to an improvised hand shake
their mother told them not to judge on every
first impression that they make
but they smell my personality
my mannerisms and the way i walk and talk
WAFTED into their nostrils
like some woman dolled up before a date
with no one
to sit alone and say
"** hum"
and wait for the casual wreck of a man to walk in
to punch his time card and clock in
to commit sin upon this woman

but no

their nostrils and their eyes
seem to not agree
on what is
me

i wake up smelling like jasmine and spices
like a woman who spent all night in sin
taking pleasure from her vices
and i waft into every man and womans nostrils

and their eyes say man

their nose says woman so it seems
so they think i must be something in between

when in reality i smell like this because
i spent an entire night in love
with someone i lost the next day
and in our own way she brought her oils
for me to serve and slave her body with
and i wasn't ashamed of it

i spilt the oils all over our bodys they caressed us
and gave every motion an unstoppable velocity
every situation was slippery
and things that shouldnt have been
almost came to be

as we slept the oils clocked out
and slid down our still interlocked bodies and into the bedspread
it opened up its homestead
and buried its dead, started families and grew in number
until the population of the smell was too strong
too strong and the one i shared the smell with
was gone

but i hold that night fondly
i hold it above my head in all its glory
and when i am judged by my scent and called
gay
***
or questioned of my sexuality
i just tell them
i'm being the scent i smelled when i discovered my masculinity
when i tried gender fusion and it didn't quite work
but i covered every other base
i swear my good sir

so ill tell you one thing
i am not an inbetween because i have never joined in the sweet final base
into sweet sexuality
with the opposite *** making man and woman
into man-woman
the in between

what i really mean is i am not what you think of me
i am 100% man until i find the right woman
a beautiful sight in the sunlight
and when night falls and i cant see her at all
i can find even more things i like
to take that from me
and i will give it up gladly

i am a man
as much as any man woman
or man man is
and stereotypes are for those who dont understand
that there IS no difference.
 Oct 2012 Korey Miller
Josh Koepp
i am no master musician

          yet i hear my own catastrophe glistening at every song i chose
not to sing
because i know i have vision, i made an incision in my eye socket
and confirmed it

i envision a decision ill have to make one day
     where i have my life in one hand and my heart in the other
one promises only luxury and a metaphorical prison
               and the other is like a lesion that hurts and hurts
but every time i scratch it
i shoots Ecstasy where im burnt, into the blood in my spit

and when i spit it out it turns around and tells me that it was worth it

that life is never perfect only worth it or not worth it
there is no purpose but to make your life absurd and horrid

         so you can make it out alive, and have that ten seconds of bliss
before the next drop
and hope the next stop is the next peak
maybe next week
or the next day
or the next hour
or the next second

i beckon it, and even if it doesnt come
to some that means its worthless
but i find that perfect
gives me something to work towards and not sit and be melodramatic

                               i want to live phenomenally
i want the music in my ears
the talent in my peers
and intelligence enough to not have to talk to chirping crickets
even when my friends are in front of me
            
i think i've found that here
it's quite comfy

— The End —