Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Liz Anne Oct 2015
You grow a mustache
I'll buy a car
We'll go cruising on Sunday afternoons
My fingers in your hair
Yours quietly crawling up my skirt

We can tell the neighbors there's a baby on the way
But you'll say **** it all and get another tattoo
My love inked across your arm
And I'll sit amid the garden pansies
Dirt between my toes and your laughter in my ears

When Christmas comes we'll hang lights
Every color I can find
Strung from every roof tile you can reach
We'll be the best on the block
Even when the neighbors complain in February

I'll wear a blue dress
You'll take me out, best restaurant in town
An anniversary in suburbia
But we'll come home with bottles of ***
Wake up on our own neatly mowed lawn

You won't wash the car
I don't want to take any kids to school
We'll get mad, get even, make up
And do it all over again
Make them all wonder where all this began

You and I could change our minds
Go back to the start of it all
Find ourselves with barely ******* entwined
When it was still enough just to go
For a five minute drive
Your hand in mine.
Liz Anne Jul 2015
& somehow you weigh on me again
as i expect you always might.
once you were soft clay in my hands
then a hardened plaster when i could not
                                                             ­            breathe
but time has dried you out
and i remember a kiss
                                         but not your lips
i remember the lightness behind my smile
but not you
                      as you were, are
& somehow you weigh on my skin
dried like dust and blowing
wh­ile I stand, warm in this summer wind.
Liz Anne Mar 2015
Independent of my thoughts
I have every inclination
to find a setting
sun whose
is only split
by the violent
edge of a mutable
and moving horizon line.
Liz Anne Oct 2014
I was but a child
desperately trying
to teach a child
to be a child.
Liz Anne Oct 2014
White light like ice without the cold
sun going down, down
on uncanny land
mine is not kin
but I remember lavender through glass
snow I let burn a slow
slow burn
frozen flowers I thought would last
and fear like slow
blooming frostbite
born in my belly
bred in white, white
falling now
as it was
and I was
Liz Anne Sep 2014
She didn't know when Mary Poppins flew in
She didn't know the world was falling down
didn't know the roof was caving in
and the walls leaked
and the floor creaked
the first stair was gone

She didn't know Mary Poppins was hers
She didn't know Mary was her mother's
didn't know Mary was her grandmother's
and she didn't know Mary
and Mary is hers
Mary is mine too

She didn't know Mary Poppins meant the end
She didn't know Mary meant one less
didn't know Mary wasn't real
and Mary couldn't fix all this
and Mary would go away
mothers could too
Liz Anne Aug 2014
the sound of the wind through palm leaves
I miss shooting the breeze
and you're the only one who fits
with all the jagged bits of my everything
California sunsets are the kind that encompass me
I don't mind the sort of beauty that's seen
I'm going where the sun touches everything
but I'd rather be here where beauty seeps in
where I can imagine more than sunlight on my skin
I've got a window seat and a broken window screen
and I can hear the leaves even when the window's closed
Next page