Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Sep 2015 Louis Brown
When the lights cut out
and the air feels thin,
your lips are pressed to mine
I can barely breathe.

The clock ticks slowly,
your scent makes me dizzy.
"No one has to know," you whisper
I only moan in agreement.

Your hands travel down my spine;
calloused, rough --
there I know that, even in the dim light,
your eyes, dark and sharp, still look up to mine.

My lips move to your jaw,
palms wet, running down your chest with cold sweat;
a nervous glance to the door:
"Don't worry, no one will come."

You pull my hair lightly;
your touch is soft, yet careless.
I treat you as if you were the finest porcelain
when, to you, am I nothing but shattered glass --

--you just keep insisting to step on.

I moan aloud;
you desperately cover my mouth.
My voice hushes, "I'm sorry",
but my flesh screams for more.

Our clothes lay thrown across the floor
and I watch them, stoic, waiting
while you leave your last marks
upon my neck.

Now it's 3 in the morning, I'm laying by your side
With a sigh, I stand up and change my mind---
quietly shutting the door,
kissing you goodnight.

It's not right; I refuse to hide
upstairs, on your shelves,
just like the books
you have never finished to read.

Walking home, all alone
I tell myself to forgive,
and forbid.

Because I would rather
gather dust on the box of our past,
than on your shelf, waiting
on our future.
[that's why i forbid this love;
forgiving us for all we've done,
forgetting the pain we've once known,
and forbidding the love that never had the chance to happen.]
I will never touch your magnificent skin

And I will never adore the scars
The scars adorning your forehead
The wounds from your childhood

I will never laugh at your goofiness
The way you fell and bruise your skin
And I will never kiss the pain away

And I will forever miss the scent
The scent of your skin after shower
Being envy of the droplets
Making their way across your collarbone

I miss the freckles
shining through the pale skin
I miss the palm lines
I used to read stories from

And there is not a day
when I don't miss every part of you.
 Sep 2015 Louis Brown
My demons are in touch with me and follow wherever I go.

My demons stalk my every  move I say they are my shadow.

They hide behind my back in direct sunlight and surround me in moonlight.

They taunt my dreams until it seems I am lost to their whim.

There is a part of me that won't give in although I've had to learn to swim in darkness.

I follow ripples of light to the surface and cherish every ounce of bliss I find.

And at all times I have to remind myself to be strong for there is a place where I still belong.
you wrote a story
of a girl and a boy
they fell in love with old books
and each other
but the pen wasn't real
and sadly,
neither were you
#boy #girl #books #pen #story
i sit across her
on the round table

i see her delicate hands
twirling on the spoon
on this ethereal summer noon
when she looks incredibly pretty
beneath the cobwebbed ceiling
amid the Doppler noise of the city
her eyes on the coffee
and mine on her.
 Aug 2015 Louis Brown
Jude kyrie
I need to write
you a love poem.
Not with
chocolates and roses.
But with firey passions
and intensity.

So intense you
Will need to sit down
as you read it.
So strong it burns
with passions you crave.
Causing your face to blush
In secret sinful thoughts.
Thoughts that slow
the time to a crawl
Before you will
share your bed
with me once more.

Words that tear
at your clothes
like an ardent lover.
Words that will
leave us as naked
as newborns.
Burning in fires
that are as
old as time itself.

You will be standing
at the edge
of a pit of flame
so dangerous we will
hold each other
in hard embrace.
So that we do not
fall into its
raging inferno.
Next page