Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.
As I laid in bed, you laid next to me.
Nothing more and nothing less
We were just friends.
We talked all night.
Yet you pulled me close to you while I slept.
You overthought your actions.
You hoped I would make the first move, yet i was waiting for you.
At one point I told you to go for it.
I knew you too well to know what you were thinking.
When you finally made a move.
You kissed me hard and made me forget where I was.
It felt good, made me feel okay for a while.
Made me feel like I wasn't broken.
but at least
of my own
In the 3 o'clock hour
before the rising sun
staring at my ceiling
where to begin
to the conclusion
that the world
is full of
Sailing adrift in a sea of sensation,
I rock back and forth to the rhythm of waves.
Beating, beating the breast of my vessel,
The melody ushers in happier days.
Swooning to sounds of a summertime siren,
I sell her my soul, let her sounds ****** me.
Trusting, trusting this treacherous *****,
Yet there's not a place I'd much rather be.
Joyfully feeling the peaceful vibrations,
We dance in the darkness, so blissfully blind.
Ecstasy, ecstasy, name of my mistress,
Dearest to me, and evermore mine.
I learned in science class a few years too soon that the moon doesn’t have natural light, only light reflecting from it off the sun
This means that I can’t be touched by daylight but I also have no alliance with the moon
I will swoon in my own darkness and be the guardian angel, angel of death
Reaper, creeper of the night
Until it feels alright to let the moonlight touch my skin again
So, I read this book, and all of a sudden I got consumed with how they used the word “sepulchral” to call someone an angel of death. and then I wrote this, and I had to call it Sepulchral because it took me a full day to find the word and it stood out.
Fall in love with a writer,
If you want to be granted immortality.
If a writer falls in love with you...
They will carve you in history.
Ever wondered what is the portal
to the mortal soul.
Take a shiny surface
and really for once
look deep into your own eyes.
What do you see?
I am locked with a mate into a cage,
is this fate?
are these the bars that make
music for me?
You are interwoven,
Ingrained into my very thoughts.
Trying out 10 word poems