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lua Jun 2020
she's glowing green with envy
but her cheeks stain red
as the light dances on marigold hair
and along the branched off lines of blue veins
under white porcelain flesh
she's raw beneath and pink all over
but violets bloom on untouched skin
and across this whirlwind, this hurricane
of a multicoloured mess.
  Jun 2020 lua
Carlo C Gomez
I. The Boy With The Cuckoo Clock Heart

Born with a frozen heart,
abandoned in
Edinburgh.

One kind physician
laid her hands upon him,
in a bit of medicinal salvation,
by placing a cuckoo clock
inside his chest.

Now an orphan,
among peculiar friends:
tear-filled flasks,
eggs containing memories,
and a man with a musical spine.

There's but one catch
for this boy:
his heart is fragile,
he must never, ever
fall in love.

Existence is undoubted.
But without this one emotion,
can he really live?

Love is a bitter token.


II. The Girl With Glass Feet

"It was a humid night,
later to become a hated night."

Upon an island sound,
feet first, she is slowing turning
into glass.

By sheer happenstance,
she meets a shy boy
who lives there
with an extreme fear
of being touched.

As she slowly disappears,
she untethers herself
from self-pity,
by teaching the boy the value
of interaction.

Inchmeal, he begins to reach out
and feels everything
she has lost to the night.

Love is a bitter token.


III. The Snow Child

"November was here."

A married couple,
in Alaskan remote,
suffering from one great sadness:
no child of their own
and unable to talk of it.

He's buried by
the weight of the outer ice,
she's crumbling
from inner despair.

And so on a rare
friendly day trek,
they built a child out of snow,
outfitted with mittens and scarf.

A day later it is gone,
remembered only in absentia,
yet there appears
a beautifully arrayed
creature of winter,
a little, lissome girl in the woods,
hunting with the red fox.

In wishing to understand
these encounters,
the couple come to love the child
as their very own daughter.

Yet will she ever accept them
as they do her?

Or see them
merely as snowdrops?

Figurines frosted over by
the harsh landscape
they each wander?

Love is a bitter token.
BLT's continued challenge - to write a poem using the Merriam-Webster word of the day, lissome. It's in there somewhere.
lua Jun 2020
you
twilight kisses after the afternoon rain
raindrops dripping off of blushing fingertips
as bright red blood rushes through your veins
and under the skin of your soft lips

as you pull me close
held so tight and held so warm
the brush of nose against nose
i see the sparkle of your charm

eyes wide, forever surprised
forever amazed and stupefied
our fingers graze against each other
they intertwine, merged together

yet each rose grows thorns
and if unplucked, draws blood
if i had only seen your face of scorn
then i should've thrown away the unbloomed buds.
lua Jun 2020
he tilted his head up towards the sky
to breathe out a laugh
as my heart stung
and twinged
in my chest
and my ears rung
with the chocolate
velvety tone of his voice
but as sweet as it sound
a bitter aftertaste lingers
for a
rather
long time.
lua Jun 2020
i write my words laced with love
but i have never even tasted it
and never have ever felt its flavour
glide against my tongue
and on the surface of my lips
never once held such in my hands
or even felt it graze upon my fingertips
but there are few instances
in which i thought it was love
as sweet and raw as it was
but it was no more than the sliminess of infatuation
and the bitter coldness of a crush.
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