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mark john junor Dec 2014
she smells like perfumed soaps and spraypaints
i want parts of her reality in unnatural ways
steely-eyed bunny wabbits couldn't be more bold
as she is traipsing round the backstreets at a quarter to three
with a dogeared copy of catcher in the rye
just wants to be heard
just wants somebody to know how it feels
she writes it all out longhand on college ruled paper
a diary of an unkempt heart
her youthful rebel head filled with strong dreams
gonna make a difference
gonna get heard
so she stuffs all her worldly possessions
into a beat up backpack
long with bus fare and snacks
gonna find us some steely eyed bunny wabbits
and wrestle bright futures and rainy days from them
gonna get our fare share
this is why she is special to me
as she chases butterfly's in army boots
as she the navigates lovely night
(reference to: "the catcher in the rye" 1951 novel by J. D. Salinger)
mark john junor Dec 2014
delicately she balances on the edge
of the crisp sheets of the motel room's bed
wearing her hoodie and jeans fashionably
not speaking except in the nervous fidget of her hands
but its her homespun beauty that is the tale to be told
truth of her breath catching when she thinks she hears him in the distance
truth of her writing his name in the dew of dawn on the windshield
with the promised hearts and rainbows forever dream

its a little past two am
in the motel next to the highway
the door is open
letting in the ever present scent of diesel
and late summer georgia night air
she sits in the pool of light on the motel room bed
looking out into the darkness next to the highway
there are no tears
no words
they have long since rushed out and washed away
now there is only the waiting
for the sound of his truck
his boots on the gravel

she sits in the pool of motel light
ignoring the fading glories of the night
ignoring the fading glories of her youth
he will come for her
and everything will be right
mark john junor Dec 2014
she is a rendering in darker inks of lighthearted subjects
the eloquently illustrated surrealistic seduction of the heart
demure yet ravishing sexualization
the ideal of beauty offering itself up like a sacrifice
at the alter of some wanton hedonistic temple to gods of lust
she looks up at me from her practiced good girl gone naughty dream
and tells me that she wants me
wants it all to be perfect
like in the paris magazines
wants it all to be crafted in perfumed perfection
near to goddess as human can be
she is rendered in darker inks
but i am captivated by the lovely
entranced by the beautiful
enraptured by the perfection
as only darker inks can be
mark john junor Dec 2014
darkness withers the heart
but for some that thrill is life itself
unseasonal to her tenderness but she is drawn to it
to her mind it was the tempest she sought
a desire too strong to deny
she derided him for his winter heart
magic he would say
liar she would cry
but she would never turn him away
never deny him his pleasures
dire and dark a man with his winter heart
bright eyed she opened herself to whatever he desired
passions flame burns quick
untill all she is and has is gone
mark john junor Dec 2014
stillness fashioned from the bleached bones of the eternal sea...
heart fashioned from the indecipherable night...

all the madness of
her young breathing heart distilled
from the rushing growing lusting living giving loving longing wanting
found in a single tear of her fondest fare thee well....

unyielding to forces of nature
his will easily overthrown
by a single touch of her honey sweet lips...
he thinks about her and surrenders...

found her on a beach of wood
washed up on an
evenings tide of chellos and champagne
her fragrant lace done up in a knot
lay in a tattered heap
thin bittersweet joy
all too fleeting
irreplaceable perfections kitty
mark john junor Nov 2014
leaving my destitute pocket
filled with her own dusty words
she is a  student of the unnatural behaviors
so its no surprise to find her on hands and knees as
she rakes the barren carpet between us
for the scrapmetal shavings of my many colored beast
as it sweats profusely in the close quarters screamfest of my mind

personally i give the carpet a once over for conversational pieces
a resplendence knight of such shining armor
i search for deeper meaning in the darkest depth of her laundry bin
cause know i could just as easy be the reviled stain
as i am the cardboard king
my broke down chevy just another hunk of detroit steel
so she and i wrestle into the night over the tea kettle cast off's

lay me down by the river
where the wild boys go
where the summer birds sing sweetly
in the thicket and in the sun
while the waters flow swift and clean
cool to the hand dipped in by traveling man
close your eyes neath shady tree on the sandy banks
let yourself slip into thinking
of the long ago
of the far away
the remembered faces come back like a tender song only the heart knows
the remembered years that fall silent like snow in the hearts darker places
these strings that bind you to your desires
are one in the same as thouse that tie you to your fate
kind or cruel
mark john junor Nov 2014
i followed you along the silent train tracks
in the dark cold rain
stepping on photographs of sunshine
watching the world wash away the graffiti of possibility
cause you promised
you pinky swore
that we are a heartbeat away from love
that we are in the way of knowin what the heart dreams
i followed you into the winters night with romance on my mind
you never told me that i would have to leave it all behind
i still believe we will find love
still believe because
you promised
you pinky swore...
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