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 Mar 2014 Martin Illy
jane doe
If I could hold the words you spoke,
I'd keep them in my palms
and nobody would ever see those creases again.
When the heart gives in trying,
The soul withers and dies.
The nose surrenders scent,
Vision stolen from eyes.
Ears gather white noise,
The tongue only dries.
The happiness we could have,
You struggle to find.
How I wish I could pierce...
Your exquisite mind.
Why on earth would you be with me?
When you know only of living in 2D?
If you ever see me,
hugging someone,
let me remind you first:

the days, nights, hours,
minutes, and seconds
of silking waves
          dashing on shores
          of rocks, sands,
          splashing to reach
          the cottoning skies,
of our locking ears
          capturing candy melodies
          of Eden voices,
          who sound as if
          they were listening
          to what I touch,
          to what I see,
          to what I absorb,
of my soft carrying
          of such beautiful globe,
          I, your Atlas,
          You, my Gaea.

But then you choose
to desert me still,
to stay on his shores,
of overrated sands—
stones, rocks, pebbles,—
as if addicting as
their addicting brothers.

I tried, my dear,
to ride this boat,
to leave that shore,
full of echoing sands,
diamonds to your eyes,
cigarette ash to my hands.

Remember, my love,
if you ever catch me
locking my arms
with another wings
only as welcoming as a home,
for my heart overflows
with unused salt water,
and here is someone
who chooses to catch
every single droplet
of such salty sugars.
She understands,
I do hope so,
that it was not
a tie of everlasting string,
for my soft diamond rope
is still connected
to the harbor of your shores,
waiting for you
to pull it back,
the moment you will utter,
Escape, Escape, Escape.

--for A.
 Mar 2014 Martin Illy
Bogle
Yearn
 Mar 2014 Martin Illy
Bogle
My fear of hurt,
has been given to you.

My heart pounds,
when I see pictures of you.

I die,
when you're not here.

I hate to think,
of you any other way.

I'm cold,
when you're not holding me.

I'm throbbing,
when you gaze at me.

You stun me,
when you touch me.

And you **** me,
when you're in danger.
 Feb 2014 Martin Illy
Dan Bolens
A door stands before me
I have the key
I'm just missing the ****

A wall stands before me
I have the bomb
I'm just missing the fuse

An empty canvas stands before me
I have the picture
I'm just missing the paint

An ocean stands before me
I have the boat
I'm just missing the oars.

A mirror stands before me
I have the body
I'm just missing the soul
I never wanted to be the flower,
always waiting,
never knowing

I always wanted to be the pollen,
floating across lands,
always going

I guess that is the difference
between you and me

But whether flower or pollen,
we are both seed
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