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nat-lipstadtPoems
the clock nears three AM, and the "five minutes to" alert pops up, long overdue, uh oh, a task in need of completion, a guilty conscience, a simple love poem needs to be written! more than most, perhaps, best, can't be sure, but more than most is holy satisfying for me more than most, a standard met, perhaps understated yet, highly realistic for is real not the edge that love needs to transcend long beyond, far after, initial heated intimations, the noisy, now ancient, initiations real, that place where fantasy connects skin and hair, bare shoulders, that more than most, I kiss with simple pleasure, best described as, sustained, sustainable, better than better real, is that not totally, more than most? I love you more than most, for to claim, more than anyone, who can tell? so now you sleep, your blonde tresses messes my damp pillow, and i am satisfied, content to claim, that to love you more, more than most, is ample, profound, real, and by that, indeed, for that alone, is excellence unsurpassed, a measurable measure, that satisfies my task well now can rightfully deactivate that alert, that "to do," done, unto and until some sleepless night, when again, it self-actualizes, self-activates while smiling down upon you, more than most, certain, almost positive, but never sure, come morn, that you will love, this poem, more than most...
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Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
more than most (a simple love poem)
the clock nears three AM, and the "five minutes to" alert pops up, long overdue, uh oh, a task in need of completion, a guilty conscience, a simple love poem needs to be written! more than most, perhaps, best, can't be sure, but more than most is holy satisfying for me more than most, a standard met, perhaps understated yet, highly realistic for is real not the edge that love needs to transcend long beyond, far after, initial heated intimations, the noisy, now ancient, initiations real, that place where fantasy connects skin and hair, bare shoulders, that more than most, I kiss with simple pleasure, best described as, sustained, sustainable, better than better real, is that not totally, more than most? I love you more than most, for to claim, more than anyone, who can tell? so now you sleep, your blonde tresses messes my damp pillow, and i am satisfied, content to claim, that to love you more, more than most, is ample, profound, real, and by that, indeed, for that alone, is excellence unsurpassed, a measurable measure, that satisfies my task well now can rightfully deactivate that alert, that "to do," done, unto and until some sleepless night, when again, it self-actualizes, self-activates while smiling down upon you, more than most, certain, almost positive, but never sure, come morn, that you will love, this poem, more than most...
2:55 AM Saturday
nat-lipstadt
Written by
nat-lipstadt
99/M/NYC/Lippstadt/Kraków
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
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