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Phoebe Hynes Dec 2018
I don’t change my sheets for days
after you visit.
My squished hands guide a lazy version of my body to
the bed that invites me to crawl on top of your dry sweat.
My torso sprawls into the dream of ******* transpired.
I like the nest that we created, lounging
against a mattress I pushed in the corner.
Tee shirts slouched into the crevices against the wall,
And my five pillows circling
our old tangled limbs.
;
**** is a shield,
A disguise of telling your eyes where to look.
Eyelashes against eyelashes.
Your iris seized a blanket
And buried a dilated pupil underneath.
This is the facade of being *****.
You’re still wearing skin.
A mattress will not preserve sensuality,
But my quilt will hold my body together
Until I find the pants I threw across the carpet.
Phoebe Hynes Jun 2018
I am feeling the patterns in your skin
when I take the lines of my palm,
And smush them in yours,
while holding the patterns of your lips in my kiss.
Phoebe Hynes Nov 2017
I’m laughing with you.
We sit at my piano
Video media records,
and I have the pleasure of watching us toss our heads back
Breaking neck smiles.
Play back our giggles
Mismatched notes
We don’t search our own accord,
Clash of chords
corded around each key.
Sitting on that bench is wearing socks of different pairs.


I am a fuzzy mid-calf, and you are an argyle knee high.
Socked in laughter.
Phoebe Hynes Jun 2017
wet
I am humbled by the rain
The way it mingles and manages
With every tree
And pocket between leaves.

I am honored
To be collected and covered
With each available drop
As I make my way outside.

I am humbled.
I am honored.

I am wet.
Phoebe Hynes Jun 2017
The weather has been cloudy,
And I have felt cloudy.
I’ve been clouded,
By thoughts of clouds.

The weather has been rainy,
And I’ve felt rainy.
I’ve been rained on,
By thoughts of rain.

The weather has been kissing me
And it has kissed me like you did.
I’m not fond of these clouds,
that much,
just for the way the feel on my mouth; mushy.

But the way they rain on my heart,
Is almost identical.
Phoebe Hynes Jan 2017
ID
she
he
you
me
they
them

who am i?

Questions
I
Ask
Myself
When
I’m
Unsure

Who I am.

Binary
Binds
Me.
I
Am  
Bound
To
be
Girl.

I am not.
Phoebe Hynes Jan 2017
Suburbia,
Peeking,
and peaking,
through clouds,
A perfect approach,
to uncivilized,
civilization.

A fixed grid,
With squinty lights,
more apparent,
escorted by
a squished eyeful.

Oh,
The American Dream.
Block after block,
continues to block,
my thoughts,
the writer in my heart.

Cars,
are,
less efficient ants.
The American puppets.

I'm only a **** playing the sky.
Seeking,
secrets,
from whatever brought me,
above the clouds,
before.
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