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 Mar 2015 rachel g
Michael Czech
Pink satin covers her...compliments her womanly frame...
every curve so perfect before my eyes
sunlight shimmering through the window onto her tanned skin
oh such shapeliness that consumes the soul....ignites such desire....
pink satin lingerie conforming to her sultry frame
she sits by the window...watching me with a loving smile....
telling me to come hither without saying a word...
as I long to reveal to her all this soul hungers for....
to let my fingers touch the soft, smoothness of her skin...
feeling her shiver in sweet bliss from it....as like meet....ravenous embrace...
we speak of such fiery desires that grow....without saying a word....
oh yes my Lady....My love.....
open yourself to me and let me in...make me a part of you....
to grow so close together....nothing shall ever make us part....
she is my angel in pink satin....so ravishing her beauty is
that mere words can never truly compliment it...
how how I long to hold her so close to me
her ******* pressed against my chest
as fingertip run up and down her back
listening to her soft breath....gentle whispers of devotion...
while within that moment...we are one in spirit...
hearts entwined....and together...we complete each other so perfectly...
she is my angel in pink satin....my muse to the words I write...
my every passionate desire...and the meaning of the love in my heart.
 Mar 2015 rachel g
Edward Coles
Once I held you in my arms,
I loved you in my sleep,
above the traffic
and the circumstance,
above the slaughter of the sheep.

You made me sing at my guitar,
a grown man falling to defeat.
Now I cannot find The Answer
in the company I keep.

The game is rigged, we know it is,
in a hustler's *******,
the bank cartels
and corn-fed chicken
descend upon the weak.

I held you in my arms
on a precipice brave and steep,
above the breadlines
and the cannibals,
above the slaughter of the sheep.

You have me writing poetry
about landscapes left unseen,
you kissed the addict on the mouth
and now he's looking to get clean.

But the day is long, you know it is,
forgive me for sounding bleak,
a sucker for
those sad, sad songs,
and that chemical retreat.

I am not working on perfection
in a lifetime stretched and brief,
but I am working on a promise
that for once,
I intend to keep.

See, I've got a knack for giving up,
for feigning inner peace,
I've had my fill of oil spills
and the slaughter of the sheep.

You've felt it too, that burdened love,
the dead-end of familiar streets,
you lay down with him,
habitual ease;
lilac skin now a slab of meat.

The dignitaries come,
the friends you have to meet,
a compromise of ancient ties,
amongst the ******
and the thief.

Words are falling fast for you,
though I lack the skill to piece
all the fragments you paint for me
in this temple of disease.

The race is run, you know it is,
a pace we couldn't keep,
our lungs are full
of cigarettes,
our tongues of old deceit.

The Lie is out amongst the crowds,
but I have no time for war and peace;
I am slipping into
my lover's robe,
into your twisted sheets.

Once I held you in my arms,
I loved you in my sleep,
this wolf's disguise,
those bells that chime
at the slaughter of the sheep.
A spoken word piece. I think it works better when you read as you listen:

https://soundcloud.com/edwardcoles/the-slaughter-of-the-sheep
i am homesick

or maybe just
                      sick
laying in my bed— which really isn’t mine

wishing i was in a house

that doesn’t feel the same

wishing for a place that never wanted me in the first place

where ghostlaughter of
girlchildhood
                    floats
around my head
the fumes of nostalgia
make me sick

and i feel pathetic
because i need my mom
 Mar 2015 rachel g
Poppy Johnson
do you know the feeling when
you wake up early
at the time when the rest
of the house is sleeping
and you don't have the energy
to do anything else but
stare blankly at a wall?
that's what it feels like.
numb.
silent.
tired.
you just want to sleep again
but the stars behind your eyelids
are so beautiful
that you fear when you shut them
you'll never wake up
again.
 Mar 2015 rachel g
Jeffrey Pua
#1
 Mar 2015 rachel g
Jeffrey Pua
#1
The young butterfly—
A painting leaves the canvas—
The old chrysalis.*

© 2015 J.S.P.
 Mar 2015 rachel g
Short
You Know
 Mar 2015 rachel g
Short
You scare me shitless
You know
You know,
With your blue
With your blue, blue eyes
Small
Soft eyes
Your eyes, you know
I wanna drown in those
But you scare me shitless
You know
Because you don’t know
You know
You don’t know
Me
But I wanna drown
In you
You know
A poem 'bout a woman I met... She scare the **** outa me, but I don't think we will ever really know each other.
Tried to give it a bit of a nervous tone/listen
 Feb 2015 rachel g
bones
Pathways..
 Feb 2015 rachel g
bones
There's a forest
inside her
as thick as
the night
and no-one
to guide her
and no
guiding light
no-one
to remind her
that just
out of sight
is a path
she could make
of her own
so she waits
and she ages
like stone...
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