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I missed you yesterday.
So I started folding paper planes,
But I knew they'd never reach you.
Aerodynamics         paper              really         up.
                          and            doesn't            a­dd

I switched to folding boats instead,
And they looked strong and sharp.
But they sank even
                                  faster
                   ­                         than
                                   ­                  my
                                                            he­art.
And, no one ever taught me how to sail.

Then, I tried my hand at paper cranes,
Because, I read somewhere,
"One thousand cranes are good for one true wish."
But I stopped after forty-three,
When I ran out of square paper and band-aids.

So, I folded up some stars instead,
But they weren't any good.
They didn't twinkle and they couldn't
                                                        ­          even
                                                  ­                          fall...
(and i stopped wishing on stars years ago).

I gave up on origami; I was never very good.
Paper only likes me when with pen.
Instead, I'll try to reach you
with the words I love to write --
poetry [and] promises [and] dreams
(and maybe a few apologies for loving you all wrong).
All I really wanted to say was,

"Baby, run away with me."

But I didn't think - the words alone - would move you.
© March 9th, 2011 Moriah Jean

For Bryant.
The way you lace wonderful words together
to form stellar sentences
leaves me    {{ breathless.}}
You say the most heavy words, like it's effortless
and I am moved.

They slip gracefully
                                  off
                                        your
                                                 tongue
to rest in my marrow,
decorating my brainwaves and
bringing light to all my darkest places.

They meet me in my nightmares
and
lace their fingers through mine
        like it's where they were meant to be,
              ...like they'll never leave my side again,
                       ...like a promise.

And you know I believe in you so much,
                                                                    (so much.)
But
mybed'sstillemptyeverynight.

And even though your words meet my eyes
After bouncing off satalites,
I can only thank them for traveling - so far - to
tickle my finger tips and
                                                                  ed.
                                                              rn
                                                          tu
make the corners of my mouth up

They're still only meteors burning up
                                                                before
                                                                             i.m.p.a.c.t.
(and they could never hold me)

But, my fingers will whisper a reply,
Give it a second to bounce around in space
(It may get distracted by a few stars on the way),
You'll still light up upon reading,
"I love you."

(even.badly.)
© March 11th, 2011 Moriah Jean

More of the same.
For Bryant - you make the thump-thump in my chest erratic
(ithinkilikeit).

"I believe in you so much, I could die for the words that you say."
every time time you
Tell your daughter
You yell at her
Out of love
You teach her to confuse
Anger with kindness
Which seems like a good idea
Till she grows up to
Trust men who hurt her
Cause they look so much
Like you
"Don't give up on me," she wrote
As if that decision was ever mine to make
A pickle’s tip is not enough for you.
Its going all in.
Taste is a side dish, too.

Savor the mooned lemons,
the skin’s sahara’s,
or the two parallel
ulurus.

Don’t forget your sin.

You take food off the table–
from your neighbours, too.
Your hunger could ****.

Take your worn-out maps–
old lessons of geography–
skim your finger
in between the iced caps.

Kiss the foreign,
the countries that don’t belong
to you.

Take it all, avariced ****.

***, to you,
is a selfish meal.
Whoever is empty
is hungry.

And all one can think about is food.

When a stranger offers
a loaf,

you think he is doing you a favor.

But no human deserves
to be starved at all.
"We accept the love we think we deserve."
Crossing the room in slow motion
She watches his muscles move in the moonlight
Oh how they glisten in anticipation
Sit my pet, in a whisper
At her feet he waits with bated breath
So pleased at his obedience
Proceed
Such a simple command
He inches closer
His eagerness evident in his silence
In his omission of a proper response
An outfaced palm and he stops short
Sitting back on his feet, hands in lap, eyes to the floor
I'm sorry Ma'am, he says
That is evident by his failure to respond
He knows what is coming
Grabbing the back of his hair she forces his eyes to hers
Position, she says disgustedly
She leans back in the armchair as he pulls her hips to the edge
He lifts one leg and gently places it over the arm
Then he positions the other in the same manner
Sitting back on his feet, facing the floor
His arousal is evident, as is his moist anticipation
Respire.
The word is grunted through gritted teeth
He leans into heaven
Hovering an inch away
Slow deep breaths
He breathes in her essence wanting nothing more
Than to bridge the gap with his tongue
White satin and peekaboo lace
She runs down the rules of his punishment
Will you touch the Goddess
No Ma'am
Will you drool on the Goddess
No Ma'am
Will you move without permission
No Ma'am
How long will you hold your position
As long as my Goddess sees fit...Ma'am
Good boy
His breath is slow, deliberate, and heavy
The heat of it permeates the thin fabric
She runs her hand over the object of desire
Accentuating the outlines of what lies beneath
An accidental whimper
Silence!
A gruff command
Followed implicitly
In a slow and graceful motion
A hand slips under the fabric
Opening her flower releasing a hint of nectar
The scent grows exponentially upon the unfurling of petals
A glistening finger touches him just above his lip
Is that what you want?
It's a rhetorical question
Yes please
What will you do to get it
Such a simple question with but one answer
Anything you please, Goddess
Stick out your tongue
He does so in silence, careful that he does not touch her
She uses his wet flesh to wipe her finger clean
Closer she whispers
Now, within a half inch he breathes her in deeply
Mesmerized by the dewy goodness held behind the smooth satin
Watching desire grow in painfully slow motion
He blows out on the growing dampness
As he waits for her next command
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