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 Apr 2013 Samuel
Evynne
One question I wish to ask you
But never will
Is
How do you want to make love?
Tenderly or violently?
How could I when our lips have met only once?
The thought is like poison
What does my skin feel like on top of your skin?
I might never know
Something happened this morning
when I awoke to you lightly breathing.
It was sublime.
My chin rested on your shoulder
the skin so soft on my cheek.
I couldn’t help but kiss the sweetness.

On nights when I sleep alone
it does not matter how many blankets
wrap my restless body.
I wake cold.
Nothing is as warm as your arms.
Like that of a Texas breeze
on an August night.

I can only think to kiss
your unshaven face.  
The kisses are planted gently,
first your cheek,
then your temple,
and your forehead,
when I come to the tip of your nose
you stir slightly,
but I cannot stop.
I want it more then
the ocean waves need
the shoreline to crash upon.

Looking at your face
I smile at the odd way we met.
With a breath of *** and an intoxicated
grin we spoke.
“I don’t like you”
“Yea? Well I don’t like you first!”
Like children picking
on their first crush.
Tying to fight back the giggles.
Our childish ways still
run strong.

In your absence I sit
and watch the ticking minutes
laugh at my uneasiness.
Hours with others
are mere minutes with you.
The clocks envy
our cherished time
and tick-tock more rapidly
when we are alone.
All our time
would never be
enough.

When we get lost in each other,
the way the lonely roadrunner
looses himself as he runs
up and down
the oak covered hills,
it is love at its best.

This morning
when the soft breathes
you took woke me
and my chin rested upon
your shoulder,
something happened.
As the kisses fell
and your eyes continued to sleep;
I realized that this
is where I belong.
Drifting slowly  
into love with you.
Thank you for reading! Comments and criticism are always welcome!
 Apr 2013 Samuel
Evynne
Embrace Me
 Apr 2013 Samuel
Evynne
I heard
If you hug someone
And never let them go
They become a tiny bone
In your body
That you forget about
But could never
Live without
 Apr 2013 Samuel
brooke
Threadbare.
 Apr 2013 Samuel
brooke
Oh,
He thinks
I am made
of stone
(c) Brooke Otto
 Apr 2013 Samuel
Amber S
sweet talk
 Apr 2013 Samuel
Amber S
he says i’m beautiful, in the morning,
when my hair is a cluster **** of tangles and knots,
when my skin is indented, chaffed from his bristles,
when my legs are beginning to grow the hair that for some
reason is not supposed to ever be there,
he says i’m beautiful, in the morning,
when i groan and shy away from the prospect
of the day
he says i’m beautiful,
he says i’m beautiful every morning,
until, he says, i can wake up every morning
and believe it, too.

“tell me i’m beautiful”
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