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  Jan 2018 schuyler
Shel Silverstein
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!
schuyler Jan 2018
oh, the crimson edge of your cutting lips.
                    slicing,
                         enticing
(****).
  Jan 2018 schuyler
Rohan P
—loneliness; and watching the graphite
scratch and scatter into
moonlight, you spread through
the inky sea and swim up
through the angled crests
of understanding: while you
remember last night's stars,
i stand and stare at the
colours of our ending.
schuyler Jan 2018
he shoots a grin that glances off my face.
his is blunt, meant to bruise.

and i return the blow, making certain that
my smile is sharp, meant to cut.
just a quick postulation
schuyler Jan 2018
barefoot.

the pallid sand kneads and spills over her toes with each step. the arrhythmic waves ebb up the beach, hissing on their return to the azure ocean, just to rumble and reform, reaching higher up

on the shore, fanning out.

closer now, she is overcome with rapture, she takes a pneumatic moment to let her pores absorb and receive all that the sea has seduced her with. digging her feet into the divine sand and tasting residue of sea salt on

her lips.

after an eternity, she opens her journal, scrawling on the grained pages the ethereal sounds of the swelling, crashing, whistling that fills her ears and stimulates her marrow. indeed is the depth of her ecstasy
part two
schuyler Jan 2018
she.

rising with the sun, she rubs her eyes and peers gently at the figure beside her, breathing softly and in time with the delicate morning

waves.

her lips curl lightly at the edges from the sight of the watery morning that peaks through the blinds and paints peach-colored lines on his

back.

******* the string to her tea sachet her love steeps throughout her ribs like the flavor of bergamot throughout tea water.
shifting her gaze to the ocean, she basks in the salty aroma wafting in

from the sea.

it sends a breeze, caressing her cheeks, airily lifting her unruly waves, and dancing around her fingers.
a muted chuckle escapes from under her tongue.
misted, cerulean, and undulating, the sea beckons her presence.
she finds no resistance in her heart, so, light as the morning, she scoops up her worn journal and pen, and sets about the open beach.
this is just part one
schuyler Jan 2018
the soul's hue is
blue! oh, yes blue!
i throw myself unto you!

catch me, please.
for without you, i cease—
inspired by maggie nelson's book entitled "bluets"
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