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Sean Bork Aug 2018
I am not
the silent one anymore.
The one that begged off from a fight
when without a doubt, I was right.
I'm not inclined to keep the peace
and simply massage the growing crease,
a demilitarized zone of hearts.

I am not
the good son anymore.
The one that tried to make you proud
to end up wearing this death shroud.
I'm not inclined to play your games
and in the end roast in your flames.
Now apathy sets me apart.

I am not
the shy one anymore.
The one content to brace up the wall,
the one you promise but never call.
I'm not inclined to believe the lie
repeatedly told since I was five.
I really can do anything.
I haven't posted for a while (sorry) but I've never stopped writing.  
Cleansing the soul is wash, rinse repeat ordeal that stains the paper with many words.
Sean Bork Apr 2017
What are you seeing with those eyes of yours,
is it someplace you'd like to be?
What keeps you here with me,
are you wishing you were free?

I can't hold you in a tight little glove,
that's not the way I'm meant to love.
Fly fly away my sweet little dove,
and find a new way home.

My teeth are showing and my hearts still yours.
No idea where we are going
my deepest fears are growing,
the trick is always in the knowing.

Tell me the truth, tell me honestly
if we are both lost in this journey
bathing is that opaque type of worry
as the road gets a little more blurry.

You once said I was your forever
yet we stand at the edge of surrender,
a black stain marked "return to sender"
and find a new way home.

Sean Bork
copyright 2017
Sean Bork Aug 2016
Here I go again
abducted and seduced.
Her breath blows
and I don't need an excuse,
my anytime lover.

Jot senses with a pen
cliche and overused.
Only she knows
how her glance sets me loose
to hover above her.

Pink cotton candy hair
blowing in the wind.
Caressing my face,
I give myself to you.
No matter what I do
I just can't resist you
so I kiss you.

Im not the best of men,
fractured and abused.
But an ember glows,
this heart is not a recluse
for my anytime lover.
Copyright 2016
Sean Bork

Written as a sort of followup to El Mar.  Written while alone on a stretch of beach in Puerto Penasco with an old borrowed guitar.
The ocean always cleanses and clarifies things for me.
Sean Bork Jul 2016
Beautiful sounds echo
god how they echo
between your sun and moon.
A passionate sigh
a soft goodbye
a kiss left on your sky
like a sweet goodnight

I wish I could walk
amongst your suenos dulce
so I could paint your skies
and lay among your valleys
a tree planted deep
a promise for you to keep.

I chase your kiss
a hide and seek kiss
between your soul and mine
a sweet respite
cherry chapstick delight
with a warm invite,
a fire we ignite.
Sean Bork
copyright 2016
Sean Bork Jul 2016
Touching you
feeling my fingers flow
over every part,
back and forth.
I search to know you
like ocean across sand.

I come your way
but I can't stay,
a silent party guest.
We will swim and play
and go our separate ways
like the tides of
Puerto Penasco

Stretch out
to me like the shadows
that beacon longer nights.
Stars fill the spaces
left untouched
by our skin.

Begin another day
memories never go away.
Pictures pasted on pages,
footprints in the sand.
These things will be painted over
by the tides of
Puerto Penasco.
Sean Bork
copyright 2016
Sean Bork Jul 2016
**** my mind is spinning
fading slow to black
just like the ice that is thinning
I'm seeing all the lack.

You said it was forever
and that you'd never leave me bare.
Funny how short your memory is,
as you took that which gave me air.

I sit alone in wide open spaces,
feeling the sting of your radiant distain,
losing the memory of their faces.
Why, only you can explain.

One promise I made
two reasons I prayed.
One life given in trade
two loves lay betrayed.
Sean Bork
copyright 2016
Sean Bork Jun 2016
This lonely feeling
chokes me deep.
A waterboarding of sorts,
breathing in the shards
of a slowly breaking heart.

You waived a slow goodbye
from a rearview mirror.
No tear and no sigh
but why am I surprised.
I'm just another guy,
a band-aid diversion
you didn't have to buy.

My arms feel like
broken tree limbs.
Stripped of fruit
by hateful frenzied hands
and left for winters
cold dead kiss.
Sean Bork
copyright 2016
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