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agatha  Dec 2021
basorexia.
agatha Dec 2021
I wish I could have kissed you
the moment I saw you
in real life for the first time;
something like
running into your arms
and letting the world
turn into static,
only focusing on you.
Only you.

But that would have been
too dramatic. Maybe
you'd get shy all of a sudden
or think I am too forward.
So I just held your hand—
warm like a heavy blanket
and evidently bigger
than mine. Enveloping my hand
in the most comfortable of ways,
like some missing puzzle piece
that was bound to be together
no matter what.

That would have appeased me
don't you think?

No. Not really.
I have nothing to say.
I still want to kiss you.
Martin Narrod  Mar 2015
Basorexia
Martin Narrod Mar 2015
I called to give you a rearrangement of irony and a bucket full of Jews, I tailor made a rebreather because the past connections were used . Indeed, just like a crossview that encouraged stars to collapse, then did a fix up for the X's and O's so every oxymoron followed with a laugh. A pail of shrubs, an ounce of yore, yesterday you were following your very own bated breath. Up until you challenged yourself to a duel, you didn't look so bad for a disastrous mess. Harms' Way could be the place in town where odds go to get even, or it could be the street where Blow-Pops aren't just made, but also handed out to toothless citizens. We the captured, please and thank you, sir and mam until our captors go, like if you imagine  The Godfather in The Graduate, describing how the Komodo dragon roasts. We haven't made it thru a single day since they've come in packs of seven, but today we'll have the chance to share some face time with the hours that we are being given.

Misty-eyed, mournful, and very sorry walked in separately from the yard. They drank cold-filtered PBR and joked about all the kids they may have fathered. Has it been four weeks or just four days, since the Ferguson, Missouri Captain resigned his post? I was always taught that for a captain to go out, he or she must go down with their boat.

In time where boredom lays around with dynamite by the loads, tomorrow remind me of the basorexia I've had since we met not long ago.
Mica Light Poetry  Jun 2014
Sex
***
It doesn't obligate a relationship.
Nor does a relationship obligate ***.
*** is an expression of a feeling for another being.
And it shall be pursued as such and nothing else.

Not as a label. A habit.
(Self-destructive or otherwise.)
Not for pity. For lack of self awareness.
Not for boredom or distraction from life.
Not for obligation or money.
Never when you don't want to.
But for when you do.

As pure expression.
For the moment you couldn't stop yourself if you tried.
Basorexia.
The desire long haunting you.
Overwhelmingly and thoughtlessly,
immersed in a kiss.
A caress.

To share an Aura with someone so unbelievably magnetic,
and picturely poetic.
Every smile, thought and fault,
Is frozen in time.
A moment catching its beauty.

***.

It's for that special person you kissed a year ago,
And you can't forget the taste of their lips.

It's for the one who's eyes,
speak louder than words and actions all together.
Finding you timelessly, again in your dance.

For the one you took for granted.
That you knew you should have held a bit longer,
But couldn't because a vampire had your heart.

It's for the one you're most nervous about.

The one that creeps into your mind and you're not sure why.

The one that makes you want to scream :: "Take Me Away!"

Regardless, whoever + whenever,  have one vow:

**<<< Do It Only If They Drive You Wild. >>>
~Save it ~4luv. <3
Rafael Alfonzo Mar 2015
Beneath the woven moonlight
And the glistening lapidary against the sapphire eve
Like ice-flakes on a dark hood
For as great as my nearsighted eyes can see

With a cigarette in the driveway
And the feathers of those clouds falling down
My breath and the smoke runs away with the zephyr
And I’m alone again in this pretty how town

Without a sound
Waiting for you to come back around
Without a glance for the ground
Waiting for you to come back

Like the farmers wait for their flax
Or the women tend to the millions of moths
That sound like rain on the roofs
Or that sound like the crackling of my cigarette burning
Breaking the silence beneath the woven cocoon
Light of the white philtrum moon

It’s her and I and the clouds falling down
And just that single solitary sound
Waiting for you to come back around
Hoping you come back soon

(c) 2015
Meredith  Oct 2013
Basorexia
Meredith Oct 2013
lips like magnets
hands like puzzle pieces
eye contact unshakable  
I lean forward
bite your bottom lip
looking for solace in your kisses,
but you pull away.
I am wrapped around you
my  bare thighs embracing your **** hips
our stomachs pressed together
yours strong against my hills and valleys
our hearts talking to one another
through synchronized heartbeats.
my elbows are perched upon your shoulders
hands tickling your hair as your nose
presses against mine
causing a ripple of shivers down my spine
at the realization of something starting.
once again you pull away
and I push my face towards yours
begging to be kissed.
you touch your lips my cheek
and then my jaw
you connect the dots from the scar under my chin
to the winged curve of my collar bone.
I lean back as you trace my neck
moving down the lines of my muscle
you kiss me across my chest
and with every peck my longing for your lips on mine
becomes stronger.
you return to your starting point
and pull away
leaving me whining and pulling at your hair
asking for that taste
that your lips allow
you sit back against the pillows and look at me
tuck my hair behind my ears
and sit up fast
pulling my face to yours again.
our lips make contacts with full force
mine mold into the long memorized shape of yours
fitting perfectly in the nooks and crannies.
almost instantaneously
our tongues shake hands
and I wrap both my arms around the back of your head
fingers lost in your tangle of hair
I kiss you harder
squeezing tighter
the space between smaller
urging our lips closer
love and passion mixing in the fiery heat between us
and I’m wishing more than anything to never stop.
on we go
with this dance our lips have memorized.
when we finally finish
our lips are chapped
tired from this exercise
I fall back onto your chest
and there I lay
exhausted but
satisfied.
Crystals are rushing the pathways of you, gleaming.
They are resting on the sound of a wave dreaming
alive all of the irresistible magnetism's that live here.

All the pieces of you that chime my bells of soul places;
You ring me true.
There's something about the complement that comes with you.

In a hot place of purity, we could become
the warmth of this desire, long numbed.
Vaporizing the cold from our flesh.

Programming dissipates within the crystal daze.
Is wrong of me to want a wiser way ?
[ Than that of the dullness of those in my range. ]
I love that I can always find you,
a few words over hanging on the same page.
I as the Princess, and you as the Sage.

I wish I could live in the daze forever.
A space where blasphemy does not reckon itself.
I wish it didn't matter whether,
your walk has been long or short, here in this passing life.
But I am blessed to have over lapped your time, so i sigh.
And wish upon another sunny time, with you.
Joe Rader  May 2013
Basorexia
Joe Rader May 2013
I'd slit my wrist
for a passionate kiss
To touch longing lips
And tongue's subtle twist

I'd bite the blade deep
'Til the blood starts to drip
First slow and then fast
like my pulse in such bliss

I'd smile as the puddle
Grows round my kicks
and vision gets muddled
Having gotten my fix.
i.
the strongest urge
to carve the word "home"
on your lips--
i have yet to discover why it pulses  within me, flaring up at every touch,
and leaving residual fingerprints on the inside of my skull.

ii.
was never really good at learning languages, but the french do know how to speak otherwise--
speaking in tongues (passionately speaking) is a pastime that looks right for our inquisitive mouths.

iii.
seal every promise not with pinky fingers, nor swears on holy bibles, or unfortunate gravestones--
no, please seal mine
with a kiss.
Obsessed with kissing.
agatha  Jan 2020
basorexia
agatha Jan 2020
pink like a soft bloom

do not come near me with those
perfect pairs

for i cannot stop thinking
how would it feel

to finally put an end to enduring, thinking,
how would yours feel
against mine

i apologize for these
reckless thoughts

i wonder how you would taste—

maybe a little like wine

or maybe the balm you put
religiously

i'm sorry, i apologize

—1:19AM
MEM Mar 2013
kisses:
meant nothing
until you;
mean nothing
without you.

basorexia:
my lonely lips
begging for attention
from someone,
anyone.

desire:
wanting
my basorexia
to be cured by
your kiss.

— The End —