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Katrina Wendt May 2012
I want to touch my fingertips
To the center of the brim of your cap
And run them along the edge
One hand in each direction
Until the stiff peak gives way to soft fabric.

I will gently slide my fingers
Under the edge of your cap
Until it lifts off your head
So that I can toss it behind you
To be forgotten about.

I will trace your jawline
While you say things
In that honeyed, gravely voice of yours
Only it's not quite gravel- not that harsh
More akin with rough sand.

Then you will smile
And your teeth will shine white against your tan skin
While your eyes crinkle and laugh
And I will fall, sinking into their pool
Of warm, caramel coffee.

You will find my hand with yours
And interlock your fingers with mine
Holding them both to your chest
Your hands are large, rough, and strong
You only hold my hand, but my body is paralyzed
Katelynn May 2018
Someday you’ll love you.
From the sparkle in your eye,
To the pitch of your laugh,
Even the color of your hair.

You will love every part,
From every wrinkle,
To every crinkle,
Every part of you.

But they will try to tear you down,
To make you frown,
To make you think you’re not worth it.

But darling you listen to me.

From the way you walk,
To the way you talk,
You will be mocked,
But don’t you listen.

From your weight,
To your height,
You are all wonderful to me.

Maybe one day you’ll see,
The beauty I see.
The way you were made,
So beautifully.

But until then,
Do not forget,
On how true beauty,
Comes from within.
I hope one day that you love you the way you deserve. You are worth it ❤
Molly  Oct 2012
Molly Oct 2012
My cat’s interest is peaked by anything resembling the
slick plastic crinkle
of the treat bag.
It’s the only time she will approach me.
Besides when I actually have the treat bag.
Then she is a tiger
prowling around the corners of the kitchen.
The depths of her eyes are eerie green pearls
with shiny granite centers
slowly meet mine
that blue ball tinkling around her neck
as she turns her gaze towards me.

She can tell that I’m high.
At the computer
my mother is checking her mail
she is hunting
Mrs. Palese, my third grade teacher
would have been displeased
because we always kept
all our fingers on the keys
I think I’m one off
Now she’d be staring at me sternly.
A stern look.
Her eyes are just pools that my memory
can not fill
but I remember her hair
and I remember the time her husband died
and we each made a casserole everyday
as if lasagna would hold her at night
and tell her she looked beautiful in the morning
before she brushed her hair
or washed her face.
I remember she gave me my first communion.
I would get another stern look for my
Lack Of Capitalization.
But I would care just as much
as I did when that wafer
hit my lips.
I’ll give you a guess.
My mother is still checking her e-mail.
It almost seems impossible that she
is concocting real words
with that slow ebb and flow of fingers.
But finally,
the sun is almost up,
she is done
See you tomorrow, sweetie
she whispers,
like she could wake anyone up
because it’s already tomorrow
and she’s getting confused.
The quick rattle of pill bottles
and she’s gone.
And maybe I
the time

there are still five hours
until dawn.
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
i crinkle and split the foil,
      most generous , of pale light
budding sickly about the charming dint
of your ivory calf. satirically the spades small, sharp, and digging
          the suns grave
blotch in twinkling scars
                                                     pleasant acne 'pon the eve's face
soft infinity:
                                   a plunging savagery

         i'm a whelp
to thy sugar so bittersweet as throat gorging lush vertebrae
your spine, i cradle haphazardly in my stupid fit of flat tissue  
in my ointment you are the grandest fly
a pestilence i gladly so lovingly

Cné Jul 2017
If you were my sheets, and at my beck and call
fulfilling all my fantasies, into you, I would fall.
You'd cradle me so gently, and massage me everywhere
releasing all my juices, and all my  stress, and cares.

In splendor we'd heat up the room, and I'd crinkle every sheet
and when we were apart, I'd rejoice, every time we meet.
Pillows would cradling my face and head, where jasmine scented rests
blending of our fluids as our bodies, orgasmically attest.

We'd fall asleep together, and spoon throughout the night
and in the morning waking, to unimaginable delights.
Your hands of silken sheets caressing, exciting every nerve
giving me all the pleasures, and climaxes, in you, I am immersed!
TF actually wrote this and I changed a few words to fit an artist statement to go with the painting that is posted as my cover. He graciously allowed my to post as a collaboration. Thank you TF.
Mercury Chap Jun 2015
All those laughters
Are not always real
All those faces in a park,
Wrinkled and weary,
Laugh in a circle,
Devoid of happiness,
No sign of a crinkle,
Eyes without light,
Devoid of life.

Their happy sadness echoes,
On the streets, in apartements,
The dismal vibes reach us
Yet they emanate the fake sentiments.

Stoop a little and evesdrop that circle,
They deceive emotions, black and purple,
All you hear is a shouting troop,
We know the truth of a laughing group.
Are the people in a laughing group really happy?
nathan  Sep 2018
nathan Sep 2018
august’s withered days swing from view.⠀⠀
flicker of a breeze caresses earth’s cheek.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
crinkle of a leaf, a wail beneath your feet.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
a wispy veil of dew covers the dried remains of a summer’s past.
treetops glistering, vibrant golden hues⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
first flicker of daybreak rising slowly.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
an infant’s feeble cry of autumn’s might.⠀⠀⠀
although november is my favorite month, september has always held a special place in me, even if it feels like it flies by so fast.
Always Ally  Jul 2014
Hazel Eyes
Always Ally Jul 2014
I fell in love with your eyes
The same ones that sparkle
Through all your years
I love how they crinkle
When you gently flutter your eyelashes
I'm completely hypnotized
I see all your feelings flash
behind those hazel eyes
Adron E Dozat Mar 2015
Crickets sing midnight songs
With melody of
The rain drops
Slide off leaves
Above and
With rhythm of
Plot plot,
Plot plot.
The gravel recites
A raspy verse
With a crinkle crunch,
Crinkle crunch
Under my step.
I think I am alone,
But for these
Soft voices singing
Sorrowful lullabies
As I walk the long path
To dawn.
To buy my book of inspirational poems at Amazon,
Savannah Varney Mar 2013
The girl with the eyes
That crinkle at the sides
That shows she hasn't lost faith in the world just yet.

Don't look at me
I'm not talking about me!
I've seen the good, the bad and the ugly.

And what it boils down to
Is that we're all just ghosts
With our own missed connections
And transparent ambitions.

But that girl with the eyes
That crinkle at the sides
She's got an oyster in a shell,
Waiting for her pearl hotel

Holding on to the idea
That she has a role to fill
But the time will pass
And she'll see that
She's just another ghost with a past.

And when the world has no more girls with the eyes
That crinkle at the sides
I'm convinced we'll all vaporize

And the air will fill with our dusty dreams

And settle to the ground in a thick, ***** film

Then, like a pillow torn at the seams

The cycle will begin again

Starting with white, fluffy hope,
Next comes the question,
Then hits the reality,
And last is the dark, dark feeling that you were wrong all along.

Because, face it...
There is no meaning to life.
Annelyra Dec 2012
On my bed
Is a shirt I bought you,
That I'll meticulously wrap
Over and over
Until I get it looking nice,
And that I will send to you before
The next time I see you,
Whenever that may be.

I chose the colour to bring out
The shades of orange in your eyes,
And I thought the fabric
Would feel soft on your skin.

As I look at it, pressed and clean
And unworn,
I can imagine it draped
around you:
The way it will cling to
Your shoulders,
How it'll sweep your waist
Loosely and crinkle a little.
The sleeves will be folded thickly
At the elbow, revealing your
Forearms and long, slim fingers.

To touch and stroke and kiss
And caress it, now, as it lies
Benign on my duvet, is
a temptation that overwhelms.
When it reaches you, embalmed
In my kisses and having been held
In my arms, it will mean a small
Part of myself can be with you,
Even though all of me can't.
If you know how this feels, please comment. This is a first for me.

— The End —