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I have kissed boys

Girls

People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know
Nothing about a bird's life
seems difficult,

after escaping the egg. All birds ever called to fly,
first survive the egg.

After surviving the egg,
each bird seems

eminently able -- wait,

learning to fly,
that seems difficult

no, that, too, is automatic, an algorithm in some avian system
of cellular facility formation
while
maturation of flight feathers takes time,
not know how.

Wait, and see if

reasoning in birdbrains may be mono pole,
one aim, one direction

like by monopole
electrons driven, an action reaction loop, find good...

good? no, good? no, good, yes,eat this and
grow a few feathers,
without thinking, what are feathers for,
where no feathers were.

Birdbrains do not reason why. The baby watches
momma fly.

Unless, men have changed the program, tamed our wild ways,
fed us corn in quantities we never could imagine,

ours is but to be useful, my Raven mentor caws,
laughing like he knows I have no clue.

-- in the air a query, are chickens still birds?
If good is good enough, it is good enough to provoke a good work. Do birds think flying work?
At 1100 hours the guns went silent,
but for many men (and their families)
the Great War would carry on.

They had come to face a sneaky guest
that dug into them by surprise,
scraping skin and flesh and bone.

Shrapnel took their faces away,
digging ***** holes into their ears, eyes,
noses, cheeks, jaws, lips and teeth.

It took a pioneer of plastic surgery
to ****** it all back for them, not just the flesh
or just the bone but face, true face, their face.

Their faces finally looked back at them.
Now they found new friends, they stepped
through the mirror between two worlds.
On September 10th 1960 Sir Harold Gillies died. During WWI he invented plastic surgery as we basically know it, thus offering severely mutilated men a second life.
In your mind
There’s a place
You often drift away to

No eyes peering at you
Oblivious to the crowd
Aware unabated

The din outside
Puts a rest to the one inside
The music silent, faint

The rhythmic beats
The pulse felt, makes sense
The heart awake
Sometimes
It’s the quiet, of the calm
That quietly exists
With the rage, of the storm
Non displaces other

Forever
As, the dark of the night
Never replaces
The bright shining sun
Eternally, they live
She was the poem
I couldn't read.
Blurred lines of
Love dipped in
Sauce  of perplexing beauty
mixed
With commas and stops.

Confusing
emotions, displayed
In iambs and rhymes
Of this and that,
My heart  sighs,
turns the page.
She was the poem I couldn't read.
Dedicated to all unrequited lovers
Waves of love
Splashing
Tides  of smiles
With strokes
Of laughter
Echoes in every corner.
  If
you could
Say cheese
I'd knock on your heart
With a flower
Waiting for your picture
Leaving a note
Saying
"Darling you're mine".
Based on kidis say cheese
I heard about the sloop John B.
When I was fourteen.
I had learned to sail in a storm
And the story gave me daring,
Although I had lost control,
Tightening the sail
Instead of letting it out
In a sudden gale.
And just in time, a boat passed
With a man who shouted,
“Loosen the main sheet!”
As the boat heeled to starboard,
And I nearly capsized.
But discovered a fair wind
And the ease of a beam reach.
So my first time was the worst,
And best…
But adrenaline fueled desire,
To do this again and again!
This is a fond memory, which really happened, but I like to apply it to life, except when I'm feeling adventurous!
She hugs the life out of me,
Not in that second of passion
Before the moment of death
When an animal is chased
And grasped in lioness embrace.

She kisses the life out of me,
Not with mid-day sun lips
Which smoulder dangerously
Like a dampened forest fire
Lying in wait for that first shallow breath.

She loves the life out of me
Not with the garment of childlike innocence
Lasciviously cast aside by a woman in earnest.

And with all the emotion of someone
Glancing up at the station clock
Then turning a magazine page
On a deserted railway platform,
She scares the life out of me
When she says quite simply,
It is time for me to go.
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