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 Nov 2015 Sophia Trejo
AMcQ
I am without poetry;
Without verse or rhyme.
I am cleansed of all torture;
Have no concept of time.

No longer frantic,
nor riddled with woe.
I have fled from self-pity
to a land of unknowns.

A space so reckless,
it tickles the skin.
My demeanour is calm
but I'm woozy within.

Love rushes to greet him,
palms slippy and warm.
Relieved that my body
Still longs for those arms.

Heat flows round the shadows;
My soul's once more kissed.
But I've been without poetry;
She's the one that I've missed.
My mentor spoke to me of two rivals,
Once, they had been friends in some distant past.
But the years have eaten their love and made grudges manifest.
|The two shattered into broken glass

To my wise master I asked only one,
One question... In all my range.
One question I asked:
“What changed?”

In the outskirts, at the home of my daughter
Where you can stare at the stars or passing cars
None more brighter than the other,
We share memories of my grandmother.
In the photographs, she looks so much younger.
Not frail, but a fighter, lover and saintly|

To me, she asks plainly,
One question, and one question only.
Sifting through the ages of years past:
“What Changed?”

At the kitchen table, feeling inadequate,
My lover screaming and frustrated,
I recall memories when we had been intimate.
Times when movement was made for desire and not duty
|A calendar of nights left in confused abstinence

I interrupt.
She delays rage.
I beg,
“What Changed?”

_

In the last few hours of night
The dawn reaches me at last.
I had locked moments-
Literal seconds of time as the truth.
But it was always changing
In flux and morphing.
Turning into something new
Just for a moment, and then on again
“What Changed?”
Everything.
Always.
 Jul 2015 Sophia Trejo
Creep
Never has the smile been so forced
Perched upon sadness
Teetering into joy
But not quite.
Random.

Strangers in the night
By frank sinatra
 Jul 2015 Sophia Trejo
Paragon
The way I feel about
you makes my heart
long to be free  .  .  .
Well it's dark outside,
I'm lying on bed
those thoughts of you
crawl back into my head
laid together in a passionate embrace
a look of lust and desire plastered on your face
the bed creaking, the neighbors hearing more... and more
I never would've guessed how naughty you are, you took me by surprise on the floor
now we're in bed, biting, thrusting for all we're worth
making love until the sun arises to awaken the earth
oh how lovely this would be
oh wait I'm alone.... back to the website for me!
The most **** thing about a guy has nothing to do with his clothes, hair or eye colour.

It's in the way he looks at you with longing, when you finally find out he wants you just as badly as you want him.

When he pulls you so close to him that there is literally no space between you, because he can't stand the thought of there being any.      

When he kisses you, so that it feels as if he is stealing the air from your lungs, and for those few seconds you forget what air even is.
    
When all thoughts go out the window and its just him, with you,in the most simple way possible.

Now that is the definition of ****.
Pure passion is ecstacy...
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