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WickedHope Aug 11
It feels like betrayal to say your name
     So I don't
          I don't say it out loud
               I don't identify you
                    It feels crooked
                         It feels wrong
                    To maintain normalcy
               I spit it out
         It feels acidic
     After choking it down
I want to be here
    I'm addicted to you
         But saying your name
              When it was his too
                   Isn't a romantic confession
                        Just an adulterous taboo
Spelz Oct 2021
It wasn’t that he drank of her that bothered him,
But that he drank so deeply.
Knowing “Full Well” the glass belonged to another.

That he was human and that he fell to a more savage instinct. That night he understood his humanity and it scared him.

As she lay in his arms he could feel her savoring the last moments of elation. But there was a distant sadness.

It was as though she knew what she’d return to. And that scared her.
Sonorant Sep 2021
A pearl mansion, three stories tall
Soaring on a halcyon hill.
A stretched view to read the world.
A throne with riches to fill.

The comfort of a swain.
But carnality in silence
An everlasting reserve of cake.
A bottomless appetite in defiance.

A quail in a cage, the keys in her hand.
To pluck the plume languidly.
A daffodil to determine fate:
“I love him. I love him not.”

To spoil their fly,
To reap their fall.
Their loyalty hazily sewn
In grounds of her royal hall.

Heels encased in crystals of tears.
To lien their names
And shine her shoes
Perched high on a golden bluff.

To shutter her windows
On cloudy days.
To be a star in the night
Despite the moon’s wane.

Eternal seasons of the self.
To watch feathers move
Without the burden of wind.
The quietude of stillness but to fill the void.

To reign solely as a dreary majesty.
To kiss and then walk astray.
Or perhaps earnest denial
To pacify the pain.
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
Daddy belongs to
an exclusive club,
out beyond
the rules of atmospheric
pressure.

On our precocious little fingers
we count,
on tracer paper
Mommy checks our figures.
Being she was never clever
with math,
she consults with the slide rule.

No crystal ball needed,
we all know where Daddy's been:
at the apogee of his ride,
hanging out in zero orbit,
checking
on his own figures.

He must be
lonely up there, fishing off the dock of a satellite,
until the moment he reels one in.

He does his best philandering
once we've shuffled off to school
and Mommy's found her solace
underneath
the hairdryer.

She's stopped looking up
at night
to observe the starry heavens.
They only made her cry,
which, in turn, made us cry— for her.

One time we heard Mommy tell Daddy
she knew all about his long division
and how he misused
his slipstick.

With the cruel turn of a smile
he reminded her
her math is routinely
wrong.

"Usually...but not always,"
Mommy whispers in her sleep.

Tomorrow is lift off again
for Daddy,
hunting exponentials
from
heavenly bodies.

For us,
the ones left behind in the wake
of his rocket trail,
it's
addition by subtraction.
Aa Harvey Nov 2020
Thanks for something


Thanks for something.
Thanks for nothing.
Thanks for all those words you said.
Go to bed, you’ve said enough.
You’re all out of luck and I’ve got nothing to say.
Go away!  Have a nice day.
Peace be unto me.


Use the force in May, to make them change their mind, maybe.
Little time left for you; time to be crazy.
I’m not listening, no more a slave to ladies.
Use a noun, not a name, hello Baby.


Left all sad at the end of a phone.
Cut the line to the lies…leave me the Hell alone!
I know you better and more than you would like me to believe,
But babe please, don’t be a tease,
Waving your love at me.
If it ain’t real then it ain’t no-thing.

(C)2020 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
How come
The heart-wrenching
And the  unexpected
Widow's grief
Turned-brief?

The lady in black
Soon defying
Funeral decorum
Put on pink clothes
Decency that lack
Simply to attack
A deceased
Cheating husband
Whose unfaithfulness
Kept in the dark
Soon after funeral
Became stark!

Aghast adultery
Triggers
He'll knows no fury.
Some mourners could learn their spouse's affair after they ceased to be
Genevieveish Jul 2020
I'm not the first survivor,
Just yours

Don't revive me,
Let me be

Your adoring pitiful pitiable survivor,
I'm not the first to be left behind,
Not the first displaced by ego

I've accepted my cessation,
A long lost love that once was perfection,
Soiled by your foolish ignorant indiscretions
Beaten by your cowardice, conniving, ache and craving.

I once tasted your good nature,
Drank in your laughter and longing,
But now I rest,
Deposited,
Worn out by over a decade of cardiopulmonary resuscitation

Don't trade my peace for your conscience
Reviving a love that should have died a decade ago,
Along with my ego

Don't revive me,
Just let me be

I'm not the first survivor.
Just yours
A poem about love, adultery, and lost love.
Katarina Jun 2020
Head Full of Nightmares
I knew how to walk directly into the storm now, two years later
I've yet to learn how to become the calm among the chaos
I am the chaos
My nights wither into one
The eternal struggle with oneself
To be soothed or tortured?
I can't have skin on skin contact with you, even when you cradle me like a baby, like our baby, without imagining you on her
I like to be asleep
Its my favourite place again
Even if my nights are full of her voice,
thousands upon thousands of her voices, all on top of each other,
all under your naked body
And somehow I can't stop loving the torture
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