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ciannie Oct 2015
we two are architects
building, forming one silhouette
laying the foundations of our future
and we transfer these unspoken plans
through our clasped hands

two beings of mass pressed close
and I can feel your warmth, how most
of your soul leaks through those eyes
and tries, to funnel me in
although I'm already running

the world rotates around our stillness
it cares not that we've found fullness
in each other's hold, but it sees
and it believes in our treasuring of the other's parts
and so spins quietly while we still our hearts

some people walk by and wonder
how two humans could be struck asunder
by the need to be together
for our lifespan, for forever, and how concussed
we feel by love

we two are architects, building something pure
forming something more
than anyone, even ourselves can understand
as we transfer the connection
through our hands
~(*^*)~
Kyle Kulseth Jun 2014
Past
     closed up pizza joints
Past laundromats, through the dying noise
the nights tick on like clockwork
watch the calendar as my steps unwind

I'll wait for my thoughts to ferment
pick my words, hope I don't slur them.
Flip back past the page of these days
     get a read how I got to this age

From the summit where I'm stuck and posted
          reread the books where I come the closest
From the shelf spill my guts to ghosts here,
and relive old nights in Bozeman

          When I found a place
where the nights grew longer--
grew confident that I wasn't always wrong
and just drank the moon
          under dawntide tables
rolled the dice with the greatest friends
we said,                           "We're not old yet."

          Through
     crumbling bones at night
past skeletons of the city's size
the nights fall out like sand grains
curse the hourglass as my fate unwinds.

I'll wait for my brain to discharge
its contents on hospital charts.
Glued the book shut, stuck in the time
I gained my crutches and misplaced my mind.

From the bed that I'm ******* glued to
to cluttered basements I can't wade through
The foundation just won't hold up
against the cracks formed in Missoula.

          Ran off the rails
where I stumbled and stammered
grew comfortable beneath pint glass hammers
I still drink the moon
          under dawntide tables
grown apart from the greatest friends
who said,                      "You're not dead yet."
Ilona Inezita May 2014
Claiming we're gods,
creating heaven,
when we're nothing but men,
destroying earth,
creating hell.

— The End —