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Paul Idiaghe Aug 2020
submerged in a cascade of
cacophony, my pieces wade
like fish, into semptember's silvery net
so its plundering pull would heave them
                                                          ­       out
from their misery, grant them purpose
in the mouths of fortunes, that gobble them
as delicacies;  they wither, till my egg-fragile
                                                          heart
unravels itself, savors the warmth
of the virgo sun, and hatches
immaculately, into me.
Amanda Hawk Aug 2020
I keep waiting
For you to say
My name
Lingering in the background
I watch you
With hands open
Stretching out my fingers
Trying to tug
At your shadow
Pulling you closer, closer
I want you
To consume
Every inch of me
Set me free
In the strength of your smile
And the delicacy of my sigh
Alicia Moore Jul 2020
I discovered beauty through a pair of tearful eyes.
The light of day broke the running waterfall
to reveal what was hidden behind such delicacy:
knowledge,
kindness,
warmth,
passion.
One cannot place their hands on beauty,
it cannot be held in an embrace,
the core of its meaning is fully locked behind guarded orbs.
You Jun 2020
Thank you for loving me
And from your existence you have forbidden me
And with delicacy, you left me
With the same precision, you slaughtered me
Your love was all that mattered to me
So you deserted me
You hurt me
You killed my heart
And killed me
Anastasia Jun 2019
i think
your neck
is a delicacy
soft
smooth
bitter
and sweet.
c.b. ♥
Brandon Conway Jun 2019
My sweet songbird
My sweet little Ortolan

Captured in
my hugs
Force-fed
I love yous
Drowned in
poetry

Draped in linen
to hide from

God

As I swallow
you whole

My sweet little Ortolan
My sweet songbird
Poetress2 Apr 2019
Anteaters eat Ants.
How can they taste the small Ants,
their delicacy?
nightdew Mar 2019
dampness forms in her eyelids,
slowly treading itself down her honey skin,
slipping down her cheeks;
teardrops are born.

brown eyes gaze into the horizon,
sweeping over the sunset,
forever wondering;
if the pain will cease.

fragile fingertips trace shapes,
twirling and digging themselves,
into the earth's surface;
dreading to be loved.

heart strings pull and release,
yanking emotional impulses,
and flooding imperfections;
coveting for a shoreline.

delicate arms are open,
awaiting for the storm to hit,
a futile attempt to embrace it;
but she is the storm.
when you feel like everything is falling apart beside you,
you are stronger than the hurricane, than the tsunami,
than the sandstorm, than the earthquake. show the world
who you really are.
C P X Feb 2019
my hands are round instead of flat, now if only
my thoughts were stored in my hands
my brains and some motor control
some real talent besides empty words
my hands are similar enough to my mind

my thinking has become soft and flabby
my digits do the same wrong movements
I refrain from stretching out for what I want
my skin is so delicate I fear I may tear it
my cells liable to break under slight duress

my fingers small and deformed, clumsy
always falling short when I reach for the bar
my fingertips live in a numb icy nether
my circulation is clearly beyond subpar
my heartbeat second-rate and slowing

I wonder why my immense sky is so limiting
my body is my graven image I dare not pray to
my manifestation of an inferior mind
my burning bush is barely a flicker
as time oxidizes my single lonely existence
“Engulfed in bubblewrap
Oh, he's a fragile gift
A colorless soul, some would say

For anyone could colour it
Most would paint over the lines
Some would never even reach the delicate corners

I know of one fine artist that could paint him
Her fine fingers formed with delicacy
For only she could grace him with panache

Regrettably, their paths would never cross
As she is engulfed in bubblewrap too,
And lives in a separate box” — Demi.M Potts
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