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Murredith Feb 4
what do you do when you have placed your heart in the hands
of who you have come to know as your home for safekeeping,
but those hands that lead butterflies to your stomach when placed against yours,
have left fingerprints on your heart so deep
there are more craters than there is left of you,
to love
I wrote this while in the hospital back in 2019. I had forgotten about it until recently, and now have decided to post it.
Jade Apr 2021
written across my anatomy,
a brilliant Poetica:

lips part/
line breaks

the dimple in my jaw

an

a
c
r
o
s
t
i
c

clavicles
mere sisters of verse

fingerprints are but
whirlpools
of apostrophe and quotation

the trellis of my ribs
composed of
stanza

behind

my papyrus heart
dwells

every beat
a turning page--

and this is my story
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c May 2020
The way you didn’t kiss me
at the top of the Ferris Wheel.

The way you kissed me
at the bottom of my sense of self.

The way I had your fingerprints on my thighs for 2 weeks after you left me.

The way I want you
to leave me wanting again.
For R
Poet X Oct 2019
all these poems I write
start with I,
I swear I’m not self centered
but they say write what you know.
So in a desperate attempt
to learn this soul of mine
All I write about
is me.
And you,
Yes, I write about you.
I write about the beauty of you.
Of how I would love to leave fingerprints on your heart and caress your soul .
I mean if you would allow me
To love you
Freely.
Luna Maria Jun 2019
I don't want
to wash your
fingerprints
away
I don't want the memories to fade.
Florence Jun 2019
Do I spin on this wheel of fortune forever? Offering slices of my heart like a bake sale. Or should I look at you with glass eyes? The world is full of dormant men who love the emptiness of women.  A vacant place behind her eyes that says I’m no longer here. I had to pack and retreat long ago because I’m too scared. I’m scared of you. I’m scared your hands are too rough to reach into my chest. Your hands are fickle. No fingerprints. I’d say I miss you but a man without fingerprints can’t leave a mark.
You left fingerprints
In my heart.
A poem every day.
Finally, at last.
I thought you'd never leave my mind.
But today, for the first time in 142 days.
I didn't woke up,
Thinking about you.
Surprisingly, I never thought this was love.
Just a stupid remedy,
For a self broken heart.
But dispite the fact I'm not thinking about you.
You still left your fingerprints on my skin.
And your voice in my ears.

< >
I'm writing a small poem every day, about how I feel or the world around me. This is #4
i scrub and i scrub and i scrub
but nothing can erase the fingerprints you have left on me
because they are imprinted in my memories
and i can still picture where your fingers have been
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