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OpenWorldView Jun 22
like slow winter fog
fingers trace without a touch
across her cold skin
slow, tender, journey.
don't wake her.
golden light spins outward from my fingers
as I weave stories from the thread of my dreams
it glows silver in the moonlight
then just as softly fades with the coming of day

I have dreams that catch fire in my heart
flickering in my ignited blood
coloring my eyes so I can only see when they're closed
why do I feel so much when I try to think
but not enough when I am lost in thought?
Nyx Jun 17
Light fingered
Swift and efficient
Conspiring against themselves
Nothing is ever sufficient

Take. Take. Take
Its Mine. Mine. Mine


Morally incorrect
But what a hefty paycheck
Greed is swirling
Such havoc they wreak

People & Things
They glisten and gleam
Yearn to hold them in hand
Thou the theft must be clean

Much like a bird interested,
Infatuated by the sparkle of things
Filling their homes, Their nests
Craving the beauty they bring

Such light fingers
swift and efficient
Never sufficient
Wanting more and more...

It's never enough.

These hearts taken within the dark
hidden by the cloak of night
Treasures of the soul
Give me your light


-
Interpret it how you wish
Star BG Jun 14
with dancing fingers and a flick of wrist,
I put thoughts to screen.

They pulsate aimed at eyes in shades
of rainbow hues.

REDS may launch emotions
While GREEN are words that carry healing.
BLUES are the scenes worth traveling in.
And White are like star-light phases
meant to light up hearts.

The color spectrum is endless
like universe that houses guides
to lead hands.

The breath is the key to unleash energies
that hug in moment.

With dancing fingers I march
sharing the parade of words
meant to be gifted to those who gather.
Just a thought on a precious day.
Where is the pain?
Where has it gone?
Floating in the solitude of summer days,
enjoying the sensation of my fingers holding pen to paper,
not knowing what to do next

Where is my pain?
Where am I now?
Ghosts of old regret and new fear
don't cut as deep into my wounded flesh
as they used to

How do I feel?
What is the truth?
The sacred flame inside me burns low but bright,
flickering with every drop of hopeful anticipation
that falls into the abysmal pool of my belly

How do I finish?
When does it start?
Will I ever truly be okay?
I don't know.
I have nothing to say
but this world demands a voice
so I will speak
though I know not what I say
I will paint and dance
in shades of white and blue
my fingers cut endless ravines of poetry
across the flawless landscape
of my lover's flesh
I will not sleep
while my dreams keep me awake
bleeding out from the corners of my eyes
onto the pages where I write
tears move me where thoughts never could
burning through the chains I keep inside me
like acidic quicksilver
bathing in the poisoned perfume of night
as I lay silent and awake
and dreaming of falling asleep
so that I can finally speak
as I am, unafraid
you tarnish me,

my fingers are *****,
you ***** me

I'm *****

you're soft in a hard form

you make marks,
but not alone

you need me to make marks,
you mark me


I need you to make marks


I inhale you,
I don't want to but you are there,

In my breath,

uninvited,

tiny invasions

violations,

creeping into my orifices,

under my nails,

in the cracks of my skin,

on my skin


I need you,

I use you,

you use me to spread yourself,

I spread you,

you disseminate across the surface,

across me, 

on to my skin.


It's dark,

you're dark,

you make me dark,

I use you lightly but you are still darker than the light,

I make you darker,

not darker than yourself,


You touch me,
I touch you,
we come together,

we collide,

I make a collision using you. 

I use you


There is sound,

you are silent but your movement makes sound,

I move you to make sound,

you and I generate sound,

we generate,

generate sound,
marks,
dust,
traces,

little traces of touch.

I no longer have you but you're still with me.

I see you. 

I feel you.

you make me *****.



I wash.

                                                          
                                                                            *compressed Charcoal
Katja P Jun 2
Goose pimple on the skin.
Soft tips of the fingers.
Touching by my skin.
The Union in ecstasy.
The heat of bodies.
Interlacing of the souls.
Intersection of the minds.
Slow love melody.
Silence sounds of joy.
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