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Steve Nippert Jul 27
Focused but with ease I sit
in a spring-cushioned
armchair coated in
soft leather, dyed
a rich bordeaux.
Cigarette in one hand,
Negroni in the other,
Joint prêt sur la table.

The Ouroboros woman lay
across from me on the
méridienne.
Our eyes not breaking sight,
we're opposite anchors.

Pegs pulling
piano wire.

As the smooth tapestry
of her milky skin is caressed
by one wondrous instrument affixed
upon her slender forearm,
with extensions most
sensual, the other
one implores
herself in
glorious
fervour.

Joie de vivre,
as close as you
can get, at least.

A tenebrous passion.
As thunderous as brief.
Adieux mon cœur,
ma jolie,
Élise.
Indra L Jul 15
C’est parce que, dès lors que je touche une note,
J’ai l’impression qu’elle sonne faux.

Parce que je me déteste au moment où je rate un panier,
Un saut d’obstacle,
Un verbe irrégulier.
Indra L Jul 15
Engouffrée sous mes draps
Je ne rêve même pas.

Les faits sont ils; bien présents
Il en aura fallu du temps.

Et le coeur battant,
Je médite le néant.
et mon dernier
acte d'amour
serait de me
forcer à ne plus
jamais te parler
Rosie Mg Jun 23
J'me tient la tête haute
au dessus des gnomes qui m'étrangle
ceux qui me déchire en quatre
un quart de chaque partie de ma vie
la divisions de mes toutous à mes devoirs
de mes rêves à mes obligations.
Un cadre d'illusions hypnotiques
qui change mon sens, mes vérités
une jungle bourré de fautes
, mais j'apprends.
Tu te remplis la face de tromperie
espèce de crédule, tu penses qu'à toi
t'avale plus. Tout ressort.
T'es rendu seule, au bout de ton siège
une aiguille à la gorge, mince et mortelle.
Mes gnomes, violent et tordu,
sont fait de porcelaine
ils coulent le regret
comme mes quarts, qui explode d'un grand

rien.
Written in 2025.
star Jun 10
clair de lune 6.9.25 (7:13 pm / 19:13)
i never knew how lonely it could be
to sleep alone
i never knew how scared i would be
it’s pathetic, i know

but i’ve known you all your life
and you almost all of mine
i never knew how afraid i’d be without you

last night i held the moonlight in my hands
letting it drip through my fingers
and watching your empty bed

last night i read a ****** mystery
and then stayed up
you were not there, you were not sleeping with me
like my guardian angel

i never knew how much i could want you back
my moonlight

[playing: r.e.m. by ariana grande]
hehe idk im sad i know
Cadmus May 27
✈️

A slap on the tarmac, crisp and clear,
From Madame’s hand to France’s dear.

Not war, not scandal, nor fiscal gap
But history paused for a marital slap.

The cameras rolled, the world took note,
As dignity slipped from his tailored coat.

If kings once fell to sword and plot,
Now presidents blush, and say they “forgot.”

👋🏻
Sometimes history is written in treaties, sometimes in blood, and occasionally, with an open palm in front of a presidential aircraft.
I've thought a lot about it
enough time to pass
the melodramatic fits of passion
I house regularly in this skin of mine

That maybe the end of the world isn't at my door step
and that maybe I can live without your mahonany eyes, yet
I feel a yearnful pull to the softly spoken words
you renounce

Maybe it really wasn't meant to be
And I wasn't meant to be devinely yours
your one and only love for all of my life
I was only 14 when I loved you and
I coersed my own mind to belive that I would only have one love
like that in my life

This realization has felt like
Maybe I have grown
Maybe my girlish teenage mind has began to see reality
Like Messieurs les enfants
born yesterday but grown the next
overnight I lost the child version of myself
to the evermoving trail of time

or maybe I can just feel my prefrontal cortex developing
Missieurs les enfants is a french film in which  3 children are transformed overnight in to adults and their parents were transformed to infants, it covers the trope of rapid aging and basic ideas of human nature.
Zack Apr 21
Au coin de cet organe,
Y caressant ses cordes sensibles,
Ma Muse Toscane
Joue de sa lyre irrésistible.

Un son, pour chaque mot
D'amour qui deviennent
Inspiration ; et le tempo
S'adoucit, d'aussi **** que je m'en souvienne !

Car il n'y a que le cerveau
Qui s'imagine que l'italienne
Devrait m'offrir sa peau de porcelaine.

Mon pauvre cerveau,
Cet espèce d'organe maso,
Me pense libertino !
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