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BSeuss Jul 2017
I love poetry.
I am poetry.
However,
My typing device provides no choice to, with willing will power,
turn of grammar suggestion.

To proof read a poem twice,
and still edit it once;
I love poetry,
I hate my typing device.
I am poetry.
Please steal my typing device from my rear left pocket.

As I need an excuse,
To aquire a new one.
Steal my phone.
I will pay you.
Poetry is worth much more.
This is not cool.
fell from her home
Skies of ohio
stumbled from a cloud
Grew her wings on the way down

hellboy in the back pew
cigarettes, blue dress shoes
closed her bible, "I refuse"
She said, "To be a mans property"

Honeybee
Honeybee
honeybee spread your wings
Honeybee
Honeybee
neither bird nor angel,
she flys free.

"I'll take the skills to cook and clean
our sneezes will still sound the same
I'll vist on holidays
but don't you ******* bless me"

"I'll be Domestic for myself
clean home and the best of health
Foster bees
a book to read.
But the bible ain't for me."

Honeybee
honeybee
Somewhere in the inbetween
honeybee
Honeybee,
apartment on deering st

she met me
at a speakeasy
"if you want me you better find me
Through the bookshelves I'll be waiting"

I turn the pages
Find her wedding ring
kept under the mattress,
not even god as a witness.


Doctor in ireland, she told me

escape in comic books
while he's away.

"Before we start, you have to know
One day I'll leave forever
Let's live a life we won't forget
In the meantime, together."

"I live with no one to respond to.
I live without boundary.
My ride or die resides in ireland
I'd like to love you while he waits for me."

Honeybee
honeybee
I've never tasted honey so sweet
Honeybee
Honeybee
Honeybee, Come lay with me

A few kisses later
cross legged in an office chair
sipping warm tea
I wake
green eyes watching me sleep
It's these moments
in between

Honeybee
Honeybee
were those mornings just a dream?
Honey bee
Honey bee
you leave

Remember me
in the old and green
honeybee
you were always free
guiness jogs my memory
The little things
inbetween
K Balachandran Jul 2017
She goes on sniffing him like a hunter's dog, persistent,
He eats her hurriedly as if she is a honey filled cake,
Chance  ****** encounter, unbridled wild desires run amok.
They are fully taken over by the agile demons of ***** amour.
Completely  forget shame, even  the thought of sin, altogether.
Make the bed a ground where they play with such vehemence!

She is a rare tree, yielding to caressing touch, flowering all over.
The goose bumps refusing to disappear,tell the whole untold story.
She makes noises of approval, while tracking the scent downwards
When she  finds the bone at last, she doesn't know what she does!
All  unapologetic shenanigans!
Amanda Jun 2017
A godly nectar that is a
blessing only to those worthy
enough to have an encounter.

A golden hue making home
within the shallow depths of
the catacombs,
holding crystals of pollen's past
and honey's future.

A delectable dynasty
that oozes from the waxy,
permeable pores that are succulent
and luscious in nature.

Comb honey;
A godly nectar that is a
blessing to all those that
have been lucky enough to taste.
The honey bee. A study on a 1920's textbook for beekeeping.
Amanda Jun 2017
Milk and honey;
one is more luscious and inviting
dripping down your pouty, cherry red lips.
The other is warm and tempting,
but for some reason,
I can't stand to stomach it.
M Jun 2017
sweet sweet lips
carved perfectly for mine
the taste of honey and cheap wine
finger tip graze
as two bright green eyes look
longingly back into mine.
-ML.
Psychosa May 2017
Put your honeyed mouth on my parched lips.
Lot May 2017
When I was young,
honey was my favourite treat.
I would do anything for a taste of that liquid gold.
Good or bad,
ugly or clean,
your way or mine,
I’d do it.
At the time my mother laughed,
she thought I was sweet.
Just like my favourite honey treat.
Strangely,
times change and people change,
childish was my new name.
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