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The world was left behind
As we soared into the clouds
Our private escape waiting for us
The birds welcomed the new lovers
And sang along with the sounds of joy
Consummating the wildness in our hearts
The rain gently patters down,
And the leaves blow in the breeze
Fanning the passion between us
The animal hunger arises again
Only to feast on each other
To consume us in desire
Your are my bride
And I am yours forever
Sharon Thomas May 2017
When it rains here once again
I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon.
And we trailed down that railway track on a cloudy noon
We weren't alone did you know?
In a place unknown to fog and snow
The weather had lost its temper
The train had been blinded enough to lose track.
Who doesn't know it's all a knack!
Derailed, they say.
Before the next I wish they simply care
These are not mere accidents you bare,
But testimonies you claim on a paid fare.
Indian Railways or any other for that matter I say,
When they pass the word 'happy journey'
We simply wish it's not our last.
When it rains once again here,
I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon.
And I wailed down the railway track on that tragic day,
I do not understand which side to stake.
Or wish for summer once again in my life
Or curse the rails, frames and journeys that shatter.
Shatter! Solely due to human hands that fell short,
short to value the lives that derail.
I don't want many ties that unwind

I don't want to feel the omnivorous shade of blue over and over again

I want to be your Save By The Bell

That doesn't stop after four seasons

Giving you a million reasons

To love life more than before

I found you perched up in my heart

Don't squander the beauty

You have a deep ingenuity

That entices me like the victim I am

So helpless yet so assertive

You're too grand and I'm unsure if I deserve it

I aspire to be one and done

To the honeymoon

To the gravestones

Be the whiteness that's in our transient bones

When the doubt creeps in

Remember I pray to God every day that you'd be mine

And that you're always feeling jolly and fine

It's for real this time

It always has been.
Julia Mae Mar 2017
we didn't have a honeymoon phase
you did
i didn't
Ginelle Mar 2017
-
it was never about you;
those words were written as a form of art –
each word planned and meticulously placed.

it was always about the broken smile romanticized in books, plays and films;
or the way a single strand of hair paralleled with the pigment of the morning sun.
it was how your features resembled the most artistic and aesthetically pleasing parts of the world.

these poems represented the “honeymoon stage” of a relationship,
[our relationship]
a façade;

when you read these poems,
remember that they’re a form of art;
you were the poison behind the inspiration,
you were never the art.
everything about you was a lie. i was in love with the honeymoon, never your eclipse.
Rina Vana Dec 2016
I saw him for what he is and what he will be. Physically. I sat right there before him admiring the enlightenment he had already acquired. I noted the many hints of wisdom wrinkled into the skin of his face. I heard the drum of love beating. I was not sure of its origin but the song was melodic to my heart. Beat for beat, I cleaned my slate of insecurity. The past settled like the dust of a rough storm and suddenly I felt free and present all within his warmth. He shook me mentally.

I coughed up the blood of past lovers and froze it for days. I donated that frozen box before I thought to toss the giveaway. Maybe I am undeserving of sensational awakenings such as the gift of him. I blew too many chances with others willing to grant me unlimited wishes. The rest I threw into an ocean of young souls in need of lessons. He told me he loved me under a full moon in Sagittarius.

Speechless was I as the sun woke up; still drunk and sticky on the mouth with breath tasting of tequila and lime, barely hinting I bit into it recently. The same flavor of your weekend visit’s kiss: undeniably recognizable like a favorite Yankee candle. Careful to fall beneath layers of thoughts, I stretched my toes out as if they could touch the wall. Under my aching body the woolen rug felt too rough to have slept well at all. Dreams flooded and fled from my reach. You were there again, but this time I let you be.

Honeymoon: do you think about that word? The mention brings the mind to prasine palm fronds filled with bliss that shan’t ever again be captured in life. It seems the world has noticeably accepted this proposition. With refusal of conformity fringing the tips of my fingers, I dangle the tingly fabric across your solitude. Honey drips south around the craters of the moon and into your mouth. Sweet and warm and fresh of ***.

The sun rises higher to reflect light onto your shoulder. I admire the illumination. Your eyes peek open and pull me in under blankets with your hungry touch. It is morning and I want you.
-
I roll over onto a bed of my own scent: vacant. Threaded memories pulled out of their booklet and shredded. I shrug them away. Under the floorboard I find myself, scratching until my nails bleed blue. I scream until I grow tired. The air in here is nonexistent. I try to balance my breath but I am breathing so fast now I do not know how to slow it down why can’t I keep calm I think I’m going to pass out just calm down. I think I am going to die. I die until I am discovered under the floorboard. I breathe again.
Saurabh Tak Aug 2016
Lost is my sight, in the vanishing smoke,
In my imagination I could be anything, I was not.
I dream of white shores and a fire ***,
I roam with hippies and I am broke.
  
Loose is my grip, over the sands of time,
Is there, life beyond this shine,
The smell of barbequed fish and wine?
I lost a lot, in my prime.

Gone is the wind, which carried her smell,
She still mocks me, on her honeymoon in Venice.
Blinded by her spell, I walked into the hell,
I am pinned, in my loneliness.

Lingering are my thoughts, in the mist and Rain drops,
The earthly scent and yellow, red, blue blooms.
The winter passed and the spring sobs,
There is still hope, across these catacombs.
Austin Bauer May 2016
We discovered a master painter
who hand paints intricate flowers
one-by-one to create
a picturesque landscape painting.

In his paintings, a cardinal sits
resting upon a tree branch,
and a monarch butterfly marks
His signature in each painting.

Indian blankets, greenthreads,
brown bitterweed, and Texas thistle -
all vitally important to his paintings.
Therefore, he paints bees to pollinate

the flowers, transferring life-giving
pollen from anther to stigma.
Yes, the master painter places
all of this in his painting with
beautiful intention.
ᗺᗷ May 2016
Loving you is like realizing I’m the deep blue Ocean,
Vast on the surface and immeasurable underneath
Without the proper tools. And you, you are the
Science that solves the reason why perfection is not
Beyond the grasp of some humans to hold. You are
The mythology of Artemis, by the grace of your moon,
Molding my body in motion to the pull of your light.
Forever I will reach. You are the life that lives inside
Me, the very essence of that I hold. Trillions of tiny
Heart beats merging to a single pulse that carries
Them home. You are my genius and I your canvas by
Night, as you rest your colors on me, I return them
Back as a gift that never dies each and every day. You
Are the laws of physics from which I send the pieces
Of my surface to the heavens in attempts to touch
Your glow before they have fallen back unto me. And I,
I am simply the Ocean deep and blue, but you are my
Moon that always was and always will be. Always
Running and sometimes hiding but despite everything
You are, you can never hold absent from my sight nor
Soul. You were forever meant to circle me, and I forever
To reach for you, and together we were created to become
A force that transcends the boundaries of life itself.
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