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Wash it with love
Rinch it with love
Chop it with love
Heat it with love
Stir it with love
Serve it with love

It's your turn
Waiting fellow to
Smell it with love
Taste it with love
Praise it with love

Do anything
With love
Genre: Experimental
Theme: Culinary Art
Allyssa Oct 5
The past is a rundown motel that hasn’t had any visitors in a while but yet you try and stay.
You know the walls are molding and the ceiling has long since caved in but here you are
Residing in a bed with the springs pricking all over your body,
Numbing you to reality.
You cling on to when the room smelled of fresh paint and it wasn’t so dark.
In fact, you can even almost see the sun peeking through the window as if it was yesterday.
But yesterday,
Was many years ago.
The rust,
The damp air,
The rot,
It takes over Yesterday.
Overgrown weeds and musk cover the floor,
Yet,
You still walk barefoot as if it was the carpet that was once there.
You checked in to this marvelous moment not even thinking it could turn into a place.
A place that you began to frequently visit even if the people that loved with you there have no longer occupied the space since,
Well,
Yesterday, it seems.
You sink lower into those springs,
Unaware of your broken bones and puncture wounds because you decided to live in that moment,
Instead of walking out the door at the first sign of flickering lights.
When you knew,
Deep down,
Staying wasn’t an option,
But revisiting became a habit.
Only if it was Yesterday.
It’s time to check out and move on.
Take me to a hotel, where lips and eyes can meet,
Under the shadow of the lamp and the crisp, white sheets,
Take me there, so I may realign our bodies into their perfect symmetry,
Under the sheets, toss me and turn me, fit my lock to your key.

The curve of a spine, the dimple in your back,
The desperate sensuality that I now lack,
Taste the perfume on my skin,
The fragrant memory I scatter just for you.

In the hotel rooms we used to lie, our bodies curled meeting eye to eye,
In the space between speech, the quietness of I love you is as loud as rain,
The caressing of your fingertips wherever you chose,
What time is left to pass, only God knows.

It was always enough, your love, I wish I’d let you know,
How every touch, every bite, all the highs and the lows,
Always meant more than just the image of a rose,
You are the memory I will take as a daily dose –
To ease the price I must pay for your golden heart,
In the throes of restless longing when we are kept apart.

Life is a game that we all must play; we must all roll the dice.
I would rather lose a thousand times with you by my side,
Than cheat my way or leave this place having never seen your face.
This is what I will say to you when it turns out you were right,
When you said the world will return one day and we would win this fight,
As you kiss my weary head and turn out the hotel room lights.
Words' Worth Apr 21
Some of my women are now accidents
But the trust never dies
During the dusk
In the loitering heart there is a disease
Part 12
effie ebbtide Apr 20
replica of the statue of liberty, made of
concrete, a beacon for weary motorists
stranded on route 66, endlessly
drifting in the dusty abyss, stands in front of entrance
with her readymade torch.

she mumbles into a phone, then hands us a key.
a tiny room for breakfast goes unused
and the swimming pool is cloudy,
the concrete walls reverberating
empty chlorine
pleasantries, a watered down
hotspring dream.

above the headboard
is a long mirror, spanning
the length of the smoky room's
back wall, a silvery strip
reflecting faded yellow wallpaper
with subtle unspecified flowers.

the side exit leads to an empty lot, long
grass growing out of neglected potholes, a cyclone fence
blocking off a direct route to the sonic
drive-thru.

the sky is orange, it's always been
orange, it always will be
orange, looming over distant mountains
with narcissistic strata.
travel poem on a place i visited three or so years ago
vanessa ann Apr 17
you were my home then,
the warmth in my fireplace, my
chest purifier, key finder;
whenever i leave you clung to me like dirt on the dishes
i carry with me your sickness for
love, for good.

somewhere between morning calls and warm bedsheets, i took
your hospitality for kindness for authenticity for love for truth
i was still drying my hair on your bathroom mat when you rang
the bell, and reminded me it’s time for
my checkout.
—i hope you enjoyed my stay
Betty Feb 7
Maids see it all

But they  hardly ever tell

Well...

Occasionally one might sell

A juicy story

About you in naked glory

To add to your fame

And your shame

It's all part of the game

Who can blame

The person who buffs

And fluffs

Your stuff

On minimum wage

For making some cash

As you hit the front page!
Megan Hammer Nov 2019
Champaign and snow, the Cranberries song was on
It was warm sleeping in the bathtub
And I can still hear his hum sending me off
Picking me up, moving me to the bed

How the morning came and I heard the small planes fly on
Beginning to cry because it's time

To turn off the Cranberries,
To go back out into the cold
To hum an old song and send you off

The plane flies above the hotel
So I take a long, hot shower
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