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Zywa Feb 16
Loving couples kiss

whispering in the chambers --


of the swaying grass.
Collection "It takes a lot of tries to make a début"
FormlessMars Feb 11
The space between us is not just miles—  
it’s the ache in my ribs when I breathe,  
the way my hands forget their purpose  
without the weight of your hips to hold.  

I am a house with no windows,  
a room where the light refuses to stay.
  
The world feels like a poorly written script—  
everyone else is laughing, but I can’t find the joke.  

I want to kiss you so badly it feels like a crime,  
like the universe has locked your lips in a glass case  
and hung a sign that says Do Not Touch.
  
But I would break every rule,  
shatter every law of physics,  
just to feel the warmth of your mouth on mine.  

I miss the way your voice wraps around my name,  
how it sounds like a prayer I didn’t know I needed.
  
I miss the way your laughter spills into the room,  
a symphony I’d trade my silence for in a heartbeat.  

I want to marry you—  
not in the way they show in movies,  
with the white dress and the perfect vows,  
but in the way that feels like coming home,  
like finding the missing piece of a puzzle  
I didn’t even know I was solving.  

Without you, the world is a grayscale film,  
a song played on a broken piano.
  
I am a shadow of myself,  
a half-finished poem  
waiting for your hands to write the ending.  

Come back to me.

Or let me come to you.
  
Let me close this distance,  
this unbearable, infinite space  
that feels like it’s swallowing me whole.  

I am not whole without you.
  
I am not anything.
The love of my life.
Zelda Feb 8
pillow-soft
silk & skin
full—
meet
light pink petals
trembling,
sheet-tangled
marks on a body
blushing feelings
sweet nectar
lingers—
delicate, fragile folds
kissed by dew,
hush
February 8, 2025
I love sitting with you,
regardless of what's going on,
or where we are.
Nothing happens.
Everything is at peace.
No anxiety. No weight.
No rush
to be or to do.

Our eyes are free to rest,
our bodies free from tension.
Of all the things I could say,
all the invitations of where we could go,
when I sit with you,
time is irrelevant.
It doesn’t even come ankle high.
It too continues to walk past us,
probably hungry,
looking for something to do,
until we decide to do something
more than sit
and enjoy each other’s time.

The truth is in the way we breathe.
I can say that it’s nothing,
but a piece of me
finds its way into you.
Immortality Feb 7
Your lips,
my sweet secret,
brushed against mine.

Time stutters shy,
the world dissolves to dust,
only silence,
my darling,
only us.
A sweet lil secret....
Zywa Feb 7
He rolls over and

puts a strong arm around me --


Who is in his dreams?
Novel (roman à clef) "L'invitée" ("The Invitee", 1964, Simone de Beauvoir), part 2, chapter 8

Collection "Loves Tricks Gains Pains in the 40s and 50s"
Damian Jan 27
Let me, dear, guide myself to you
Let me, dear, make of you a muse
Let me, dear, tour you with my hands
Let me, dear, meet you in your sleepless nights
Let me, dear, know your taste and touch
Let me, dear, forget about words
Let our breath speak in codes
And let our laugh reign through it all
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