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Àŧùl Jan 8
My bed creaks with the pain of my loneliness,
My life reeks of the stench of my emptiness.
Do not run away considering me desperate,
A better lover than me you can only imagine.

My past is smeared with pains and sorrows,
My present painted with a cautious colour.
My future is bleak, I can't foretell a thing,
Come along if you want, don't be hesitant.

I'm not desperate, I've been lonely for far too long,
Now that you are here, I won't let you go away from me.
I'm not bad, I'm a PhD researcher, and have a future too,
Be my lover, we shall go for hiking on the hills & put up a tent.

In the night outside the tent, we shall make a bonfire,
And also cook the food with peaceful veg ingredients.
You just need to eat and feed me too, I shall do the cooking.
Afterwards inside the tent, we shall make love hot and pure.
My HP Poem #1905
©Atul Kaushal
ju Jul 2020
Will you explore me now?
Of course you discovered, laid claim,
surveyed and drew me.
But I am altered.
Our careful step-by-step paths
are trod smooth.
And I know them now, can lead you.

Will you take from me now?
Of course there are scars. Seams torn apart.
Scratched earth once shone to your touch.
Cradled and rocked, its
fine glowing dust hid in dark
secret spots.
And I know them now, can show you.

Will you feast with me now?
Of course I had little to give, but
traces of then took root, flourish here still.
Nourished by years
and by others, bear fruits worth picking apart
before tasting.
And I know them now, can feed you.

Will you return to me now?
Katherine Jan 2019
They taught us in primary school to rhyme;
One million separate identities of the lovesick took it as an invitation.
You might think that’s a rebuke. It is not.
It is meant as an invitation. Every word, in weft and weave,
In wave and tide, in sigh and heave.
It calls for another to love us. It tells us to never love again.
At the first breath of rhyme in elementary-
Some nonsense about frogs and banks and water over our hands
We are hooked. We are starving. We are addicts.
We want to chime. We want to sing.
We want to love with words.
annh Mar 2020
Love travels sideways,
Down dark alleys,
Along winding country lanes;

Arrives late,
Hesitates too long,
Leaves early;

A journey to take,
A destination unmapped,
An invitation to linger when we least expect it.

Her clear lazuline gaze ******* my clumsy attempt at transparency, an unambiguous hesitation the length of a skipped heartbeat. I watched her eyes darken and spool as realisation ebbed and flowed, and ebbed and flowed again. 'Let’s go,’ she said, pulling me gently to my feet. 'And listen to the ocean breathe.'
Salmabanu Hatim Sep 2019
I sat at my dad's bedside as he squirmed and moaned in pain,
It hurt me to see him like that,
I prayed the whole night.
Then early hours of the morning
his countenance  changed,
He looked at peace,
Were my prayers answered?
Was my father recovering?
He smiled broadly looking at me lovingly,
"Dear the Angel Of Death has come,
HE says my place for breakfast at the table with God is ready,
It's  beautiful dear."
And breathed his last.
Mary Mar 2019
We relaxed by the ocean
Walked on the beach
Laughed until our stomachs hurt
And our eyes streamed
We wrote poetry
Enjoyed some day drinking
And a little night drinking, too
We looked ahead to our future
And back at our long and lovely past
For a brief time we left it all behind
And you and I were all that mattered

Let's do it again
William Allen Jan 2019
I made my way to the front.

The invitation was subtle.

The cold gray stones
under the pressure of my heels.


Drew my hands, ever so familiar.

I pressed up the aged steps
to a door of old wood & character.
Its constitution still intact and uncompromised.

An iron handle, worn smooth from visitors past,
waited for my embrace
and the latch, warm to the touch,
gave way under my eager thumb.
This is part V of a ten-part story titled, "Effulgence: A Story of Light."

stopdoopy Mar 2019
You're not welcome here

There may be posters
on the outside of the building
with your face on them sayin
but that ain't an invitation

Pushing past the swinging twins
strutting in, without a care
like you've done nothing,
as if everyone in the room
doesn't want to **** ya

For all the things you've done
they wouldn't need the pay
it'd be a service to mankind,
plenty of folks are glad to put a bullet in yer head

But Darlin'
ya always did have a sweet mouth
I'd love to see you talk your way outta this one

And as soon as you go to speak
I can see it plain as day

Hot anger; what a feeling.
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