Juno Jul 11
i lay awake last year

on a flight from mexico to here

i saw all the lights of london

flickering,  like the sun

i figured out that night

how i felt  in flight

looking over the world

love became unfurled
you are loved.
Laura Jul 4
The chest falls up and
The chest falls down
The nose breathes in and
The nose breathes out
The eyelids flicker slightly and
The lips quiver none
The muscles twinge and
The veins pulse

His body is so serene
I imagine it every night
When I fall asleep
In my little twin bed
I scoot over
And make room for him
For his chest to fall up
And to fall down
For his nose to breathe in
And to breathe out
For his eyelids to flicker
And lips to not quiver
For his muscles to twinge
And veins to pulse
I want him to have room
Laying beside me
In my little twin bed

He calls me on the phone
And I hear it all
I see it all
I feel my hand draped
Over his curly little chest hairs
My pale dainty hand
Falling up with his chest
Falling down with his chest
I feel so close
Even from 250 miles away
No words need be spoken
Just breathing and snores
As we lay next to each other
Through the night
In my little twin bed
Anthony Jul 2
You had me at friends, but I wanted you.
You had me at gaming, but I wanted you to be player two.
You had me at metal music, but I wanted us as a group.
You see, to you, we were just friends, but to me I knew what was to become.
Now look at us falling madly in love.
To you the distance kills us, but to me I see a testament of our growth.
To you it's hard, but to me it's you that drives me to achieve what we will be.
You feel alone, as do I, but we can never say goodbye. We hold on for dear life.
Because I know that one day you'll become my loving wife.
Larry Kotch Jun 26
Carbon is pummled for endless hours,
Chambers filled with all our might,
Cracks that erode while others soured,
Hope to press a diamond,
When the world will give us ours,
To merge and stretch and stay a while
Those sparkling, timeless hours
This Poem is about long distance love. The pressure and stress of not being near the person you love is so immensely and powerful natural force that when you do meet your lover each hour becomes that more timeless. Each of us is a mountain of forces hoping to merge for as long as possible and press those diamonds.


Our two mountain ranges are Intertwined and trace the oldest story on the earth. Like all, we were born of magma, wind and surf, we look and feel together but seldom touch and old bodies of mortal things petrify underneath our brave and glossy faces.
Manda Jun 25
This heart should be, already,
Or one side love-proof
'Cus I've learned it that way

That back you thrown at me
Walked off to the departing gate
Should have known it would be the end of this
It supposed to be die right there

But the feeling seemed lurking
They ghosted on the small side of my chest
Waited patiently there
'Till the shine of your light blasted through the flesh

I wonder what to call this feel
Should it be love or passion
Or an amusement, instead of possesion
To recall your embrace 'till my tears are all reckless

Supposed to hate you
Supposed to summoned you away
But these beats after beats,
They told me I'm dying without you

Boy, I'm dying without you
Do not ruffle my hair anymore
Do not smile at my joke anymore
Just do not, do not you dare at all

This time, do not you dare to love me anymore.
Willard Jun 2
I thought I saw Ursa Minor in Lampe Park last night,
but the trees blurred my vision to the point
where I couldn't tell whether it was a constellation
or a phallus pissing on a posy of roses.

Stars don't make sense.
If amateur philosophy has taught me anything,
it's that they can't be social constructs
or a figment of your imagination
because they exist.

They're dead,
but they exist.

and they'll be here
until all my jokes about cancer
or death in general
catches up to me.
Willard Jun 1
“i’m done with furries”

i can’t dream your dreams,
but you’ve told me about them.

you wear an owl mask
shaped by fists and transgression;
a laceration splits your side
from a skin split
to your rib splits.

your love,
Bill Clinton or Donkey Kong
(whoever populates your thoughts),
crack your bare skin
until makeup
leaks out of your pores.

you dream of emulating art;
O hanging from a ceiling claw,
clicking heels against drywall
until leg muscles give up
and her diaphragm accordions close.

but who is your sculptor?
who is your artist?

alas, i am only
a paper mache bird.

i flinch when it rains,
i flinch when i move;
my paper skin
could cave in
from lip crack to ass crack.

(i hate
Inside Out.
but, i’ve only watched it once,
and i’ve been told
my eyes would adjust
on the second viewing.)

i dream of emulating art;
Marat in an ice bath,
tragedy and love and death
without conflict.

but who is my muse?
who won’t break my bones?

you don’t know my dreams either,
but we could dream together.

two reveries in polyphony
of an owl and bird fucking,
making love
before they
make art.

our love
is fucking weird;
a childhood seesaw
we’re trying to
find the perfect balance
to with our weight.

we dream different things;
rape fantasies and intimate kissing,
but that doesn’t matter.
at this point in two years,
we can see through each other.

i can’t make art without you.

you aren’t done with furries.
a reference to a Brautigan
slow and sweaty
sleepless summer nights
trapped in my room and
tortured by thoughts of you.

from the wrong side of the sea
i hear your soft moans
and i see your golden body
poised and yearning.

it doesn’t matter if you evade my arms
when the screen can imprison you
and my dreams can immortalize you.
i want you i want you i want you
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