We kissed the sun into the ocean
The gold rays painted your cheeks like shiny tears
The shadows of clouds passed across your shoulder blades which looked as if they were carved from marble
We kissed under a crescent moon
Two waves rolling into each other
We enveloped each other and each breath became a gust of wind propelling us deeper
We kissed in my car and then in the park
We kissed under the stars until they became shy and dispersed
Your eyes were bright against the dark-- like amber, they were on fire, in love
We kissed until our lips were raw
"I'll see you again tomorrow,
When the sky shifts from pink to black (a peach gone rotten)
And your lips turn red like an apple from the cold"
There is something abrupt about this union
Like the slam of a door at midnight
Or the hush of the snow (whilst it packs us in so aggressively)
Yet it is so suddenly beautiful like ice crackling on a windshield as we blast the heater
Or rub our hands together until they are sweaty
I wish I wouldn't idealize you like this
Here is some poetry to disguise the fear (the cold air that pinches my spine)
Let's keep kissing, boiling noodles to share, and not thinking.
Uh, so rumor has it I have caught a feel.
I carry a white noodle bowl,
carefully up to my chin.
I smile as my nose catches,
the steam so grey and thin.
I set the bowl down gently,
Because it was too hot.
and take this time to ponder,
The noodles I have got.
A small carrot captain,
rides his vessel south.
But the spoony seas are violent,
and bring him to my mouth.
Legions of green sprouts,
are armed and at the ready.
But their base was built on broth,
and therefore is unsteady.
A scallion sergeant paces,
He’s timid and afraid.
And hopelessly fell in love with,
A mushroom mermaid.
The brothy land changes,
As beef enters the scene.
And to the broccoli scouts,
this meat is only mean.
Finally the egg,
who knows he’s the best.
Will wander around the edges,
till he decides to rest.
The dinner’s duty done
I tilt the ocean east
And drain the sea of veggies
into the belly of the beast
I take the styrofoam bowl.
And poke a hole in its side.
The bowl is now found empty
All my friends have died.
She told me that she never had real spaghetti before.
Of course she's had spaghetti before but not in the sense that made it worthwhile.
When I asked why she replied that it didn't feel real.
That in a sense it was pasta.
She always broke the noodles when she made it.
She developed a fear that everything would boil over and catch fire.
That part of the noodles would be too crunchy.
All of it would never fit in the ***.
Her mother always broke the noodles so it just became habit.
In the same breath.
She told me at least once,
That she'd like to twirl the noodles around the fork.
The complete taste and feel of what makes it spaghetti.
The cheese blending into the sauce.
The big ball of noodles just wrapping around the fork waiting to be bit.
When I asked about the meatballs she laughed,
She was vegetarian
There are boiled noodles
There are fried noodles
There are instant noodles
There are non-instant noodles
There is ramen
There is pasta
All of them can be tasty or not
Depend on the eaters
Poems are like noodles
There are so many kinds of poems
All of them can be good or bad
Depend on the readers
And I am hungry.
Oh Ramen, Sweet as sugar
You shall fill my stomach with a myriad of tastes.
I am like putty because you’re my ******
Your enchanting dance at an unstoppable rate
Sip, slurp, and swallow
Everywhere you go I follow
I can’t help but be the cooker
Since you’re an amazing looker
You’re the heart inside my soul
seeing you every day is my goal
It is my heart that you stole.
I really like noodles in a cup; what better way to express my love? Write a poem
Eating a bowl of noodles
Slurping the squiggly lines to extinction.
Gulping down the boiling hot broth
Coughing a bit, breathing a lot.
Wishing everyone a happy new year.
Colorless icicles hang off my hair
That has lost all of it's bounce and sway
Now resting on top my head
Looking like a disarray
Of sauced up spaghetti noodles
Absent of thought,
I wait for the meal
that we know too well.
I know the noodles
will seem undone,
the flavor will remind
of times past where I knew
nothing better than easy food,
but I brought it anyways.
I don't want a photo
of my childhood,
I just want lunch.
I'm gonna doodle a poodle eating a noodle...
By: Hiro Enomoto hehehe credits goes to my friend... Just wanna share this to everybody... :)
Bundled up in my big blue blanket,
Holding my heavenly hot cocoa,
Simmering as I'm sipping,
Nibbling on my noodles,
I gaze out the window,
Rain, rain, rain,
Grey clouds canvassing the sky,
Water falling creating rivers in the street,
The only thing I vow to accomplish today at all
Is finish season seven of Supernatural.