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Savio Fonseca Jun 2020
Your Fragrance Tonight,
is full of Passion.
Let's crawl into Bed,
in the same old Fashion.
Shut the Door,
as I off the Light.
So We can start Our Romance,
on this naked Night.
Unwrap your Feelings,
that U have for Me.
Like the flowing River,
My Love will never cease to Be.
As your Moans and Whispers,
sound their Flirtatious  Note.
I shall recite to U,
The Love Poem I Wrote.
Mar Sep 2019
Esses dias tua beleza
Se iguala a daquelas noites movimentadas em cidades urbanas.

Seus pensamentos, barulhentos
São como um farfalhar de folhas a meia noite numa ruela vazia.

Teu olhar tem aquele contraste perfeito
Luz artificial adentrando a escuridão profunda.

Seus dedos tamborilando no ar ao som da nossa respiração no ar gélido da madrugada

Nosso silêncio cai como uma oração sob o centro dessa metrópole.

Nascemos em meio a carros e prédios.
E pessoas ocupadas, andando apressadas, que veem e não enxergam e não tem tempo para amar.

Cercados de cultura e arte
Só se preocupam: “onde estavam Vênus ou Marte?”
Para definir falta de empatia como personalidade.

E nós em meio a isso.
Contaminados com a falta de sorrisos.
Andamos olhando para cima
Porque há muita coisa para ver

E nesse andar distraído
O tempo passa rápido, despercebido
Desaprendemos a viver

Ocupados com a falta de empatia
Esquecemos que não só choro; Há alegria
E, quanta hipocrisia!
Ficamos sem tempo para amar.
zebra May 2016
i love Satins *****
she means a lot to a bard
i hope shes a switch
but life can be hard

a satanist has class
and has a lot a will
and i love your sweet ***
and i work in Satan's mill

I know about archetypes
there my best friends
ive seen all there lights
and ive lived in their dens

thank god for the devil
hes been a hella good friend
i love you to hurt me
on that you may depend

a blade up my ***
ill shimmy and shake
and give you no sass
hope you want what you take
Serafeim Blazej Sep 2016
Cinzas permanecem. Por isso somos abençoados nas cinzas após todo o fogo se extinguir. O fogo não dura. As cinzas sim. Mesmo se são levadas pelo vento, lavadas pela água ou enterradas na terra. Até mesmo se são postas no fogo novamente. Elas sempre permanecem, não importa o quê.
Fala (discurso).
Era parte de uma história.

("ashes remain/so we are blessed")
Walker May 2015
Every song reminds me of what we were.
I miss you.
I need you.
I've thought about it everyday "if I could just go back to my old ways, before anyone knew."
I'd do it all over again because now I know what I want.
I've already replayed every time it happened to see if I could get the same emotion out of it.
I'm beginning to experiment again.
I now have a reason for every single one.
I've reached the point where I have them all in reach.
I will soon allow myself to fall into it... In every way.
Dyanova Sep 2014
I. Parade Square

I can still feel the blisters from the hotplate ground,
the tar off my marred body,
imagine my acid sweat coercing my eyes
to burn with an perverse, masochistic
fire for this
my tongue could never profess.
Running or sprinting blind, and
then a rumble above, force open my eyes to
watch the undercarriage of the SQ A380
hang low like a

II. Swimming Pool

Usually we swim here,
or get cooked by the sun,
but there was once we pumped eighty
because the FT was bored and wanted to go

III. Cookhouse

we sit down half-asleep,
milo in hand,
a lump of oily I-don’t-quite-know-what on my plate.
Every table a section-full of once-boys
taking a glimpse at the outside world through flat rectangular
window panes that hang from the ceiling.
At 0600, Channel News Asia plays the National Anthem,
and I wonder why we don’t sing it

IV. Range

It is going on two months in this foreign land
Two months of having not shot a single picture

A single snug trigger-click, snap-shot
Burst of colour – bang! – picture

Tangy black three-point-eight-two kilos that
Hang off me like a corpse-like appendage

Two months of wading through picturesque scenery
Lilac cirrus sky, or the sleeping shadows of silhouetted trees

And no chance to shoot any photos
But the picture of simulated ******

As I point and pull, hear the
Trigger-click of my camera go


V. Grenade Ground

When I picked up the little
olive thing, and placed it in the pouch
next to my left breast, beside my
I couldn’t help but ponder
if that was how the Bali
felt like, moments before they

VI. Beyond the Sphinx bridge

This is another world;
a world filled with so many dark
I cannot write about it.
I would have saved you from drowning in your
waterlogged grave, except
I was drowning

On the long ride back
to camp,
I gazed into the distant twilight, thinking,
we may sit in the
tonner, but in actuality
we all find our own roads

VII. Coy Line

When I shower I close my eyes,
feel the slow trickle of water from
the broken showerhead, and
imagine myself in a hotel villa, or
one of those luxury hotsprings.

When the lights go off I lie back,
gaze out at the orange floodlight that
shines through the panes,
illuminates my teary face,
darkens my world
to a quiet, uneasy

VIII. Ferry Terminal

Every book-out
I let the man scan my card,
puff up my shoulders
and catwalk down the dock
with a sense of newfound authority.
I’m a civilian now.

Sit and hear the low rumble of the ferry
get louder and
like a plane on the verge of taking off;
like a soul on the verge of
I hate army and will always hate army. But sometimes you realise there's a strange alluring beauty even in hell.

— The End —