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WJ Thompson Feb 2018
I am wild, my akushla,
a solivigant.
But you are a cynefin.

Your kalon conceives resfeber in me.
Beasts rumble within like brontide,
they chant of redamancy, my trouvaille.

The dragoman drew me to you
Speaking of yugen
the susurruss mountains
they cured my atelphobia
Submontane caves
where our lights baltered among the selcouth crystals
Reminding me of basorexic spoondrift
breaking the moonglades you adore,
my fellow parallian.

Perhaps it was boyish werifesteria
or maybe I was selenotropic
to fall in love with a gentle boobook
ever so finifugal when we speak

But I feel filipendulous when abendrot bows for advesperacit

You sometimes consider it sphalolaliah,
my words, going ever on and on,
But I’ll learn your lagom, if you give me time
akushla-A transliteration of an Irish phrase that means “my pulse”, a term of endearment.
solivigant-wandering alone
cynefin-a Welsh word meaning a place you feel you ought to live, where nature feels welcoming.
kalon-inner and outer beauty.
resfeber-the nervous feeling before a journey; a mixture of anxiety and excitement before travel.
brontide-the low rumbling sound of distant thunder
redamancy-love fully returned; opposite of unrequited.
trouvaille-something pleasant you find by chance.
dragoman-translator and guide, usually in Turkish or Persian countries.
yugen-an awareness of the universe that triggers emotional responses too deep to be put into words.
susurrus-quiet whispering, or rustling.
atelphobia-the fear of not being good enough.
submontane-under or through mountains.
Balter-to dance recklessly; yet with enjoyment.
selcouth-unfamiliar, strange; yet marvelous
basorexia-the overwhelming urge to kiss
spoondrift-spray blown from waves during a gale at sea.
moonglades-the bright reflection of the moon’s light on water.
parallian-someone who lives by the ocean
werifesteria-to wander through the forest looking for mystery
selenotropism-growth in response to moonlight
boobook-a small, brown owl.
finifugal-someone who hates endings to stories, trips, or relationships.
filipendulous-hanging by a thread.
abendrot-the color of the sky when the sun is setting.
advesperacit-the approaching dark; the evening drawing near.
sphalolaliah-flirtatious talk that leads nowhere
lagom-just the right amount. Not too much; not to little.
cindy Jan 2018
Juste pour cette soirée
Laisse-toi aller
J'ai les artifices
On mettra en feu cet édifice
Ce sera luxe, calme et volupté

Oublions l'embarras du quotidien
Pour cette soirée je t'appartiens
Hors de cet espace temporel
Tout semble difficile et artificiel
Ce sera luxe, calme et volupté

Embrase et embrasse
Ce soir on la joue à l'audace
Souffle et avale
L'ambiance est estivale
Ce sera luxe, calme et volupté

Sans répercussions ni chagrin
De notre aventure obscure
Je me délecterai jusqu'au matin
Sans blessure, sans rayure ni rupture
Ce sera luxe, calme et volupté
Dirt Oct 2017
everytime i see a german shepard i see you
evertime i hear scripture i hear you
everytime i smell **** i smell you
everytime i touch a keyboard i feel you
everytime i taste hot cocoa i taste you
everytime i feel love i feel you
how am i supposed to forget you when you are in everything i do?
TheModernHippie Oct 2017
BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY, THIS WILL BRING THE PERFECT PLAY OF EMOTIONS AND CAPTIVATIONS AND SURPRISING REACTIONS


I’ll have a car, a ride, a pony, stallion HAHA or not.
Altis.
Grey. Just the right size actually. Shouldn’t actually matter, but it does if you think about it.
Confused,
maybe a little since it’s out of a comfort zone.
Exciting,
I felt the chills on my neck just now lol.
I know I talk easy but my mind will be racing for sure.
I’ll think about the mood, the vibe, think about where things will be and why.
I’ll wonder why I’m there for sure.
And I’ll be a little good kinda scared.
But I will be growing, no matter.
That night will be evidence.

Too early to tell?
I wouldn’t know.
But I know I’ll have tried to get at least 1 friend to go. Or two.
Probably should invite them now.
But what if I DO lone wolf it?
She’ll get to see me being outgoing and not awkward with people. She’ll see me as fun to be with knowing he can get out of his skin to make something of himself where no one judged who he was
and where he came from
or how he spoke
and how he dressed.
Oh, thinking about it, it’s what I really want. Exploration, adventure, people.
Money won’t be an issue,
but if I’ll need a tissue
or buy a drink for you.

Which I don’t mind too.

Maybe you’d be thinking the same.
I’ve known this human as a real being for only 4 hours max. All that online talk, sure we get each other, sure we connect, but it’s the night where I become something to you for sure.
You’ll become something for me maybe, even.
Hopefully, and fearfully.

But tonight the night will surely be a new scene,
so on our guard we’ll be.
I don’t know if you do that,
and you don’t know if I go to these.
I don’t know anything about you
I’m scared.
I feel like I should.
But nonetheless,
It’s a process I want to be on.

I’ll think a dozen things
or two,
and overthink what I actually want to do.
I’ll roll with the punches and play along,
and I actually had a thought,
maybe even sing you a song.
This is too early to tell.
I’m usually like this, sorry. I attach myself to people easily,
and maybe this is good or bad,
Because we will connect and be on the same wavelength and talk freely without judgement from the lookers and nobodies.

...

And we might even flirt a little, arm touching, smiling wildly, trusting.
“That beer will do fine right about now :)”
“You sure you’re not gonna get drunk like the last time?”
“Trust me, of all the nights, this is one I want to be sober on. Plus, this won't be our last time :)”

...


But it just means that I’m exposed.
And my strength will dwindle, you see.
For you are as exactly in the position to react to my actions and expressions that will drive me towards exaggeration and exasperation, or painful expectations and realizations, as accordingly.
I cannot be defenseless.
There is so much of me that needs work on
And I know if you are everything I pictured you to be, then you are one of the only things that can destroy me.
So who really knows how the night will end?
Will a romantic be satisfied
or continue to be deprived of something he felt,
could be real…
...for a moment at least?
Will he ever so gracefully take hold and do away with it so beautifully
or will he be struck down once again,
ever so dutifully?

Well, we’ll know for sure, won’t we?
How about that, you're excited for something.
Impzz Sep 2017
boundaries protect me from you
boundaries that we cannot see through
locked my lips shut but i cannot see you
but i know we will be ingrained forever

got dressed at sunrise in that same suit and tie
but surely it was nightfall when we locked minds
wrap your mask around me i can feel the warmth and i said
the only thing on my head is that this would make a good
...portrait
girl diffused Sep 2017
The first thing I do when I come back
Is try to tell you that he defiled me in some way
I don't tell you how his teeth pull on sensitive flesh
Beads of blood dribbling down his chin
Lackadaisical smile, predatory and darkly humored gleam in his eyes
His eyes are unfurling storm clouds
Every time he becomes angry his mouth sets in a thin line of grimness

I reach beyond that and try to pull out the man from fifteen minutes earlier
The one who grasped my hand during 2am joy rides to Taco Bell or McDonald's
Donuts in the parking lot as I squeal, childlike, content, euphoric, my body humming and buzzing with adrenaline
The man who kissed my forehead, early in the morning,
Whispered I love you against my temple, thinking I wasn't half-awake

The first thing I do when I come back
Is retreat into a head-space, monochromatic
I listen to the same songs on repeat
I leave my phone, unattended, on the lime-green desk
I flop onto my stomach on my bed
I conjure up fifteen messages in the span of two days and send them to him
No one is present to tell me to stop

The first thing I do when I come back
Is tell myself that he will drive to my house
White 2010 Charger idling next to my black and red mailbox
I can see him through my sheer off-white curtains
He'll peer up at me
I'll slip on my flats and rush downstairs
He'll pepper my face with butterfly-light kisses
Exclaim how much he loves me and misses me

The first thing I do when I come back
Is, instead, remember his hands pressing against my throat
The coldness of his eyes
Furrowed brow, dry lips, teeth bared
An animal stalking and conquering its prey
I am a fawn in the jaws of a wolf
His maw is bloodied
I am dying

The first thing I do when I come back
Is try to tell you this but you say it's my fault
I left, you say
I packed my bags angrily and impulsively, you say
I was ill, I reply defensively
You still left, you say
You still walked into it, you say

I feel his hands around my neck, mom
I feel his hands pressing the pillow down on top of my head, mom
I feel him smothering and choking me, mom
He wants me to ******* die
I feel his words scratching along the surface of my skull
I hear his voice slithering along, serpentine, cunning, sluicing through my bloodstream
I feel him everywhere
I feel him inside
I feel him invading me
I feel him roughly entering me, mom
I feel him not stopping
I feel his insistence and entitlement
It hurts, mom
I'm sorry
I'm ******* sorry

The first thing I do when I come back
Weeks later after I phone the domestic abuse hot-line
The call, recorded at approximately 1 hour and 22 minutes (a guess—shot in the murky proverbial dark)
Is phone him 28 times, convince myself he's really having *** with a coworker like he said
Convince myself that somehow in my addled brain he'll come back
I sit in the laundry room downstairs, open a bottle of Chlorine bleach
Contemplate drinking it
Scream until my voice is hoarse
Plead with him
Ask him
Wonder
Aloud
Why would you do this to me?
After four years...
Why did you do all of this to me?

The first thing I do when I come back
Is sit in a therapist's office about two to three years later
Tears pooling in my eyes
Gnawing on my lip
Worrying my dry hands
And say softly:

“I need help.
Help me dig his grave.
Help me lower the ******* coffin.
Please, help me bury the voice.”

I tell her what I couldn't tell you, mom
I tell her that he's still there
exulansis
n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.
girl diffused Sep 2017
We felt the wistfulness and urging
Somewhere in the pale light
Slanting across our bodies
Submerged in a bed that smelled of our discarded childhoods
Tasted of our desperation and craving for love
Devoid of anything saccharine, bitter in the aftertaste

In the early morning I laid there, on top of you
Warmth trailing from your body,
Snaking across the smooth planes of my stomach
You cradling me like I wished my father could have
Fingers threading through my hair
Untangling the knots from my childhood

You spoke into my hairline,
Christened yourself repeatedly on my skin
Your voice was a Freudian call
Above the dirge of angry tidal water
Echoing from the corpses of our past

We felt the wistfulness and urging
Somewhere in the pale light
Slanting across our faces
Verdant green of your eyes hypnotizing me
I splayed my fingers against your chest
Felt your ****** harden against the soft pad

I remembered the taste of sweet tomatoes, plump, ripe
Bursting juice onto my tongue
Coffee-soaked ladyfingers
Dappled sunlight streaming through leaves
Blue cloudless sky
Peals of youthful laughter
The smell of your mother's car—Pine Air Freshener
Her rosary swaying back and forth
A religious sacred pendulum

We felt the wistfulness and urging
Somewhere in the duller light
Slanting across our skin
Our contrasting polarizing canvases
We mourned each other in our brokenness
And in the pale evening,
Tried to assemble our skeletons back together
ambedo
n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.

{taken from "The Dictionary of Obscure Words."}
Aleah Jul 2017
So purely obscure,
My longing stays,
Hidden from you,
I meet your gaze,
And I am frozen in place,
My thoughts lead me astray,
I try to find the words,
That are locked away,
There are no truths,
In the things I say,
I am always uncertain,
And you look the other way.
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