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Styles 1d
Our lips met
wet, from the rain.
after that you let,
get, inside and we came.

Ever since that moment,
I haven't been the same.
I can't forget, how you felt,
our body-heat could melt a flame.
Born with a small twitching body,
with a small soft face
living a small life,
Repulsed, filled with rage and hate.
One day i will wake up
and do something great.

Extraordinary, truly remarkable,
Etch something coarse
on the parchment of fate,
One day i will wake up,
Unforgettable,
and do something great.

Write a list of the big differences I can make,
Go deep, scratch all my dreams' buried surface
Maybe one day little things will add to a lot,
The fears will fade,
I will do something great.
So many things to do, so little time, so much fear. everything intertwined
Lip balm - so that my girlfriend can kiss the juiciest lips.
Face cream - so that she can pat the most tender cheeks.
Hand cream - so that she can feel the most gentle touch.
Eye cream - so that she can look into my sparkling eyes as much
as she'd likes.
Hair balm - so that she can adore my very soft hair.
That's why I do the skincare...
My 5-step skincare routine
Micko Nov 13
How can you hate a  Poet?
How can you hate a person who  freely pours, his/her fantasy imaginations and art to the world?
How can you hate such a pure and honest soul?
The new dawn 222.

Micko
I like the waves.
The way their static fizz tickles
the bristles of my ears,
as if they were long brown thistles in beach dunes,
engirding pools of sand between
the wet crevices of my toes.

I’ll lie in the bayside sheets of gold,
where the clouds drift silent,
encompassed by its warm fold,
soaking my horse-haired brush
into sand-speckled jar,
painting my watercolour flowers;
butter daffodils and heavens daisies.

I’ll lie on sun-dried towels
beneath chequered brolly
and scribble my brain
into summer-kissed parchment,
with leaded letters and granite words.

I’ll write in the colour of my soul,
using what’s left of my heart,
as I’m flayed down to the white-skinned bones
that hold me upright:
left thin and pale.
But, for these tapestries,
I find it worth my loves
discounted sale.
Passionate writing takes its toll.
Hot skin on cool sheet

love breathes between kisses.

Limbs twist and tangle

moving towards a culmination of the physical

guided by the spiritual.

Love breathes between kisses.

Love breathes between lovers.

Love breathes

  you are the breath in me.
As you hold me in your arms
Our fingers entwined together
A current of energy
flowing from your body to mine
So strong and exhilarating
I melt into you
My heart racing
my breathing erratic
I feel like , I could explode
From this overwhelming feeling & energy
Your energy and soul
connecting to mine
I have never felt you like this before
and ,  I can’t wait to feel you like this again

©Jennifer L DeLong 10/02/17
Boris Cho Nov 11
The vintage shop sits quietly, unassuming in the heart of a small and beautiful town surrounded by a body of water and cliffs, its timeworn facade a gateway to a world where old becomes new under the hands of a gifted fashion designer. Inside, the racks are draped not just with garments, but with stories; threads of lives lived, meticulously chosen and revived by a woman whose creativity knows no bounds. She is not just the store’s curator but its alchemist, turning faded fabrics into expressions of something bold and modern.

Her ambition is clear in every stitch and seam. She reimagines each piece, blending the charm of bygone eras with her own artistic vision. To her, these are not mere clothes; they are canvases, waiting for her touch to bring them back to life in ways that honor their past but fit seamlessly into the present.

Her dedication is evident, from the way she moves about her shop with a discerning eye to the late hours spent sketching and sewing in her workshop. In her hands, something as simple as an old jacket becomes a quilted statement, a reminder that beauty, when crafted with passion, never fades; it evolves. Here, in this vintage store, old souls are reborn, one design at a time.



In the heart of Elora, she weaves her threads,
A seamstress of stories, where vintage is led.
With eyes that see beauty in worn-out seams,
She stitches the past into tomorrow’s dreams.

Her hands know the fabric, each fold and line,
Crafting with patience, her vision divine.
Upcycled wonders, they whisper of care,
Each stitch a promise, each garment a prayer.

In the warmth of her shop, the old comes alive,
Threads of yesterday help futures to thrive.
She’s more than a tailor, she’s more than a name;
A creator, a giver, her kindness untamed.

— Sincerely, Boris
Arturo Nov 10
When you feel the deeper calling,
Something yearning to be expressed.
A definite thing
Felt,
Yet unseen.
Elusive,
Stirring sleep, bringing unrest.

You’ve become shrouded
in years, my friend,
decades even,
of wonder and mastery.
Your noble craft, the role you play,
Has reached its brilliant totality.

Yet beneath the fading light
A gift for others’ lives.
A new reason for being and
Perhaps, It speaks,
my friend,
From nothing
beginning to Rise.

It leaves the body of knowledge-
Your blood, sweat, and tears.
Obsolete,
like gas station receipts
That wallpaper the rooms
Of victory over the years.

What you’ve achieved in life,
Grand and monumental
No Doubt!
Has become, as it should-
Just a shell.
Protecting Divinity within, what was,
and the fragile human without.

So sit, my brother,
With the pain and grief
Of longing.
And hear its funeral song.
For beneath the Melody,
Sweet sorrow brings with it
The birth of how you belong.
Taÿpen Nov 9
We locked eyes as the magnetic force pulled us together
We communicated without a single word
We connected in sync; enraptured by your smile I couldn’t even blink
So many fantasies playing in my mind
Plotting on taking you back to my suite so I can give you that sweet seduction
There’s a spark that needs setting and you’re the fuse
I tug and you pull as neither one of us wants to lose  
You looking like a cake in your birthday suit
I’m going to enjoy every single slice of you
You gripping the sheets, hair in disarray
Hear your screams from miles away, let the whole world know who got you this way
I’ll have you going crazy endlessly over my magic stick
Behind close doors you can let go and lose yourself to me.
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