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I escape to a shiny lake
where waters are calmer,
my mistakes are not raked
and the waters are warmer.
But without sting rays
and cold-ness of days,
This town is deserted
and the bar is so empty.
I dream of flirtation
and of illumination.
So much for singularity,
bringing one to peace,
and thoughts come tumbling.
Waters flows from fountain as she showers
Siren with the lust just to have children,
She's only looking to score, not for thee,
Babies are on her mind, like the daisies,

You think she lusts with the things she'll do
but her body hides feelings in your gut,
seduction, memorizes, temptation,
Blue eyes like lagoon, you don't have a clue,

Seeds are the only thing and not your weeds
Trust becomes the stale of your bread crust
After she slits your throat and the next chapter,
birth to her little one was your small worth.

joy, man's child he can't enjoy,
Siren knows sacrifice has forgiven.
10 syllable per line, first word of each line must rhyme with the last and must end with a tribute to the subject manner of last  two lines. Oh and 3 stanzas plus end tribute. There are other rules if you look carefully at the ending words. First stanza - 1,2,1,2 Second - 1,3,2,4  Third stanza - Non-end rhyming Tribute - 1,2
Ryan Quatrain - Feel free to give this intricate rhyming scheme a go with your own poems and pm me so I can take a peek, please.
Falling Awake Nov 13
As you came into my view, I could see…  
There was something missing internally.    
A void was preventing me to be free,            
And was plaguing me, since eternity.            

But with your presence, I suddenly knew,
All along, my insides have felt askew.        
It’s keeping me down; it’s painting me blue.    
But now the color is displaced by you…        

Displaced by you–my gaps vanish in whole,  
Displaced by you–integrated my soul,      
Deep–into every last wrinkle and fold,      
We’re integrated–together we’re rolled.    

And as you’ve become ingrained in my veins,    
There’s no pause to the pattern or plane,      
We sit flush, joining as if we’re the same,    
This feels familiar--there might be a name.        

But how to define something of the sorts,
Existing naturally, without a source,
But now apparent, an obvious force
As it all made sense–I uttered...

“of course.”
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.
Anais Vionet Nov 11
(A throw-back piece, a breakup poem from high school)

What a lonely, peculiar, eccentric figure I must be. A girl, in a garden, crying at an iPad, in the dark.

Earlier, at school...

It was a clear spelling out, like steel cuts thru fruit.

As he spoke, he looked down and away, his gorgeous face blank and indifferent, as if I were wasting his time or he was talking to a child needing an obvious truth taught quickly.

When he finally looked back at me, I saw no pity in his impersonal, hazel eyes.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I needed time to contemplate the universe's new laws.

Can a girl just suddenly die of heartache?? because I was sure my heart had stopped, locked and frozen.

Finally, I gasped in this impossible new air—the force of it made me hold the cold-iron stair railing—the game is rough.

He's so—male—all chase and careless passion—intelligent teaser, a skilled steersman of excited climates... Oh, you simply have no idea.

And now he was, gone—still there physically—but gone to me—as if he'd transformed into a hologram or had begun to orbit some other sun, he just...

"You made me feel special." I said.

I had lost my balance on this faithless and unequal world, where heaven so cruelly punishes desires.

"You made me feel I mattered, such a favor." I said, absentmindedly, as I turned, and went back up the three steps into school.

I don't think I looked back at him as the door closed. After all, he wasn't there anymore.

I think he called my name, like a question...
.
.
Song for this:
Still Is Still Moving to Me (with Willie Nelson) by ***** & The Maytals
Helpless by The Cleaners From Venus
A gift that sparkles in city lights.
like xmas trees in December nights,
Dazzling eyes and gorgeous skin,
Pale like the typical English,
but radiates like a burning fire,
the red of clasping barbed wire,
an angel spawned into mortal flashes
more than worthy of the moon's blesses.
My bones free of Anathema's heresy.

You make me a believer.
It can't get better,
than the flow of ice,
drifting of your eyes,
a taste of buttery cries.
smooth and silky
as the tide is shifting,
while the raft,
has a hole and's sinking.
Tangerine and honey drip in equal measure on the finely woven silk that lightly covers you.

As my tongue takes its pleasure I can barely discern where the silk stops and your skin begins.

The sound of your sighs and a rise in temperature tells me I've found a sweet spot.

A soft spot, goose flesh and shivers, not just yours but my own.

Had I known such joys could awaken, I would have mistakenly spilled the honey long ago.
Boris Cho Nov 10
There was a time when I believed that intimacy was something instinctual, a force that either existed between two people or didn’t. But over time, I came to understand that intimacy is not simply a given; it is something that must be nurtured through honest and vulnerable conversations, each revealing the heart of what we need, fear, and desire.

I learned that the foundation of connection lies in acknowledging my deepest longings; those desires that go beyond physicality. It required me to unravel the layers of what I want, to express the complexities of attraction, and to embrace the discomfort of speaking my truth. Only by facing these unspoken needs could I truly invite another into the depth of my intimacy.

I also had to confront the tension between pleasure and discomfort. There’s an art in balancing these two forces, in recognizing that not every touch, every moment, will be perfect. It became clear to me that boundaries are essential, that knowing when to say ‘yes’ and when to say ‘no’ is as much a part of intimacy as the act of coming together. The body speaks in these moments, revealing both joy and hesitation, and I had to learn to listen.

Trust, I realized, is the heartbeat of connection. It is not enough to want intimacy; it must be built on a foundation where vulnerability can flourish. This is a trust that goes beyond words; it requires action, consistency, and the courage to be fully seen. In moments of doubt, I had to open myself further, revealing my flaws and insecurities, knowing that trust isn’t something to be passively given, but actively cultivated.

And then there’s the rhythm of how we communicate; the delicate balance of speaking and listening. I found that the most profound conversations are often those that leave space for silence, for reflection. Patience became my ally, as I learned that empathy in communication creates a shared experience, one that allows both of us to feel understood without the need for constant resolution.

But perhaps the most transformative realization was understanding that intimacy is not static. It evolves, just as we do. My body, my desires, and the way I seek connection have changed over time, and I’ve come to accept this as part of the journey. Rather than clinging to past versions of ourselves, I found a certain grace in adapting, in continually exploring new ways to nurture both trust and pleasure.

In the end, these realizations became more than lessons. They became a practice; an ongoing commitment to creating space for intimacy that is as rich emotionally as it is physically. It’s a space where love deepens, where empathy and passion intertwine, and where both partners are given the freedom to grow alongside each other.



It’s in the breath between words,
A place where we meet,
Beyond the edge of touch,
Where skin is not a barrier, but a bridge.

It’s in the slow unraveling of the heart,
Our truest selves,
Waiting to be seen,
waiting to be held.

Intimacy is the courage to stay,
Where bodies bend,
Not just for the warmth of another,
But for the release of what we carry alone.

The eyes that undress what words cannot,
The trust that grows
Not from promises spoken,
But from the weight of presence of being whole.

Where love is not just felt,
But understood
In the way we share our breath,
Our silence,
Our fears,
And our fire.

— Sincerely, Boris
Boris Cho Nov 10
Love, in all its varied forms, has shaped me. It is through love that I have discovered the complexities of friendship, the exhilaration and heartache of romance, and the beauty of self-discovery. The years have taught me that love is not confined to the romantic ideals we often hold in our youth, but rather, it permeates every facet of life; friendship, family, and, perhaps most importantly, the love we cultivate within ourselves.

Through friendships, I learned the art of companionship, the silent language of loyalty, and the sharp pain of betrayal. Friends are the scaffolding upon which the architecture of my life has been built, and though time may weather those bonds, I understand now that each connection serves its purpose; either to uplift or to teach.

Romantic love, for all its allure, often presents itself as a mirror reflecting back our deepest insecurities and desires. It is within the pursuit of love that I have faltered, my heart at times shattered by misplaced trust or unfulfilled promises. Yet, I have come to see that the true tragedy of love is not its ending, but the missed opportunities to grow alongside someone who enriches you, rather than diminishes you.

In the midst of seeking external validation, I realized that the most profound relationship is the one I have with myself. Self-love, often overlooked, is the foundation upon which all other forms of love must be built. It is in moments of solitude that I have found clarity, understanding that I must first learn to stand alone before I can truly stand with others.

Life’s most valuable lessons are delivered not in grand epiphanies, but in the quiet moments; through friendships that evolve, through relationships that end, and through the resilience we muster in solitude. What remains is the awareness that love, in its many forms, is less about perfect outcomes and more about the journey; the vulnerability, the joy, and the inevitable pain that accompanies it.

Each encounter, whether fleeting or enduring, has etched itself into the fabric of who I am. And from this, I have learned that love, above all else, is a choice; one we must make with grace, courage, and, perhaps most of all, with a deep sense of compassion for ourselves.



Before I stand with you,
I must stand with myself;
In quiet corners of solitude,
Where no hand holds mine,
And no voice echoes back my worth.

I must be whole,
Not seeking refuge in another’s eyes,
But rooted in the soil of my own soul,
Blooming from the love I give within.

Only then,
With steady hands and open heart,
Can I walk beside you,
Not as half seeking whole,
But as one who knows how to love;
By first loving me.

— Sincerely, Boris
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