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Eurus Mar 11
I'm not looking for
A statue in a museum
Or a love song about me.
A heart beating
To the rythm of mine
Sounds perfect for me.
adele Aug 2018
When summer comes,
I recall the smell of sweet cigarettes.
The smell that made me suffer and drowned.
The smoke kept you away from me
I wanted you to take me far away
But you didn't.
Before I forgot that smell
Before I forgot shape of you
Summer had gone.
Dakota Mar 2018
Thinking about you is like watching the sun set over the most beautiful place on earth. Your colors painted across my sky and lit up my world with sensation. You amazed me like a hundred different colors that changed with the position of the sun. I’m just laying here staring at the moon and dying to know if you felt the same
Jace Kassem Sep 2017
when my lips are spoiling your skin
don't think i'm detached.
my chest would hammer
driving the nails even deeper
(is that what the hollow in heart is?)
as my breath crawls onto your collarbone
and my fingers draw figures onto your *******
my hair would brush across your chin
my hair would coil around your fingers
and my life would coil around your bones
Merely you in the mind,
With your always nature soft and kind
If I could by heart express you
You are my life and end too
If I get closer, I am living though
If I go away, my heart will go

Merely you in my heart,
your love ensembles my whole part
Of brain and vein, and the emotions wart
Unless thee shine as a summery sun
With your beauty and cleverness,
With your energy and adorableness,
you are my number one

Merely you in the earth,
Yes, I'm falling in your love,
And I bet spending all my wealth
Even myself and all my health
To love you, in my soul to inearth

Merely you I can see
I wish you and I become we,
You got me,
And I held my mine,
Until you shelter and lee
I see no else except thee
You reach the high of legacy,
You are my heart's legatee
I wish you and I become "We"
Deana Knight Dec 2015
I don't need no **** man,
But I do need you.

I don't want no **** body,
But I do want you.
Your heavenly lips and the taste of your skin, and
The actual feel of the sensation becoming real.

As the rapture in my stomach continues to expand,
I can hear your **** *** voice taunting me, teasing me, got me thinking the sensation is real.

But it's only a dream,
And he says dreams come true.
So its only a matter of time before you do come through.

We'll be put to the test of being drugged with feels,
And determine whether the sensation its real.

I had heard a song and it was exactly how I was feeling ... sooo that's what made this poem in all honesty.
Teresa Reyes Mar 2015
What is it that I crave?
I crave something I won’t receive,
the tense feeling you get when he touches your side
and then travels down to your leg,
The sensational feeling of peppermint kisses
Big hands cupped around your face
Then back to your hips as he brings you in
What is it I crave?
I crave the sense of protection
The feeling of being needed
Being pulled closer to deepen your love for each other
Feeling the sense of lust and time passing slowly
But instead I'm here in bed lonely
What is it that I crave?
I crave something I won't receive.
lX0st Aug 2014
The tide glides in
Like silk to my skin
And I long
To veil my body
With the sensation.
Stretch out
Face down
And let it pull me
To it's ground.  
But I am a coward
And watch
As the water recedes.
Wait for me".
Unedited and rhyming..clearly not myself tonight.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
You choked on chariots raw. Red egg yolk suppers, churned of the milk oceans this morning you kept.
The lintel of stone turned toward dusk. Some great dynasty of submissive spirits catering your morning
Out on a cart of muse, forms of heaven cannot even hear you. You are a soporific knot in the tale of your Old womanhood. In this infinite Tuesday morning your small black eyes, like an oil tanker toppling over The intense azure sea- shipwrecked, and lost.

Departing from your childhood you slurp Coca-Cola from a silver straw. From the corner store and inside Winter yawns. There is no face, only strikingly beautiful black hair. The body under you is at home in all
My hand's fingers have to fill. All the clothes that you could carry for the two-way adventure. There are
Never enough bubbles between your lips and the glass bottle you have. Only the score of the whistleblower. And the poor symphony you had prayed for into the dial-tone phone, the deep Wilderness, that stiff forever-ago budding from your coffee cup. Neurogenesis lifted from your Fingerprints and emblazoned into this lump of human ingenuity. The hopeless octave that cut us all short.    

Every short story that was left untold. There are the brief deaths recoiling in your spiritual architecture. The ****** of morphia has bourn me awake. Inside you are often unscathed, vanishing as some of Tonight's parts assemble you, on you blue is a beautiful color. The sweet retreat that gave you life or the bountiful deaths that counted you too cutely by your side. You are the sun in my black coat. Here is my sea, your sea, you'll see.
Written for Anna Farinola
I'm never one to get cold
Or get goosebumps
But with the subtlest touch
From her can make my hairs
Stand *****, send chills down my spine
And expel a sigh of relief.
That's the power of her love
So precise so Devine so powerful
That with the tip of her finger
Can make me feel all that at once.

— The End —