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Bongani G-kay Oct 2019
Have you seen
It looked like a dangerous scene
In heavens it is written as a sin
Look over
They are deeds look unclean
Your shoulders *****
Your profile unworthy
Look over
What they started is over
But they are not through
With you
Look over your shoulders
Look over your shoulders
Bohemian Mar 2019
Somewhere in a casket,
Random in my ransacked room,never opened.

I have your silhouettes stored,
Those which I presume a man would never behold.

I imagine your shoulders broad,
Splendid as a bridge across my glee,over which my eyes could be driven.

While I could be soaked in your chest,
For you be so taller.

Your skin being tight and thick,
Such as it already feels to be bugging in.

Your kurta being loose weighed down,
Revealing the sweated collar bones,and much of the rest.

Your complexion could melt upon me,
Wallowing under the sheets.

Your caustics could potentially outshine mine,
Up to the brink, your douchebaggery could shine.

You may sing anything, Ghazals or even hums,
Your baritone could lull me to sleep,with the heft and flatness of it,with some added tunes.

Our towns could be kilometers apart,or the residents even for light years,
Might be the same for our creeds.

Your breath could be a bower,
To the desert of mine.

Your eyes being shrunk crescent moon,
With the lashes too dense,but sight like an arrow piercing.

Your poetry could define,
And for being poet from you I wouldn't envy.

Your resilience could be better than mine,
And your adamant nature,suffice to repeat an act a million times,to achieve the desired.

Unlike me an ergophile,
You could draw a better parallel line.

You were allowed to smoke,
For it, I have an affinity untold.

Your profession be any,
Your passion be vehement,I promise then, to find you in graphite and mullar and heard in Mozart's.

Your hands masculine,with the veins bulged,
And circlets and totem wrapped,red and orange around.

Skies be your preferred roof
Under the rainy sky,the sharing of petrichor shall feel sanctified.

Your gales be a crescendo
Of delight.

Your age could be more to mine,
But things could be divine.
| Preferred but do not care |
Max Feb 2019
Rather have 2 drunken angels on my shoulders
Than
2 sober demons.
:)
Kee Nov 2018
somehow i had started to bleed
my wrists and their scars were open
pouring into the river
eyes cry red drops of blood
falling down my cheek, lips, and chin
yet i can't feel a thing
if anything the regret lifts from my shoulders and sets me free
but i still feel the little bit of blood stuck in my one side of my heart
that i can never seem to get rid of
and the other half never seems to fill back up
so i wait
and wait
until it's a full river of blood
and
then
i
jump
ChildofGodyay Oct 2018
tears like bullets scarred the floors
and the floors were made of gold.
the couch was soaked in tears and i could see my fears.

i didn't know I had claws for fingers and ice for my skin.
and confusion became more familiar to me.
and sin drowned me still.

but when all seemed lost.
and when the noise seems to **** me within,
i....hear...you.

i looked beneath me and saw large,  large shoulders, far and wide.
shining with glorious white.
the oceans below was more treacherous than my rivers.
and the fire burned more than the voices in my head.

Lord, you carried me.
through and through.
on your shoulders....
black and blue
inspired by the song of the same name by 'for KING AND COUNTRY.'
Train of Thought Oct 2018
Have you ever wondered
what it's like to lean on
cold shoulders?

Shoulders that are warm
in you own eyes
but look coldly toward you
Shoulders you openly embrace
but sharply reject you.

Shoulders who
would give your own for them to lean on
but would refuse theirs for your comfort

Still, you lean on them.
Still you care.

I can only ever wish for warmth
from a love so frozen.
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
There is a burden
upon everyone's shoulder
that they have to bear
It doesn't matter if it's big or small, it's a fact!
Man, it's so nice to have a bottle of ice cold water on my forehead while laying down!
Lyn ***
Tsunami Jul 2018
257 days.
For the first time,
I don't want to shower him off my skin.

No need to scrub;
Your lips leaving delicate traces,
Your hands entangled in my hair,

No need to rinse
Feeling you,
Sending shocks down my spine
Fingers brushing against skin
Electric impulses

No need to wash the memories of;
Bodies intwined
Kissing shoulders and sternums
(whatever has been left exposed)
this doesnt make sense
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