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eyes are
quite gelatine
mending bubbly detail
mocking  up  fact   to suit user
/the ears ?  crinkled dishes of pinkened veins
robbing blood to probe the gossip
/digits  bud on the feed
in polyp growth
and ****** a
pepper mill from off the
coffee table/tongue  leeches lips
retaining massaged notes from food oils past
/spatting nostrils   puncture the air
punching out breath purling
inhale a stressed
I S A A C Nov 15
i let it all wash away
everything lives in the gray
my body is mine but my time is yours
you can kiss my body while on all fours
sorry to make you think i would
sorry i didn't think i could
get inside you, underneath your skin
confined in the priest all my fresh sins
did not even need any liquor
did not even need the devil
Have you ever considered that if someone is lost, they were once good?
Have you ever wondered if clouds were mists and what raindrops are if rain exists?
It was these nonsensical questions you always find common to believe in,
like when you talk about metaphors, you always think of "rain."

But the moon figured out it was to give comfort to people who truly needed it at this time.
It was unbearable for some, but for you, dear?
For once, it was almost as if you were being embraced by the platonic moon, who once favored the good, and for once, it never happened again.

The wind is metaphorically a duvet, comforting, warm, and private, innocent and cold.
When the wind whistles and calls for the sky, the sky turns akin to one’s warmth of soft lilted voice and embraces the skin of once lost, a phrase everyone uses in things they find wondrous.

But have you ever wondered if the moon has figured out if he is also one of the good?
If he did, then why did he brush off the earth?
He went far away, visible to the naked eye—and never to be reached.

He left the Creator's dearest one, and everyone gets lonely at night, trying to understand why they grew fond of him—but he never once went down to embrace his own kin, yet he left a half of his own, so he could die when the sun arose from his seat, and he could rest until it was his turn to look over for people who needed his company, even if it was only for a few hours.

He knew it got sad at night, and by this time he, for once, favored the good and never to be seen again but felt.
I always love writing about the moon.
Brian Turner Aug 10
Can you separate a man from his art?
Can you see under his skin?
Do you judge his art by his views?
Look under yours to see what is true
Why do we judge a piece of art by the artists views?
verse Aug 6
give me that mashmellow
i like how u so narrow
moist shimmering on pulpy skin
your attitude so mellow
your my favorite kind of gin
as radiant and lush as a mallow
My Flower
I still remember that day. The unsettling unease.

The drive, I still remember the feeling of the cool air against my skin.

The silence of my phone. The increased rate of my heartbeats.

Something was wrong, I felt it as if the sky itself was telling me.

The memories that follow I can never unsee, as if it was stained perfectly in my mind.

That day my heart sank into the abyss.

If only I was sooner.
Can’t help but find it comedically painful.
Jack Jun 11
Embrace this magical fairy tale,
Place me in your heart,
Hold me tight,
I'm yours as long you want me,
As the love lingers thru the air,
Kiss me slowly,
Our tongues intertwined,
where emotion rhyme with motions,

Love me like nothing else in this world,
We'll be in an endless dream,
Where nightmares never exist,
Keep me and forever I shall be,
Close your eyes,
Feel the heart become one,
Honesty of the night
If only
I was
able to
the wounds
you hold
deep in
you with
the touch
of my
for now,
I only
but, do
you not
they are
not enough,
only you
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