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WickedHope Jan 2015
Navy blue sweater
Five buttons up
Reaches my thighs

Brush the sleeves
Graze my hand
I gasp and sigh

But you turn away
*I wish you'd stay
Will you stay?
- - -
This is an old piece. Ehhh.... it's bad.
We went to the movies and I didn't bring a sweater.
But the night was coldly filled with goosebump raising weather.
There were goosebumps on my skin but I didn't have my sweater.
I thought it would be better if we sat closer together.
You wrapped your arms around me and were my warmth spreader.
You made my heart melt and now I will forever be your debtor.
Sierra Nov 2014
She's one of those girls
He said
One who wears a lot of beads
Beads that stretch to her elbow

And with one look
The look of guilt
Shame
Knowing

He knew
He knew the look on my face
He knew I was like the girl with beads

Panic washed over his ghostly face
Hurt clouded his eyes
Pulling up my sweater sleeve
He saw nothing

A sigh of relief escaped his lips
But he did not realize
..He lifted the wrong sweater sleeve

s.j.d
Katie Sep 2014
I wanna
mind ****
the ****
out of
your mind
but where is MY mind?
aetherx Aug 2014
the trace of you is still sensed
faint but there;
when I arise in a daze,
dizzy, bedazzled, hazy,
from pleasant dreams

the thoughts of you evade my mind
in the glory of dusk and dawn
to evoke, certain emotions
that I never thought could exist
talk, pause, think
speak, laugh, blink

cradling myself by building a nest
of memories I pick from my mind
pluvious weather,
the pitter patter,
the knits on the sweater,
reminds me of you
but what trail of constellation
does not remind me of a star,
that is you?
lX0st Aug 2014
The rips in my sweater
Are a metaphor
For the way your cold hands
Still keep me warm,
And your glittering eyes
After 5 glasses
Are the reason I've diagnosed myself
With insomnia.
Your lips part like the clouds
And expose my soul
To the warmth of your chest
And I actually struggle to breathe
When you say my name
But I can't think of a better way to die.
Death seems to be the omnipresent topic of the week (sorry).
Lyra O Jul 2014
44.
the seam of your undershirt,
stretched straight across the valley’s crest
of your back, creasing through
the fabric of your shabby purple
sweater, highlighted by shadows cast
upon your form by the languid yellow
of the streetlights lining the street at
six in the evening, when everything
is blue & black, & dumb gray
is the atmosphere, ringing with the
revving of the cars passing us by
in streaks of red & blindness,
blurring past us, to the rhythm of
the rise & fall of your shoulders &
the sway of your hips, perfectly in
view as you walk ahead, unaware
of my stare, boring deep into the
dip of your spine’s abyss, thinly sheathed
by the taut stretch of your undershirt
draped over by your flimsy sweater,
mauve in the dim light, & through the haze
of gray escaping my lips, forming a wall
gossamer-thin before my face, streaming
in between my vision & your form, your
image of purple, mauve, silent, in the
blue & yellow, of black-brown bob hair
glinting in the sharp pierce of the dull
fireflies overhead, dead, undancing,
fixed atop their posts as beacons,
but jaded, faded, & damp,
like the purple of your sweater.
18 September 2013.
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