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Carlo C Gomez Jun 15
I wonder how old your smile,

how far your hemisphere:

fringes of your admired shape,
traces of your desired smell.

Might they reveal what clouds know.

Perhaps measure a held glance,
the flowers in your hair.

Perhaps discover
a here without a where.
vita Jun 14
she hated bras.
    but she wore one
                                           so he could take it off her.
so he could look,
             at her almost naked body
                                                                ­      and be forced,
to use his imagination,
                           for a moment,
                                                         ­                                       longer.
she did this hoping
                                            to preserve:
                                                       whatever image he’d created
                           for a moment,
                                                                ­                                longer.
      her body was bare and real and
                     “perceptible by touch”
Jewel Aug 2020
I hate this
absolutely hate this
how do I 
embrace this?

what's there to
in my mind and
in my hands

I want to
but I can’t 
seem to grasp it

I'm waiting 
for the day
to come
what can I do
what I have?
I sit with my feet dangling into a circle
whose edge I rest on
as if it were a window sill.

From here the earth looks ancient.
It’s pull mothered by the curvature
of spacetime.
The spring blossoms curving
when they fall.

Our fate floating out there: intangible–
outside this circle where my toes abide
Our fate floating in us: tangible–
The place in which my torso resides

The debate seems fresh unlike the sagely soil. My limbs alive –life giving life– emerging like the pistil from a bellflower
unconcerned with philosophy.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
by Michael R. Burch

What shall I say to you, to confess,
words? Words that can never express
anything close to what I feel?

For words that seem tangible, real,
when I think them
become vaguely surreal when I put ink to them.

And words that I thought that I knew,
like "love" and "devotion"
never ring true.

While "passion"
sounds strangely like the latest fashion
or a perfume.

NOTE: At the time I wrote this poem, a perfume called Passion was in fashion. Keywords/Tags: confession, confess, words, tangible, real, surreal, feelings, love, devotion, passion, perfume, fashion, false advertising, hype
LC Apr 2020
the brain is a filter
severing unhelpful connections
we try to hold the smoke
of rapidly fading memories
yet it passes through our fingertips.

since we worry about what we lack
the loss of memories may create a void
yet that same void can hold
new, tangible memories
ones that help us grow.
#escapril day 2!
John McCafferty Feb 2020
A plea to Phi
Gold hidden in plain sight
Her lips don't lie as
a primal force will rise
Tangible symmetry of course
where lessons in ratio apply
All is in sync in my mind
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
LC Jan 2020
was intangible
less than a spirit
its voice inaudible
color exited life.

is truly tangible
a spirit with a bright aura
its voice so enticing and loud
that color is entering life again.
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