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Jme Love Oct 2021
O
Their lips touch
Creating a spark
Igniting the flame
Burning deep within
The ultimate sin
Fires burn
Losing control
Flesh on flesh
Lighting the soul
Flames dance
Intertwine
Connecting
In rhythm
Fueling the fire
Little ***** of gasoline
Exploding at the perfect time
Opening hells gates
The fire escapes
Flames light the midnight sky
Lighting a cigarette
The fire slowly dies
Until next time
aspen wilde Oct 2021
would i even recognise myself
without all these accessories,
layers upon layers of mere tissue paper
that crumples under the softest touch
am i a bad person for dressing up, and wearing rings, and caring what others think of me
is the real reason i do it all just for attention
am i an attention seeker??
Coleen Mzarriz Sep 2021
If dreams occur because reality shifts into sequences and give a human being series of the strange specific pathway to open the doors of truth over desires and fantasy over morality that sometimes predicts the future of someone, it may look like something out of a classic painting, or Van Gogh's, or Breton's manifesto surrealism or even the impressionist Claude Monet — or simply falling off a building.

Though in dreams, someone will say it is their escapade, their haven, their call of past, their deja vus and jamais vu — but the occurrence of dreams are a horror to someone. And that someone is me.

Nobodies are like masses of droplets of raindrops collapsing on the ground and vanishing like smoke; they lit as the fire and at the same time, water as it is called the rain. Nobodies are treated as no faces in a dream. They represent the being of a human in the realm of this world. Sometimes, they are the persona of our hidden self, sometimes, they are feelings, a place, or a person.

Although nobodies can have faces, it is often that they remain clueless and distinct faces. Faint like a whisper, their touch is almost as the ghostly one and in the gist of it, it is as if they never touch us.

And we forget about their existence. I wonder if nobodies are considered to exist in our realm but are used as a subject to define meanings behind our waking life?

I want to be somebody in someone's waking life. To escape the amenities of the horror the somebodies are facing. I want to be there to breathe a small fresh air and be like a little fairy guiding someone who lost their way.

I guess then in dreams, nobodies want to escape too.
After a month of being gone here, I am back with this piece. More like a thought for this day. I am glad I have a lot of drafts like this.
selina Sep 2021
she's like my midas, incarnated
golden just for me, i know she hates it
but she likes me though
she says

she'll call me baby, call me crazy
when she's the one cursing at me
but she likes me so
she says

and i'll be back everytime
like a sinner drawn to wine
i'll let her touch me, oh
i'll let her drown me in her liquid gold

call it toxic, call it comic
but all i want is this

she's like my midas, her touch is blessed
makes me golden, feeling euphoric
and she loves me so
she says

if this ain't love then what is?

and it's always the same
like a moth drawn to flame
i'll let her touch me, oh
i'll let her burn me 'til we're liquid gold

so she could love me for a bit
hate me for a bit
my love's been being cold to me

so just love me for a bit
i wanna be your *****
and it would feel like gold to me
lol just a song i wrote a little while back
Alex Braun Aug 2021
the idea of putting your lips,
your lips that speak the kindest things,
your lips that sing the most beautiful words,
your lips that paint pictures and craft stories,
your lips that build and tear and design,
putting those angelic creations on someone else's body saying

i speak the kindest things for you,
i sing the most beautiful words for you,
i paint and craft for you, saying
i give you a part of me in every touch

the idea of kissing someone's neck,
of someone kissing yours,
yours where your most vital veins are,
one of the tenderest areas of you,
the passage between your head and your heart,
where all your thoughts roam,
Entrancing,

the idea of kissing someone's wrist and fingertips,
of someone kissing yours,
yours where your hand meets your arm,
where your typing and writing and drawing stem,
where your instruments sing,
where you touch them,
Beautiful,

the idea of kissing someone's torso,
of someone kissing yours,
yours where your heart lays,
where your breath lives,
where all your vitality sits,
with life and happiness,
Insane,

the idea of kissing someone's thigh,
of someone kissing yours,
yours that hold you up,
that run,
that walk,
that jump,
that are crazily powerful yet amazingly soft,
Humanizing

romance lives and dies on your lips, on mine.
i wrote this as prose a couple months ago and decided today to turn it into different format and post it here :)
Rama Krsna Aug 2021
strewn atop
her neatly made bed
decorated with satin sheets and silk pillows,
some dainty rose petals.....
a green bottle of bubbly by the bed side
the highlight of the night....
that slinky ‘coco de mer’ lingerie
her secret weapon.....
as she tucks away her pleasure toy
a smile of relief descends.....

her lover is back in town!


© 2021
dedicated to all those who are separated from their lovers
Mitch Prax Aug 2021
You have the only
hand that does not feel foreign
between my fingers

3:40 PM
7/8/21
Ana Aug 2021
I’ll always remember tonight,
Dressed in your old white t shirt,
I’ll remember the shape of your fingers
Running along my skin,
I’ll remember your lips
Upon my braw,
I’ll remember telling you to stop
Even tho you never did.

I’ll remember still loving you,
Despite what you did to me
I’ll remember that you said you loved me too,
And what you did to me, is what you had to do
to prove it to me
tw: s*xual assault…
declan morrow Jul 2021
touching what is seen,
seeing what is touched:
i cannot see you.
you cannot touch me.

my love.
LC Jul 2021
at first, the thunder cracks my eardrum.
the rain punches the soft ground after
being held back by the clouds for so long,
and I cannot see past the blanket of darkness.
as the storm rages on, the thunder roars,
but my body knows best like it always does.
my hands carefully craft a cup of strong tea,
and my body rests in front of the fireplace,
and the obnoxious thunder lowers its voice,
and the violent rain's touch becomes softer,
and I finally see the light peeking through.
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