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Jonathan Moya Sep 2019
The lightness of paper
soft enough to crumble
to a chirping palm ball
released into the air,
an imagined perfect pitch,  
too gossamer to float
to its ultimate arch,
unfolding in the web  
of alluring sunshine

aspiring to be
in its unfolding angles
a thread of silk
caught into the patterns
of a spun handkerchief,
flapping finely down to dirt,
flagging to human desires,
a reverse puff tucked black
into a left back corner pocket.

In its extending it is
****** wood pulp
culled and hewn
from rings of fine pine,
rising in its descent
to barely glimpsed evolving
beaks, talons, feathers
caught in the spider’s web
and shook down by thundering axe.
Flagging or the handkerchief code (also known as the hanky code, the bandana code,) is a color-coded system, employed usually among the gay male casual-*** seekers or **** practitioners in the United States, Canada, Australia and Europe, to indicate preferred ****** fetishes, what kind of *** they are seeking, and whether they are a top/dominant or bottom/submissive.

If you wore your hanky in your left pocket, you were deemed as more submissive, or a "bottom," whereas the right pocket meant that you were a "top" or more dominant.  A black handkerchief meant that you were into S&M- sadomasochism.

Reverse puff refers to a type of handkerchief pocket fold where the puff or pointed ends fold out like the petals of a flower.
Bohemian Mar 2019
What of the stories,what of you,what of the words or what of my dew
Lies and lies 
Strangled the fliers 
Witnessed it, he has admirers 
Sweetness and tartness ignored 
Mulberry swallowed but in the heart it sored
What would the 'dead lips' pen
When it had not the truth,son
Curses though slip off
Feelings be never any drawf 
For to hate 
Once there should have been love's bait tight
How dangling and dwindling 
No shore was he ever kindling 
Hours and hours 
It takes no par 
Touch not that knight 
He has swords defending with might 
How barren is he and
Knows not any scabbard
Those wands of enigma 
That suits not the noble hands off stigma
Suitors of temper 
Shooters of blood towels much damper 
Is it your blood ? 
Shut-up for god's sake 
Let's arrange him a slumber
Allyssa Jun 2017
Soft sand and hot beaches,
Wild winds and beach *****,
Towels and sun tan lotions.
A little girl as old as six,
Kicking up broken shells and sticks.
Wind-blown sand ripped across her bare ankles,
Hair a mess,
Full of tangles.
Squishing sand between little toes,
Little miss curious with cheeks of rose.
A toothy grin turned up to the sun,
Laughter ringing through the crowd,
A mother calling out, "Go have fun!"
Long dark hair bouncing through the crowd,
Skipping back to the shore,
Smiling faces all around.
Suppressed memories of a little girl the age of six,
Something remembered,
A mind to fix.
Suppressed memories breaching the surface.

— The End —