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Why don't we go back from the start?
Where we met near the leaves.
The stage when always being fed with love.
We started to change.
Our love was becoming mature and continued to grow.
Always afraid of being let go.
You spread your wings and started to fly.
All you did was to make me cry.
Our love was full of colors,
But you flew to another flower.
Just like a life span of a butterfly,
It only lasts for two weeks,
so our Love is.
I connected the life cycle of a butterfly into love.
roumen Aug 9
My life is not for you ..
My love is to demonic ..
My days are so dynamic..
I know you need romantic..
You need a dream..
You want to kiss..
You have to love..
My world is very complicated.
My dreams are not romantic ..
My weeks are so chaotic..
I  have to fight..
for every moment ...
I have to beg
for every kiss..
For every dream..
For love..
For life..
For You ?
Rose Aug 3
Well, here I am again--
Each week flew by so fast,
Did I learn anything?
Not sure, but I know that
Every time I am there,
Sitting in the front,
Do you realize
All that I try
Yet all I can do is stare.

Can a girl be so turned on,
Like never before.
All I can think about is--
Sitting in my chair every week,
So that you'd notice me.
Off-limit admiration.
Ed C Jul 18
You take everything
she said,
I thought long and hard
about all the things I had
and all the things that
I can barely touch
and all the things that collect dust
and I thought about her fingers
reaching for things she thought
I held over her head
reaching up out of the waves
of the shadow her heart slept in.
im having a rough week
Nat Lipstadt Jul 13
love between poets: “who will be between the sheets next week
when I’m gone,” she lets sigh-escape,
as she watches the backyard paradise parading landscape
of animals before the bay, perfect day sure to come,
her new pets obeying the early morn sunrising awakening call
to rise, everyone playing~parading, before her royal summons,
no coincidence, finger-of-god, two by two

this while I’m kissing her neck,
my arm around her *******,
and the he-intent on slip sliding down
to the small of her back,
obeying his innate,
worship worshiping and giving up,
all he’s got intense intently contentedly

unfazed, unphased,
he’s been interrogated before,
heart is pure he answers:

next weekend when you are back in situ,
thousands of miles away, airplane housed for hours,
writing poems of love from the lost and found,
recalling this exact moment,
how I worshipped your presence,
and these words:

You will be with me in every breath,
our sheets will radioactively emit
ions and molecules of our scent combined,
and present as present  your perfume can be,
elicited, elixir, you and me combinant

she turns from the bay-view,
the animals who now mutually
worship her adoration,
watching, focused on us as observers,
she lifts me up and smiles,

“oh my lover you’re the cad of cads,
king of the baddest poet-lads,
the gist of what is wrong with the best of men,
her, pressing me hard to her chestnut hair chest,
she, falling down into my eyes

take me back to bed, liar,
let me add to my aroma,
to ensue, to ensure you will miss
the best love
you had partly, insufficiently, and unhinged

I’m your lassie, you my lad,
my king of cads, my lover poet,
thief of my poems and my secret speech spells,
escalating senses of one’s imaginings”

along came the rest
of what was freely given,
for love between poets
man and
a woman,
is a someone, somewhere,
sometime summertime

I will still smell you in my
heart, and send to you ballistic missives,
words to explode your tear ducts
when you rest in sheets that met me,
when you’ll know me by my odors,
cry out loud so that you’ll scare our animals,
no matter how many tides wash away our residue,
you will never unknow and be forever unprepared
for my return,

even though we will be each, a thousand unwritten poems away...
roumen Jul 12
I can live with that pain every day.
I am an Angel.
I can walk with that worry every week .
I am soldier of darkness .
I can heal that burn every month.
I am lonely dark Angel .
I can hit that wall every day,
Again .
And again.
And again....
No pain.
No sound.
No love.
No air.
No .
xxx Jul 4
You didn’t believe me when I said you drive me ******* crazy. But it’s not all your fault, I guess. I’ve been sick and you’ve been holding me so hard.
So I was put up for a week, and I thought about you every night. Every day, I thought about the girl down the hall.
She ate too much and couldn’t keep it down. She changed her outfit five times a day. She called me “sweetheart.”
And we talked about our girlfriends and boyfriends who were girlfriends, and we talked about life and why we should never want to die.
She braided my hair around my neck. She carved my name into her wrist. She held my hand under the blister sun.
I think I was in love for a week. Or that’s what she told me. Then I felt well enough to leave her.
I think I was in love for a week. But I left, and I’m back, and I’m still sick.
Here I Am.
I Missed You.
Rosie Jun 20
A time for relaxing
A time for cleansing
A time for homework, no matter how little you want to do it
It is known as God's day
the holy day
A new beginning
A fresh start
The day to reset and prepare
for the long week ahead
It the worst day
of the best part of the week
Not quite as bad as Wednesday
but not quite as good as Friday
Hanging on by a thread,
I feel like the walking dead,
Can't wait to go back to bed,
Oh Lord! When will this week end?
Finally finished this poem.. School.. I know a little too late..
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