Cat J Noyce Nov 8

It was raining when we first touched;
The sweet innocence of tipsy impulse.
Nothing too close, too real, not to me.

It was dark as we shared our burdens and fears;
Whispered words stumbling out in desperate breaths.
Certainty found in uncertainties.

It was the first snow of the year that I saw falling as I lay in your arms;
The gentle drift of gravity.
Now it's all too close, all too real. To me.

Dani Oct 28

She was night when I met her.

The hills beyond bathed in moonlight,
though she seemed to hide from faint starshine
sheltered and hidden: wrapped in a mystery cloak
woven from fibrous shadows and dyed
in the deepest part of the ocean with midnight hues
untouched by the constellations.

She was summer aurora soon after her night.

I took her hand into the dewy field,
we reveled in the damp and softened earth
and the stars blossomed: points of bursting light
fixed among the twilit blue-greens
like the blinking bulbs of fireflies
who floated between our heads.

She was daybreak after her sky turned aquamarine.

The stars hid themselves under our feet,
the sun appeared on our horizon
and painted our faces in pinks and oranges: her hand
so soft and gentle, slipped from mine
trailing warmth against the flesh of my palm
where her fingertips kissed my skin.

She was high morning when the sky’s pinks faded.

I cradled her face between my two hands,
pressed kindnesses into her cheeks
and turned our noses to the sunshine: her celestial smile
played notes on her lips,
singing lilting aria in a rising melody
as the light radiated warmth across her face.

But now she is a rainbow in refracted afternoon.

She gleams in every color now her cloak is shed,
red in heart, orange in grin, yellow in mind,
green in energy, blue in veins, violet in spirit: but most of all
she is soft pink, pale white, and baby blue,
a harmony of hues
which she had kept hidden under her cloak of night.

Kit Brewer Oct 25

It doesn't have to be complicated,
just come here and relax on me

Don't knock it 'till you've tried it.
Jazzy Oct 21

Dark brown eyes
So dark
They are almost black

I'd always yearned for a different color
A color like hers:
Clear Arctic blue
Reminiscent of the pristine glaciers that dot the place I lived in before I met her

She told me
That my eyes were special
And I asked her how that could be
When so many others have

She told me
That my eyes were the color of soil after a calming rain
Which is really just mud
But I loved it anyway

She could say the most terrible things to me
And I'd love them anyway
Because she said them

Which is funny,
Since she's never said
A single word
To hurt me

She knows that
I am broken
I am damaged goods
I am the unwanted crumbs at the bottom of the potato chip bag
Except that she would never say that to me

Instead she says
That I am perfect
And now
When I see Arctic blue
I don't think of cold

In a few weeks, this poem will turn 4 years old. It's about the first person I was ever in love with- a straight girl I was good friends with. I'd never felt that kind of emotion to that extent before her, though is unrequited love truly love? The both of us are now in separate, very happy relationships, but this piece still has a special place in my heart.
Kit Brewer Oct 20

All the hearts I've drawn on my hand
long to fly from my skin
and cover you with kisses

Kit Brewer Oct 20

Emm'rald, I called her.
And her mouth were stained
purple from her candy.

of past things
Kit Brewer Oct 20

Ginger dream, bedsheet queen,
come rest your head between my thighs
pretty, pretty please?

Kit Brewer Oct 20

Oh, how I wanted that fruit!
And I fought for it, had it
And while it is sweet,
even the pomegranate must return
to the earth.

Oh, passion!
Kit Brewer Oct 20

cherry and lime
fingers inside
summer wine, summer time

Kit Brewer Oct 20

Smile upon me not.
Some days it is too much
to bear

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