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I miss you immensely
your lack, is a coldness that makes
my skin lonely, it begs to be
touched, to feel warm again

But i'm not cold, i'm just bored
of the normies, they aren't like you
don't excite me, or delight me
their ideas are old, decrepit, stale
and they're stuck chasing tails

I know you share my wonder
the thrill of finding what's under
the intricate tapestry of life's majesty
the universe undone, knot by single knot
How boring are those,
who do not wonder
whose minds no more sing, and chase things

Only you know, what I mean
when I stare into the void,
and know not
if its without, or within
chlorine Dec 2020
I
our leap of faith
is a bitter taste,
but a test of heart
is what will tear us apart.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
Shaken in a real sense by L.E.L. ie Letitia Elizabeth Landon/Mrs. Mclean's fate:  immensely popular



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXIV)


I'd boyfriends, even kissed until that sense
Of ecstasy was buried sans avail
With gradeschool's innocence, but never'd scale
The actual height of love 'til Nigel thence
Took me in hand to teach my soul from whence
It sprung, though all in vain; where TyKlee'd hail
Me at my mother's tomb to steal in frail
Excuse my shattered heart betrayed fr'intents.
And now that Les taught me French kissing fer
Sheer moments of keen passion, none yet "knew"
Lo, me:  I'm still a ******.  Thieves in tour
Stole off, what? bits and pieces.  Naught e'er woo
But they are false, yea, scoundrels.  Love is poor.
I, as a violet, fade with silver dew.

11Mar19d
... in her own lifetime and since forgotten, while artists by definition are forever worth more dead than alive, the price she paid to attain that fame stirred this.
NOTE:  They all have this idea that the term signifies a desire to be despoiled, whereas it actually means a person who's saving themself for one and one only.
Here, check this out for taste:  [https://boltonptr.wixsite.com/petersunsungspheres/improvisatrice]
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
Keats swooned over a world that never was, except in dreams, and I've no use for that.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXIII)


In lieu of aught we know:  blue skies t'avail
Sans blot of clouds 'til puddles mirror thence
Heavn's eye...take up the chalice to drink hence
That fragrant draught which yields as if to scale
More heady visions than we've drunk, t'exhale
Like sailors on the faerie seas, pretense
Our dainty meat; as lovers swoon for sense
Oer plighted troth, not as we know; sans bail.
Go into raptures likeas Keats would stir
And Byron knew to write, as Shelley drew
Up in his Ode, faint cuz ye know in tour
What minstrels sang in ballads, weaving to
Effect those silken strands to snare souls fer
The Devil's heights.  Cuz what we have won't do.

11Mar19c
NOTE:  Who knows of L.E.L. ie Letitia Elizabeth Landon?  I prefer reality though it's far too shallow.
Nis Dec 2018
Lluvia sobre paragüas mojados,
sed de semilla de amor;
la caída del otoño
resuena en la profundidad de la nada
y soy yo
pero no hay nadie.

//

Rain on wet umbrellas,
thirst for seed of love;
Fall's fall
echoes in the depth of nothingness
and it's me
but there is noone.
It doesn't sound too good in English I think, but that's just my opinion.
eF Dec 2018
I wish that I could go back,
Erase the pain I felt.
Everyday seems like a mission,
With the cards that I’ve been dealt.
We all live in pain baby,
Just admit it for yourself.
Despite my current attitude,
That’s hanging on the shelf.
Um yeah.
Hi.
Jenny Gordon Nov 2018
...say--whatever, nor how to say "ghastly" with another word.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXCVII)


O how the gutter drools in morning's pale
And ghastly eye, leaves fluttring down from hence
In lonely ones or twos, so yellow, whence
Look how November lays a carpet, hale
Aye golden, thick and musty, whose detail
Glows dimly under grey racks' twilight, dense
Calm is't? mair bitter than our souls fr'intents
Like, while Death stares us in the face sans bail.
Trees' naked boughs stretch upward as winds stir
The fallen with a careless hand.  We do
Not look, but with faint shivring as it were,
Pull sweaters closer, hang up lights to woo
Warm feelings as the strands blink through this poor
Light, and rain weeps sans consolation, blue.

06Nov18a
*lifts brows inquisitively* Hmm?  Was there something else to add?  I forget what....
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