Ormond 5h

( Sonnet )

My love beamed back to heavens overrun,
In a field where we stood so held in light,
As radiance teemed, our crown of sun
And never again was any day so bright.

Never were flowers too alive, so moving,
As we, they blanketed the fields of youth,
A memory set in starlights of blooming,
Our innocence eternal, O such beauty!

But bliss became loss caged in that one day
And light was shed from a gift to a sorrow,
Luster of dream, once held, now so faraway,
Only memories of image, dim light to borrow,

How spark of bliss fades in young sun, so soon
Lovers overrun, once held, in fields of bloom.

I took the emojis out of your name.
cause the feelings i get in my finger tips
when you text back cant be expressed with measly characters..

SOOOO! Here is a list of all texts ive erased and never hit send too that are just for you..

....

"i just want to breathe you in like morning air and so as i exhale your name.. stars appear."

...

"i want to kiss you and taste the next 40 years of my life."

...

"i want to lay next to you and listen to you open your up your heart,
and no, my ears will not skip a beat.
                                                           ...
and really i feel 8 again. i want to jot down yes, no, or maybe to you being just mine. cause goddamn you make me feel young.

and being 8 again ill steal my mamas rings just ONE MORE TIME and make sure that i find you in this worlds playground cause if u like it. you kno u gotta put a ring on it. haha

AND I KNOW little boys have spent too much time playing kickball with your heart.
So Sip my soul please, ill bring you juice box joys.
ill cut off the crust off your sandwich and make sure your breads right.
ll make you school girl giddy,
so please, take this,
its not much,.
but its solitude,
..
*im sending my heart thru this text, no emoji.

ill study the angles of you angel
ill trace the structure of your heart and wings
and ask you how did you got so fly?
and whoever made you fall out of heaven fucked up
let me un-dust your knees and mend your mental wounds.
cause i know its a trip that your hearts taken a beating.
and my voice being ice,
ill sooth youu
and my soul.
ill move youu
& our flowers, with grow. in full bloomm.

ill whisper sweet nothings to your insecurities.
ill love everyone of your negative thoughts
cause your worth it.
and i repeat.
holding you by both your cheeks.. i repeat
you are worth it..

and ill remind you everyday that you deserve to feel fourthgrade feelings of love. my hearts an open house for you. 
 and well run free under cedar trees and ill hold your hand for eternity.

and ill do everything your ex boyfriend was afraid to do, like trust you..

I know you know I love you
I think I know you love me too
But it's not the same love.
It's not those butterflies I got in my stomach
Although you still give me those
It's not that plummet I felt from my throat to my chest
Although you caused them more than most
I think I know you love me
When you get protective and envious when someone makes a move
Although I catch myself smiling when you do
Those times you cross red-lined boundaries
Although I know you had the best intentions
It's not the same love.
When I stop the messages
Although you do them more than I
When you feel awkward with my interactions
Although I try not to question yours
When you go back to your first
And I ponder the thoughts of a second
When that disconnect feels so physical
I wonder if our loves have changed.
It's been so long since you've said the final words
Yet we still maintain the contact
Like nothing changed or happened
Even though everything did.
I look at you now and I know
I'd love to see you grow
I love the way we joke
I'd love to stay so close
I know it's not the same.
You know I love the way
Your glasses frame your face
Your lines that grow with age
You focus on your own pace.
You know it's not the same.
I think I love you differently
It feels like it's fading out
Into something deeply new
Like the way close friends do
I only want to know
If it's the same for you.

There are parts of me I have yet to become acquaintances with,
Flesh,
I have never stroked with my fingertips
Like the sinner does when he's lonely and makes the Holy Bible his lover.
A bible that only sees the light when his world is crimson, going down in flames.
I can feel the presence of opaque shadows lingering in my head,
The fog is still too thick to see the edges of his face,
But the smell of whiskey still brings me to my knees
Like the sinner who sees scarlet flames every time he looks at his palms.
He reserves his Sundays for prayer.
My reality is seven-thousand ghosts chanting the same sermon against the walls of my anatomy, begging God for truth.
Pressing against every curve, sending shivers up my spine because it strikes a harp I've heard before.
White wallpaper, silent whispers, a ripe peach.
The clock on the wall strikes one-twenty-seven, the moon cries for help.
The sinner has just come home.
Whiskey entangled sentences, blurry vision, loose hands.
In the shadows, his palms reach for change in the fountain of youth.
After all these years, I'm still picking up the dimes he dropped on the sidewalks of my life.
I see orange in stranger's irises,
My surroundings become dark, humid spring days whenever I smell whiskey.

I wonder if he used it to set flames to my anatomy.
I don't know how to extinguish all of this smoke, but I can't see straight, I'm choking on all of the memories faded into the monochromatic sky.
I wonder if there's a prayer in the bible that paints my face across the canvas of his mind.
I'm still picking up the glass fragments of this shattered life.
Cutting my hands while putting the mirror back together.
Trying to see into myself, into the sad caramel eyes staring back at me.
Thick smoke, crimson flames, shadows dancing.
Ghosts screaming, blurry vision, dimes scattered across the floor.
I fear for the day all these faded sins become friends of mine.

Dust Song Jan 24

Oh young one passionate and unconfined my heart would for to dwell with you but no condition stands for this. It may be blessed by family and law but longer running time would inevitably bring pain. Friend and foe I have saluted you in my mind. I stare deep into what you are and see the innocence that lies on your lips that beckons kiss and heeds offense. Poison you are to my soul but sweet to the taste and numbing to the senses. To let what was die before what could be with you. Blank is the slate which u hold blank and undefined. Mine is not so, caustic and damaged, I long for your purity for who you could make me but alas I confine this imagination contained by only threads and space to protect the milder love we share so it is to mortify my being to keep yours intact, alive, well, gaining. Always in my heart will I live a life of defined joyous habitation with you but my silence will remain my eye steadily fixed on the happiness of your youth oh young one

I have spent much of my love
On people who did not matter
I have wasted most of my time
Believing in a forever after
I have made plenty of mistakes
Hurting the people that cared
I tried fixing my heartaches
But instead I created heartbreaks

I was young, naive and stupid

He bounced around
from town to town,
never becoming whole.
'Cause in his parents' eyes,
he was a parasite, hiding in
a hole.

And he let his friends down,
with promises and hopes
that deluded and destroyed
him.  Throwing his words a-
-round, never slowing down
to enjoy the beer and bodies.

He bounced around
from heart to heart,
gathering sympathy
like gold coins; hoping
that he could, if they
really would, stay and
cope a little.

And he let them down,
like his friends and his
parents. He thought a-
-bout dying and writing.
He thought about his
brother and every girl
he thought he loved,
trying to understand
if he could love if he
could not love himself.

He bounced around
from key to key,
writing about nonsense.
Or maybe it was important
and he minimized it, because
that's how he coped; or that's
how his father talked about
his son's accomplishments.
I guess his son would have
to ask himself if he ever
accomplished anything worth
making his dad proud.

And when he went to
the ward, Chestnut Ridge,
that was three years ago.
I guess he's still around,
working hard, New Yorker
something, something, something.
Dad is proud, likes Bojack Horseman
and The Walking Dead; all of this stuff
is so fucking irrelevant.

My dad is proud.

Jazz women clap in unison, black.
All the boys in the club move
way, way over, for your health,
sister.
Some bartenders smoke weed
while polishing glasses, big or
small.
Cartoons play on box t.v.s
while people look at hubs on
smartphones.
Some gruff guy points at you
-- and, yes, it could have been
me --
we have a phone call, I think.
Who uses a payphone, any-
-damn-more.

Choir children double for choir
mice.
Helicopter parents hover their
hands above their juniper drinks.
Gesturing at poorly dressed kids
has never been this in fashion.
Be perfect for the camera;
this moment will be captured
by synthetic eye.
Moms and Brads turn to
  look at us laugh.  Which has
always been in poor taste.
They say my poetry is bad
and your music is shit -- but
I guess it's nice that someone
  gave us those views.

Columbia and Harvard
seem like distant planets.
But that's where we'll be,
supposedly.
You with your Guinness,
me with my Tito's.

The old man sits in the dark,
fire by his radio, listening to
John Legend sing about his all,
which I guess is a lot since
he goes on about it for
four or five fucking minutes.
I sit here and think about all the reasons
I hate 13 Reasons Why. I sit here and
smell my candle, to my future.
I think about Miley Cyrus masturbating
and wonder if she feels pleasure
  like you or me.

I don't know what kind of creature
  is out there.  I don't know
how  to  feel  about  the  world.
My bedroom door may be paranoid
for me,   and I have anxiety over
  knocking that may never come.
Or maybe it will come and I'll
  be ordinarily unprepared for it.
Unprepared for it, as I normally am.

Visions of Japanese women
  dance on the ceiling, like silver
statues in garments of gore.
Or maybe they're not Japanese
and that I am a racist or under-
-educated -- which is most likely
the  same  damn  thing.
  They dance on my ceiling
and I stare, no longer wondering
if I'm rude, if they're real, if
the house I live in is current-
-ly losing value. These type
of things just happen, swear.

My candle is burning bright,
reaching towards the hugging
  blinds; smelling like sea salt
and an ocean I will never touch.

Babe 6d

The best kinds of kisses are the ones that you don't think about.
The ones that take a look into your eyes to get the mood right.
The ones that cut off your thoughts, your words, your mind
But don't make you stress about doing it right.

I was never much of a kisser,
No one wanted to kiss me like that.
That is until I just bit the bullet and took matters into my own hands.
I just did it, for once.
And, for once, that was enough.

It was just a little kiss.
I'm sure it lasted a second.
You told me your name and shook my hand and said 'I think you deserve a kiss for that'
After duetting with you on karaoke.
How millennial!
How divine!
I just looked up at you and it happened just like in the movies
And I pulled away because I had to leave.
You kissed me on the cheek and said goodbye to me.
But I wish I could kiss you again.

When you fall in lust on a night out.
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