#basorexia - Hello Poetry

pink like a soft bloom do not come near me with those perfect pairs for i cannot stop thinking how would it feel to finally put an end to enduring, thinking, how would yours feel against mine i apologize for these reckless thoughts i wonder how you would taste— maybe a little like wine or maybe the balm you put religiously i'm sorry, i apologize —1:19AM

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Jan 14, 2020

Jan 14, 2020 at 11:57 AM UTC

littleredwolf

basorexia

pink like a soft bloom do not come near me with those perfect pairs for i cannot stop thinking how would it feel to finally put an end to enduring, thinking, how would yours feel against mine i apologize for these reckless thoughts i wonder how you would taste— maybe a little like wine or maybe the balm you put religiously i'm sorry, i apologize —1:19AM

16

Beneath the woven moonlight And the glistening lapidary against the sapphire eve Like ice-flakes on a dark hood For as great as my nearsighted eyes can see With a cigarette in the driveway And the feathers of those clouds falling down My breath and the smoke runs away with the zephyr And I’m alone again in this pretty how town Without a sound Waiting for you to come back around Without a glance for the ground Waiting for you to come back Like the farmers wait for their flax Or the women tend to the millions of moths That sound like rain on the roofs Or that sound like the crackling of my cigarette burning Breaking the silence beneath the woven cocoon Light of the white philtrum moon It’s her and I and the clouds falling down And just that single solitary sound Waiting for you to come back around Hoping you come back soon (c) 2015

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Mar 23, 2015

Mar 23, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC

christopher-gilman-scott

Basorexia

Beneath the woven moonlight And the glistening lapidary against the sapphire eve Like ice-flakes on a dark hood For as great as my nearsighted eyes can see With a cigarette in the driveway And the feathers of those clouds falling down My breath and the smoke runs away with the zephyr And I’m alone again in this pretty how town Without a sound Waiting for you to come back around Without a glance for the ground Waiting for you to come back Like the farmers wait for their flax Or the women tend to the millions of moths That sound like rain on the roofs Or that sound like the crackling of my cigarette burning Breaking the silence beneath the woven cocoon Light of the white philtrum moon It’s her and I and the clouds falling down And just that single solitary sound Waiting for you to come back around Hoping you come back soon (c) 2015

23

I called to give you a rearrangement of irony and a bucket full of Jews, I tailor made a rebreather because the past connections were used . Indeed, just like a crossview that encouraged stars to collapse, then did a fix up for the X's and O's so every oxymoron followed with a laugh. A pail of shrubs, an ounce of yore, yesterday you were following your very own bated breath. Up until you challenged yourself to a duel, you didn't look so bad for a disastrous mess. Harms' Way could be the place in town where odds go to get even, or it could be the street where Blow-Pops aren't just made, but also handed out to toothless citizens. We the captured, please and thank you, sir and mam until our captors go, like if you imagine The Godfather in The Graduate, describing how the Komodo dragon roasts. We haven't made it thru a single day since they've come in packs of seven, but today we'll have the chance to share some face time with the hours that we are being given. Misty-eyed, mournful, and very sorry walked in separately from the yard. They drank cold-filtered PBR and joked about all the kids they may have fathered. Has it been four weeks or just four days, since the Ferguson, Missouri Captain resigned his post? I was always taught that for a captain to go out, he or she must go down with their boat. In time where boredom lays around with dynamite by the loads, tomorrow remind me of the basorexia I've had since we met not long ago.

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Mar 15, 2015

Mar 15, 2015 at 2:39 AM UTC

martin-narrod

Basorexia

I called to give you a rearrangement of irony and a bucket full of Jews, I tailor made a rebreather because the past connections were used . Indeed, just like a crossview that encouraged stars to collapse, then did a fix up for the X's and O's so every oxymoron followed with a laugh. A pail of shrubs, an ounce of yore, yesterday you were following your very own bated breath. Up until you challenged yourself to a duel, you didn't look so bad for a disastrous mess. Harms' Way could be the place in town where odds go to get even, or it could be the street where Blow-Pops aren't just made, but also handed out to toothless citizens. We the captured, please and thank you, sir and mam until our captors go, like if you imagine The Godfather in The Graduate, describing how the Komodo dragon roasts. We haven't made it thru a single day since they've come in packs of seven, but today we'll have the chance to share some face time with the hours that we are being given. Misty-eyed, mournful, and very sorry walked in separately from the yard. They drank cold-filtered PBR and joked about all the kids they may have fathered. Has it been four weeks or just four days, since the Ferguson, Missouri Captain resigned his post? I was always taught that for a captain to go out, he or she must go down with their boat. In time where boredom lays around with dynamite by the loads, tomorrow remind me of the basorexia I've had since we met not long ago.

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