#elbows - Hello Poetry

i feel like uncertainty is pinching my flesh. pinching my elbows my ears on my neck my ankles my stomach my nose my toes this uncertainty won't leave me alone.

0

Jun 6, 2019

Jun 6, 2019 at 9:26 AM UTC

casper_the_undead

pinch

i feel like uncertainty is pinching my flesh. pinching my elbows my ears on my neck my ankles my stomach my nose my toes this uncertainty won't leave me alone.

13

crooks of elbows backs of knees where the thighs touch back neck

0

Nov 11, 2016

Nov 11, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC

tangerinereef

Unclean

crooks of elbows backs of knees where the thighs touch back neck

5

I am in levels. Past levels. This deep, intrinsic wonderful lost, the lawlessness of its fascinating expenditure of excite. Pushing through the wild and feral snow-dusted plains and timber ridges. Like red-spotted dots breathing through the cylinders called the spine. This descends into a narrow channel of scantly clad greenish scenery in a time-soaked visionary wilderness of snow, Our crab legs dancing down wiry purple highways, our heads could not even look backwards if we had wanted. Furious, love-latitudes, stalking breaths thwacking fork-ended tongues into a pinkish knot buried into the first layer of organic membrane on this railway of miniature canals, showing. And their pride snuck into the elbows, shooting down each vertebrae as it stepped with great precision every ledge that the currency emphasized. The raw accumulation of stolen heart-beats rattling between the interstices of new fuel careering these red engines. Crashing with exquisite pleasure into one another.

0

Apr 26, 2014

Apr 26, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC

martin-narrod

I am in levels. Past levels. this deep intrinsic wonderful lost, the lawlessness of its fascinating expenditure of excite.

I am in levels. Past levels. This deep, intrinsic wonderful lost, the lawlessness of its fascinating expenditure of excite. Pushing through the wild and feral snow-dusted plains and timber ridges. Like red-spotted dots breathing through the cylinders called the spine. This descends into a narrow channel of scantly clad greenish scenery in a time-soaked visionary wilderness of snow, Our crab legs dancing down wiry purple highways, our heads could not even look backwards if we had wanted. Furious, love-latitudes, stalking breaths thwacking fork-ended tongues into a pinkish knot buried into the first layer of organic membrane on this railway of miniature canals, showing. And their pride snuck into the elbows, shooting down each vertebrae as it stepped with great precision every ledge that the currency emphasized. The raw accumulation of stolen heart-beats rattling between the interstices of new fuel careering these red engines. Crashing with exquisite pleasure into one another.

3