#hemmingway - Hello Poetry

i like my mouth when its with yours the way my lips seem so soft and alive & how i smile when your mouth presses against mine i like my hands when they're with yours intertwined as if they belong there & how my stubby fingers don't seem all that stubby when they're locked with yours i like my legs when they're with yours when we're lying in bed, i can drape mine over yours & not for a second feel as if they're too heavy or too large i like my freckles when they're with yours when our faces are pressed together, they match & its like a map which leads from my cheeks to yours i like my nose when its with yours the way our noses bump ever so lightly making me smile everytime they do i like my toes when they're with yours the way i have to get on my tiptoes to reach you & the struggle to reach your lips makes them all the more desirable i like my voice when its with yours its a sweet melody, the two of us laughing together makes me wish we'd never stop talking i like who i am when i'm with you because you make me feel as if i am loved as if i belong as if i am cared for as if i am significant you make me feel as if i am someone in this world where everyone feels like a no one hemmingway was right to say: "i like my body when it is with your body"

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Jul 17, 2015

Jul 17, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC

blindsight

i like my body when it is with yours

i like my mouth when its with yours the way my lips seem so soft and alive & how i smile when your mouth presses against mine i like my hands when they're with yours intertwined as if they belong there & how my stubby fingers don't seem all that stubby when they're locked with yours i like my legs when they're with yours when we're lying in bed, i can drape mine over yours & not for a second feel as if they're too heavy or too large i like my freckles when they're with yours when our faces are pressed together, they match & its like a map which leads from my cheeks to yours i like my nose when its with yours the way our noses bump ever so lightly making me smile everytime they do i like my toes when they're with yours the way i have to get on my tiptoes to reach you & the struggle to reach your lips makes them all the more desirable i like my voice when its with yours its a sweet melody, the two of us laughing together makes me wish we'd never stop talking i like who i am when i'm with you because you make me feel as if i am loved as if i belong as if i am cared for as if i am significant you make me feel as if i am someone in this world where everyone feels like a no one hemmingway was right to say: "i like my body when it is with your body"

35

his heart bled into the ground he held me and whispered in ****** liquor sighs go on guapa as long as there’s one of us there’s both of us and I shook like a rabbit in twilight’s snare and begged him don’t go don’t go a chant as old as old as my bones together, once we felt the earth move it shook in the late spring morning and I he warmed my feet in the sack when the night was a vacuum he spilled his seed on the ground like some biblical walk on and we lived an entire life an entire life in three days three days of coughing and struggling to stay still in the winters dull and stingy light from a pale pale pane in Indiana is it safe to give my _____ to you? It’s never safe, I roughly handed it to you and you felt it’s shadow every since with your busted femur and long trailing stain resenting the self-made patricide bleeding out on the gray beast I’m taken the little rabbit with a black scar saving myself from the tangled mar that you now have fallen If I go on we both go on

0

May 8, 2015

May 8, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC

yokomolotov

If It Were April Fools, 1939

his heart bled into the ground he held me and whispered in ****** liquor sighs go on guapa as long as there’s one of us there’s both of us and I shook like a rabbit in twilight’s snare and begged him don’t go don’t go a chant as old as old as my bones together, once we felt the earth move it shook in the late spring morning and I he warmed my feet in the sack when the night was a vacuum he spilled his seed on the ground like some biblical walk on and we lived an entire life an entire life in three days three days of coughing and struggling to stay still in the winters dull and stingy light from a pale pale pane in Indiana is it safe to give my _____ to you? It’s never safe, I roughly handed it to you and you felt it’s shadow every since with your busted femur and long trailing stain resenting the self-made patricide bleeding out on the gray beast I’m taken the little rabbit with a black scar saving myself from the tangled mar that you now have fallen If I go on we both go on

57

Inside curtain of wind, senses rise and focused mind begins to hear. Stream of song reverberates, as music of breath balances heartbeat. As vibrant twinkling stars lead thoughts into pastures of lighted clouds. Sleep eludes. while words tumbled off finger tips, and road to poem starts its pulsating journey. They circulate, as if air particles are filled with jargon untouched by human mind. “Who speaks in yonder hall of prism faceted mind?” I ask at 3AM when many sleep? Is it Shakespeare's shadowed form, as guide perched in realms unseen. He echoes a “to write or not to write, that be the question.” He tickles senses to awaken breath with, “he who writes harbors gold.” Or could it be Hemingway who invites self to dance amid sprinkle seedlings of a vision to paint on a rainy night. Perhaps it’s Poe a grand puppeteer of words, who once lived in human form. A talented soul in matrex of universe who wishes to share with transfusion to tweak my prose with Ravens song. Maybe its an alien who stops a while in earths space to reveal message for those craving wisdom half awake. A message to move as pioneer everyday celebration of ones sacred self. Inside stage of moment even the bird sleeps, and crickets hibernate on winter night. Inside the solitude of gentle sparks of creative energies fingers dance. They march on tapping into holding tank of language meant to deposit on page. Alas time moves on, as daybreak hints to arrive and moon slowly ascends biding farewell. As undercurrents of sound shift and writer guides ceases to feed with their divine song. As I bid thee fine reader good day, and my cavorting fingers rest making way for self to return to sleep pastures. Till we meet again parting is such sweet sorry.

0

Feb 19, 2019

Feb 19, 2019 at 4:24 AM UTC

star-bg

Under Currents Of Night

Inside curtain of wind, senses rise and focused mind begins to hear. Stream of song reverberates, as music of breath balances heartbeat. As vibrant twinkling stars lead thoughts into pastures of lighted clouds. Sleep eludes. while words tumbled off finger tips, and road to poem starts its pulsating journey. They circulate, as if air particles are filled with jargon untouched by human mind. “Who speaks in yonder hall of prism faceted mind?” I ask at 3AM when many sleep? Is it Shakespeare's shadowed form, as guide perched in realms unseen. He echoes a “to write or not to write, that be the question.” He tickles senses to awaken breath with, “he who writes harbors gold.” Or could it be Hemingway who invites self to dance amid sprinkle seedlings of a vision to paint on a rainy night. Perhaps it’s Poe a grand puppeteer of words, who once lived in human form. A talented soul in matrex of universe who wishes to share with transfusion to tweak my prose with Ravens song. Maybe its an alien who stops a while in earths space to reveal message for those craving wisdom half awake. A message to move as pioneer everyday celebration of ones sacred self. Inside stage of moment even the bird sleeps, and crickets hibernate on winter night. Inside the solitude of gentle sparks of creative energies fingers dance. They march on tapping into holding tank of language meant to deposit on page. Alas time moves on, as daybreak hints to arrive and moon slowly ascends biding farewell. As undercurrents of sound shift and writer guides ceases to feed with their divine song. As I bid thee fine reader good day, and my cavorting fingers rest making way for self to return to sleep pastures. Till we meet again parting is such sweet sorry.

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