#mapped - Hello Poetry

while I may do you perfectly. the snow angels on gasoline st., did you see them? All of the houses were dripping wet too, one girl with gold laces on her leopard shoes wore red plastic pants; totally soaked to the bone. to train ourselves to brave the heat of each others' bodies as we awaken in one small bed, one small blanket. the both of us yawn. it's so fun to make waffles but neither of us like to eat preference. I love you to death but prefer to brush my teeth alone- one tooth at a time. embrace your new t-shirt, even though not everyone enjoys a good show of a flock of crows. hand drawn indie wicker-hipster prints. coffee by the pint. you crack me up like vitrifying glass sheens of the individual bubbles in a bubble bath or the ****** glazed eyes of the monsters' eye while a shark attacks. creaky sounds of bodies mapped by fingers, tickled tummies rippled by listening to witch house singers. you crack me up, count chocula. It's Saturday, I love to laugh while laying down. everybody's funnier when they're laying on the ground. we toast to ghosts. luminous lengths of birthday candles lickediddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd d 0 y0urself as best you can

0

May 11, 2014

May 11, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC

martin-narrod

...dddd...

while I may do you perfectly. the snow angels on gasoline st., did you see them? All of the houses were dripping wet too, one girl with gold laces on her leopard shoes wore red plastic pants; totally soaked to the bone. to train ourselves to brave the heat of each others' bodies as we awaken in one small bed, one small blanket. the both of us yawn. it's so fun to make waffles but neither of us like to eat preference. I love you to death but prefer to brush my teeth alone- one tooth at a time. embrace your new t-shirt, even though not everyone enjoys a good show of a flock of crows. hand drawn indie wicker-hipster prints. coffee by the pint. you crack me up like vitrifying glass sheens of the individual bubbles in a bubble bath or the ****** glazed eyes of the monsters' eye while a shark attacks. creaky sounds of bodies mapped by fingers, tickled tummies rippled by listening to witch house singers. you crack me up, count chocula. It's Saturday, I love to laugh while laying down. everybody's funnier when they're laying on the ground. we toast to ghosts. luminous lengths of birthday candles lickediddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd d 0 y0urself as best you can

7

Your glow stick veins are meant to be cracked To ooze beneath your tissue thin skin whilst smacked To seep into minuscule puddles across you- trapped To illuminate your thousands of flaws- mapped Then to disappear- forgotten, forlorn, inapt.

0

Jan 15, 2015

Jan 15, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC

GracePickard

Gooey Bruisey

Your glow stick veins are meant to be cracked To ooze beneath your tissue thin skin whilst smacked To seep into minuscule puddles across you- trapped To illuminate your thousands of flaws- mapped Then to disappear- forgotten, forlorn, inapt.

5

Look down. There’s a whole world below, dug out and timber-framed, mapped and named. Its tunnels stretch for miles under the mountain. Once it shook with blasting, screech of train, and whistles. The coal was iridescent blue. Headlights on a curved track burst like shooting stars out of the deep. That mirror world is dark now. The men laid down their tools, and took the mantrip to the surface, home. In the quiet, hear the mountain sigh.

0

Aug 1, 2019

Aug 1, 2019 at 8:09 PM UTC

wrens_musings

Canmore Verse

Look down. There’s a whole world below, dug out and timber-framed, mapped and named. Its tunnels stretch for miles under the mountain. Once it shook with blasting, screech of train, and whistles. The coal was iridescent blue. Headlights on a curved track burst like shooting stars out of the deep. That mirror world is dark now. The men laid down their tools, and took the mantrip to the surface, home. In the quiet, hear the mountain sigh.

18