#osmosis - Hello Poetry

I have never understood how some people can kiss and remain continent, no coastlines redrawn, no tectonic surrender. For me, every mouth is a monsoon. Every pair of hands leaves behind a residue of constellation. I am porous as pumice, cathedral-thin, a lung taking in more than air. The boy who wore cedarwood cologne still lingers in the sleeves of my sweaters. The girl who hummed old jazz braided herself into my playlists. Someone else taught my fingers the delicate angle of a cigarette, how to hold it like a secret between two trembling saints. I cannot touch without absorption. Cannot leave without sediment. My closet is a reliquary. My throat, an archive of borrowed laughter. My tears taste faintly of other people’s salt. Some call it attachment. I call it osmosis: the quiet migration of essence through the semipermeable membrane of my ribcage. How could I survive a carousel of strangers, when each goodbye is an amputation performed without anesthesia? I would rattle, a wind chime made of fingerprints, clattering with borrowed ghosts. No, I am not built for the revolving door. I am an estuary, where every river I have loved empties itself into me and stays. I would rather be solitary shoreline than carry the brine of a hundred meaningless seas.

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Feb 11

Feb 11, 2026 at 4:54 AM UTC

poetriesgrave

Osmosis

I have never understood how some people can kiss and remain continent, no coastlines redrawn, no tectonic surrender. For me, every mouth is a monsoon. Every pair of hands leaves behind a residue of constellation. I am porous as pumice, cathedral-thin, a lung taking in more than air. The boy who wore cedarwood cologne still lingers in the sleeves of my sweaters. The girl who hummed old jazz braided herself into my playlists. Someone else taught my fingers the delicate angle of a cigarette, how to hold it like a secret between two trembling saints. I cannot touch without absorption. Cannot leave without sediment. My closet is a reliquary. My throat, an archive of borrowed laughter. My tears taste faintly of other people’s salt. Some call it attachment. I call it osmosis: the quiet migration of essence through the semipermeable membrane of my ribcage. How could I survive a carousel of strangers, when each goodbye is an amputation performed without anesthesia? I would rattle, a wind chime made of fingerprints, clattering with borrowed ghosts. No, I am not built for the revolving door. I am an estuary, where every river I have loved empties itself into me and stays. I would rather be solitary shoreline than carry the brine of a hundred meaningless seas.

51

one day we had: winter days and dark jackets, tea in beige cups, talks about advertisements, touches that went nowhere. now it is only the air between us. every thought of mine is on the table, but i cannot arrange it in a china dish— it spills beyond the edges. i remember we would scrunch our noses when our eyes met— veins rising, a reflex that was ours. you, the lotus print on your wall, turning toward the sky. a quiet shadow along my margins. all i type these days are your habits, more than i ever knew you: black coffee, anytime. the hannibal series you mentioned once. watering plants at 6 pm. my feet remember the vibration of your fidgeting under the table. my margins, these days. i can't quite talk to you. your name fills the page instead. even when i backspace, it stays somewhere.

0

Jan 22

Jan 22, 2026 at 9:15 AM UTC

VanessaRue

My Margins

one day we had: winter days and dark jackets, tea in beige cups, talks about advertisements, touches that went nowhere. now it is only the air between us. every thought of mine is on the table, but i cannot arrange it in a china dish— it spills beyond the edges. i remember we would scrunch our noses when our eyes met— veins rising, a reflex that was ours. you, the lotus print on your wall, turning toward the sky. a quiet shadow along my margins. all i type these days are your habits, more than i ever knew you: black coffee, anytime. the hannibal series you mentioned once. watering plants at 6 pm. my feet remember the vibration of your fidgeting under the table. my margins, these days. i can't quite talk to you. your name fills the page instead. even when i backspace, it stays somewhere.

32

a bloom not I sniff on its wax yet soap in its name. Is chime an echo shuttling between shores clenched and surfs wrinkled? Forthcoming. Impending. Violating. Could thou help me to say this? that I was in out of my depth. Over-night granola, Mixed-berry fizz, Planet-Traveler hues. Could thou let me shelve vacancy? that I’d be sobbing for its mess. Signature Choco cake named here sole with latte all around globe some taste brewed here sole. How hot and heavy and hazy this existence savors. But— there is Thank you, the simple words that turns us into lamplighters who walk each other home, through the night never seems to end fluxing, always, always. after all. before all. A beam of apathy. Hithernay I lapse in the liquid fear of drifting afar from all flowed through me, a terrifying truth that strikes, falters, and aches. On shaft of daylight I look fine but look behind my eyes, everything is new until it’s old. An osmosis of remembrance wafts across the lake frozen I gazed tears streaming down its face and was told: every metamorphosis a co-passenger brought you continues the voyage with you on behalf of him. Would I get over it? Anon I find the galactic city model of the mind too cold to defy as I expend three minutes hesitating shall I do it or not that could be done within the three minutes so it’s left undone, with an ongoing groan. I yearn for rationality is too spiny and messy and illusory like a broadcast of self-deed that never ever pitch a well guess. But— nothing come decipherable until I seek to return with hands empty of dictions indecipherable. I love the debris of word that I don’t understand, that I build brick by brick. Euphoria stumbles in what is and what isn’t here. Chimeric. This time, at ease I walk into the place scrawled by unfamiliarity of all kinds, giddy, amorphous, variegated, not without my muse. Hovering, the Wayfinder exhales an attuning overture, an astringent taste of cacophony. “Free is the feeling they can’t take from thee.” a rustle not I shivered in yet took a leap towards. Through the bullet-spiked walls of unseen wars analogy hums a thousand suns as warriors bury a thousand letters.

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Sep 25, 2025

Sep 25, 2025 at 2:11 PM UTC

EvelynYiningChen

Blue Wind Chime

a bloom not I sniff on its wax yet soap in its name. Is chime an echo shuttling between shores clenched and surfs wrinkled? Forthcoming. Impending. Violating. Could thou help me to say this? that I was in out of my depth. Over-night granola, Mixed-berry fizz, Planet-Traveler hues. Could thou let me shelve vacancy? that I’d be sobbing for its mess. Signature Choco cake named here sole with latte all around globe some taste brewed here sole. How hot and heavy and hazy this existence savors. But— there is Thank you, the simple words that turns us into lamplighters who walk each other home, through the night never seems to end fluxing, always, always. after all. before all. A beam of apathy. Hithernay I lapse in the liquid fear of drifting afar from all flowed through me, a terrifying truth that strikes, falters, and aches. On shaft of daylight I look fine but look behind my eyes, everything is new until it’s old. An osmosis of remembrance wafts across the lake frozen I gazed tears streaming down its face and was told: every metamorphosis a co-passenger brought you continues the voyage with you on behalf of him. Would I get over it? Anon I find the galactic city model of the mind too cold to defy as I expend three minutes hesitating shall I do it or not that could be done within the three minutes so it’s left undone, with an ongoing groan. I yearn for rationality is too spiny and messy and illusory like a broadcast of self-deed that never ever pitch a well guess. But— nothing come decipherable until I seek to return with hands empty of dictions indecipherable. I love the debris of word that I don’t understand, that I build brick by brick. Euphoria stumbles in what is and what isn’t here. Chimeric. This time, at ease I walk into the place scrawled by unfamiliarity of all kinds, giddy, amorphous, variegated, not without my muse. Hovering, the Wayfinder exhales an attuning overture, an astringent taste of cacophony. “Free is the feeling they can’t take from thee.” a rustle not I shivered in yet took a leap towards. Through the bullet-spiked walls of unseen wars analogy hums a thousand suns as warriors bury a thousand letters.

58

There's a mansion on a hill I've seen it numerous times But, I've never been inside It's said to belong to an old woman Who is very selective in who enters her domain Either you're an insignificant servant And you slip inside Through a back door A tiny molecule diffusing from high to low concentration Or, you're a personal servant Then, you gain special access Still, through the back door Water molecule Diffusing through osmosis After that are ordinary guests, aided by the butler through the front door Facilitated diffusion Molecules carried or channeled And finally, the VIP's Welcomed by a great procession Through a special VIP door People, invited by the madam with great effort Active transport From low to high concentration Requiring added energy But despite this selectivity of who can and cannot enter That old mansion on the hill And the jobs it provides Is essential to the livelihood Of the people in this town Just like the cell membrane to our bodies

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Sep 23, 2018

Sep 23, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC

CynicalStrawberry

How to get in a Cell Membrane

There's a mansion on a hill I've seen it numerous times But, I've never been inside It's said to belong to an old woman Who is very selective in who enters her domain Either you're an insignificant servant And you slip inside Through a back door A tiny molecule diffusing from high to low concentration Or, you're a personal servant Then, you gain special access Still, through the back door Water molecule Diffusing through osmosis After that are ordinary guests, aided by the butler through the front door Facilitated diffusion Molecules carried or channeled And finally, the VIP's Welcomed by a great procession Through a special VIP door People, invited by the madam with great effort Active transport From low to high concentration Requiring added energy But despite this selectivity of who can and cannot enter That old mansion on the hill And the jobs it provides Is essential to the livelihood Of the people in this town Just like the cell membrane to our bodies

39

*Every night crawling into bed beside you Wrapping my arm around you Drawing you closer Into the perfect spoon Our skin to skin one caress Comforting one another as we fade into dream every morning Waking before the alarm sounds To the feel of your arm Out-stretched & Searching for me beside you Finding me, finding you the safety, the joy The serenity of feeling Home In our bubble At the peak of the mushroom free of anxiety, ego dissolved A familiar peace abounds Amid the chaos of the mind fray Our souls dance Together and free Simultaneously lost and found in your emerald gaze Peering endlessly as the periphery fades to blur and all that exists is We All is you and me We are All Feeling every molecule of You As we merge our physicality The Gnosis in the mushroom Illuminating the Archaic Gnosis in our beings Reigniting and fuelling our twin flame the magnetic synergy of our Souls Sharing time Sharing space In your intoxicating presence In your nourishing embrace Engaging in ceremony with you Honouring spirit Of the Earth, of ourselves Casting intentions to the four winds Through the cleansing of raging fire Discovering the rhythm of personal expression Under the full blood blue moon Our spotlight on the stage of surrender Hanging effortlessly in the star-speckled Black of Night Finding the circular beat Of your two drum-heart-beats Through the noise of solo djembes on their own tangent Desperate to find the momentum of song Our trio in unison Our drums in harmony and rhyme Synchronised in time A voiceless song of the divine These and many more moments you've given to me We created the space and seized the opportunity I hold them in memory immemorial And the feelings they inspired Infused forever into my "me-ness" I thank You I miss You I Love You Forever my Moon And one day my Sun*

0

Feb 9, 2018

Feb 9, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC

nic-sutcliffe

favourite feelings

*Every night crawling into bed beside you Wrapping my arm around you Drawing you closer Into the perfect spoon Our skin to skin one caress Comforting one another as we fade into dream every morning Waking before the alarm sounds To the feel of your arm Out-stretched & Searching for me beside you Finding me, finding you the safety, the joy The serenity of feeling Home In our bubble At the peak of the mushroom free of anxiety, ego dissolved A familiar peace abounds Amid the chaos of the mind fray Our souls dance Together and free Simultaneously lost and found in your emerald gaze Peering endlessly as the periphery fades to blur and all that exists is We All is you and me We are All Feeling every molecule of You As we merge our physicality The Gnosis in the mushroom Illuminating the Archaic Gnosis in our beings Reigniting and fuelling our twin flame the magnetic synergy of our Souls Sharing time Sharing space In your intoxicating presence In your nourishing embrace Engaging in ceremony with you Honouring spirit Of the Earth, of ourselves Casting intentions to the four winds Through the cleansing of raging fire Discovering the rhythm of personal expression Under the full blood blue moon Our spotlight on the stage of surrender Hanging effortlessly in the star-speckled Black of Night Finding the circular beat Of your two drum-heart-beats Through the noise of solo djembes on their own tangent Desperate to find the momentum of song Our trio in unison Our drums in harmony and rhyme Synchronised in time A voiceless song of the divine These and many more moments you've given to me We created the space and seized the opportunity I hold them in memory immemorial And the feelings they inspired Infused forever into my "me-ness" I thank You I miss You I Love You Forever my Moon And one day my Sun*

73

Matter can not be created nor destroyed. Is it the same with love? I wonder. Perhaps just our love. One does not create it, rather falls into it, proving it's existence. Love is never lost, changed only. It is a chemical reaction, serotonin and oxytocin. The dynamics of our love have shifted. Once drowning in a volatile sea, I was obsessed. Then lying on a dry cracked bed just as damaging. Where did the love go? Into you. Osmosis of love through parted lips, gyrating hips.

0

Nov 20, 2015

Nov 20, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC

athena-pepe

The Science of Love

Matter can not be created nor destroyed. Is it the same with love? I wonder. Perhaps just our love. One does not create it, rather falls into it, proving it's existence. Love is never lost, changed only. It is a chemical reaction, serotonin and oxytocin. The dynamics of our love have shifted. Once drowning in a volatile sea, I was obsessed. Then lying on a dry cracked bed just as damaging. Where did the love go? Into you. Osmosis of love through parted lips, gyrating hips.

21