#southernpoetry - Hello Poetry

Warm and full My bubbly, baptismal vessel Carries casked vanilla notes in its steam A pillow of air Keeps me from drowning My ******* float and lift away Brackish water covering near the totality of my body Changes within me and its salinity As each teardrop rolls into the mixture, I struggle less to stay afloat

0

Jul 1, 2025

Jul 1, 2025 at 6:35 PM UTC

genevieveish

Brackish Baptism

Warm and full My bubbly, baptismal vessel Carries casked vanilla notes in its steam A pillow of air Keeps me from drowning My ******* float and lift away Brackish water covering near the totality of my body Changes within me and its salinity As each teardrop rolls into the mixture, I struggle less to stay afloat

10

Take me back to the South? I rubbed a puppy but you made it live, I held your hand and ego as a ghost rode ***** I tasted your mouth Your deep addictive kisses were salty ripe with hidden tears, expectations and confessions of fears, You pressed me for affirmation with one foot out the door, My supposition acquiesced to passion Then, you disappeared Now you’re here Pressing me, Asking me what do I want? I need consistency, presence, commitment, and time. What do I feel? What I feel is Soul mate attraction, Unconfined by silence, Driven, diving, biding Ineffable, inexplicable, unconstrainable Uncontainable love and lust Intertwined and unbound How do you feel? Do you have clarity? For me, it’s taking its sweet time Dragging and compartmentalizing The inner unraveling of the unforgiven knot of the unacknowledged The unpolished And unabolished. What do I want? Excuse me as I try to unpack the dusty boxes, On my neglected shelves. I’m not a stranger to love or lust, But, I’m not a friend either. I’m not an enchantress, No siren here my friend. Nor, am I an open book, My closest companions are the choir of thoughts, Who sing songs of loyalty, doubts and declarations, I’ve wandered but I want a true partner to walk hand in hand the path of a life mundane, Stealing moments of hungry happiness, exquisite. You break down my defenses Despite all logic and suppression, Fingers press into mind’s flesh, Nails rake down your neck. My heart pounds and my mouth rounds, Warm wet worship, Down the base of your inspiring **** Your groaning and growing elicit my complete attention, And, focus my irreverent intentions To unraveling the bead formed on the cusp of your tip, Your palms trace the strands of my hair, Your pleasure drives sated completion Is it plans or preoccupations of hands? Are you practicing yet? For now, as you lament love lost I’ll sit quasi patient, Outwardly immobile and facetiously engaged Damp wanting but waiting, Quietly watching the two flames in my candle As they melt and burn the wax around its’ wicks, Hot but constrained Destructive but contained. I’ll be externally reverent for the life carefully molded, Grateful for familial serenity But, ever mindful of the calling, Forged by sound, touch and taste To an internal dereliction sung by our blue flame.

0

May 11, 2025

May 11, 2025 at 1:26 PM UTC

genevieveish

Wanting

Take me back to the South? I rubbed a puppy but you made it live, I held your hand and ego as a ghost rode ***** I tasted your mouth Your deep addictive kisses were salty ripe with hidden tears, expectations and confessions of fears, You pressed me for affirmation with one foot out the door, My supposition acquiesced to passion Then, you disappeared Now you’re here Pressing me, Asking me what do I want? I need consistency, presence, commitment, and time. What do I feel? What I feel is Soul mate attraction, Unconfined by silence, Driven, diving, biding Ineffable, inexplicable, unconstrainable Uncontainable love and lust Intertwined and unbound How do you feel? Do you have clarity? For me, it’s taking its sweet time Dragging and compartmentalizing The inner unraveling of the unforgiven knot of the unacknowledged The unpolished And unabolished. What do I want? Excuse me as I try to unpack the dusty boxes, On my neglected shelves. I’m not a stranger to love or lust, But, I’m not a friend either. I’m not an enchantress, No siren here my friend. Nor, am I an open book, My closest companions are the choir of thoughts, Who sing songs of loyalty, doubts and declarations, I’ve wandered but I want a true partner to walk hand in hand the path of a life mundane, Stealing moments of hungry happiness, exquisite. You break down my defenses Despite all logic and suppression, Fingers press into mind’s flesh, Nails rake down your neck. My heart pounds and my mouth rounds, Warm wet worship, Down the base of your inspiring **** Your groaning and growing elicit my complete attention, And, focus my irreverent intentions To unraveling the bead formed on the cusp of your tip, Your palms trace the strands of my hair, Your pleasure drives sated completion Is it plans or preoccupations of hands? Are you practicing yet? For now, as you lament love lost I’ll sit quasi patient, Outwardly immobile and facetiously engaged Damp wanting but waiting, Quietly watching the two flames in my candle As they melt and burn the wax around its’ wicks, Hot but constrained Destructive but contained. I’ll be externally reverent for the life carefully molded, Grateful for familial serenity But, ever mindful of the calling, Forged by sound, touch and taste To an internal dereliction sung by our blue flame.

67

I'm not the first survivor, Just yours Don't revive me, Let me be Your adoring pitiful pitiable survivor, I'm not the first to be left behind, Not the first displaced by ego I've accepted my cessation, A long lost love that once was perfection, Soiled by your foolish ignorant indiscretions Beaten by your cowardice, conniving, ache and craving. I once tasted your good nature, Drank in your laughter and longing, But now I rest, Deposited, Worn out by over a decade of cardiopulmonary resuscitation Don't trade my peace for your conscience Reviving a love that should have died a decade ago, Along with my ego Don't revive me, Just let me be I'm not the first survivor. Just yours

0

Jul 23, 2020

Jul 23, 2020 at 1:39 PM UTC

genevieveish

I'm Not The First

I'm not the first survivor, Just yours Don't revive me, Let me be Your adoring pitiful pitiable survivor, I'm not the first to be left behind, Not the first displaced by ego I've accepted my cessation, A long lost love that once was perfection, Soiled by your foolish ignorant indiscretions Beaten by your cowardice, conniving, ache and craving. I once tasted your good nature, Drank in your laughter and longing, But now I rest, Deposited, Worn out by over a decade of cardiopulmonary resuscitation Don't trade my peace for your conscience Reviving a love that should have died a decade ago, Along with my ego Don't revive me, Just let me be I'm not the first survivor. Just yours

23