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The sea is still today
It's cerulean blue and gold
I think of the thoughts it carries
Within its hidden folds.
Its touch is soft and gentle
It soothes the ache of years
But I wonder how many waves
Are made from fallen tears.
Dear everyone,

This is such a surprise! Thank you all for your likes, loves and responses. I have not been very active on Hello Poetry, but will get back in action soon. So much appreciated. Thank you Hello Poetry for selecting this as a daily. Thank you so much my friends and fellow poets for taking the time to read this poem of mine. It means the world to me.  Love to everyone **
She moves like winter—
soft, slow,
cradling the air—
her steps are untraceable.

A life of corners suits her—
neat, unassuming,
never begging for light.

She keeps herself
tight within a space,
the way a bird
tucks its wings—
precise,
as though her presence
can speak just as loud.

When she speaks,
her voice skims the air—
pale as a white crow
sharp as double blades
of a cold November wind.

Her words land clean—
a snowflake dissolving
before you can catch
its pattern.

Just notice—
the warmth she guards,
burning coals
behind her sober look.

Her wrists,
fine and birdlike,
trace the outlines
of her wilderness.

It waits—
in the curve of her jaw,
in the way her fingers grasp,
tighter than they need to.

When I spread
her legs wide,
like the wings
of her hungry mouth—
she is the shadow
of the snow
on a ****** field—
softness
with deliberate grace
a river that never asked
to be seen.
Lia Marie Johnson—Sufjan Stevens —To Be Alone With You

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5cCHQGWs7PU
You walk ahead,
your back a sultry *****,
your hands hanging—
fingers splayed,
as if you’d held something too hot
and dropped it too quickly
to the ground.

I watch your shadow flutter
beneath your pretty red skirt—
a natural-born wildflower
in a white and yellow tank top.

The rain hasn’t stopped in days.
Even the air tastes sharp,
bitter as orange peels—
the kind we scraped our teeth against
as children,
zest running down our throats—
sweet, but always with a sting.

We walk like this—
through wetness,
through the morning
your step is careful—
mine, careless.
The sound of us
almost matching,
not quite—but it’s okay,
just like a song that falters
before the first note
but ends
with a bang.

And when we cross the street,
I don’t ask
if the other side
is any better than this one—
if it was ever less than a promise
we made to ourselves,
as the rain softened
the road beneath us.
Train—When I Look to the Sky
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KipSEcE6gGM
 Mar 19 Caits
Marc Morais
One step in—
the air bleeds thin,
heat curling at the walls,
lungs straining
beneath your brand—

One look—
the room sways,
the way fire bends
before it gives in to wind.

One smile—
a burning magnet,
searing my thoughts
laces undone with just a look—
knowing when to forget
how to hold back.

I meet you there—
skin against skin,
a shiver between shadows,
a heartbeat, staggered and wild.

Your mouth—
an invitation between gasps,
a tide swelling, slipping,
breath against breath,
falling further in.

Fingertips etch urges,
scrape constellations into skin,
the night between palms and sheets—
a hunger deeper than air.

You collapse,
the world now a quivering mess—
a slow-burning ruin,
softened into embers,
breathless—wanting more.
 Mar 19 Caits
JL Vega
We met
We talked
We pretended
We laughed
We considered
We agreed
We exchanged
We left
It was like a kiss from a rose
 Mar 16 Caits
Marc Morais
She comes into the room
like she’s got scissors tucked
in the pocket of an apron—
unnoticed until you feel her there,
sharp and unexpected.

Her hair spills over her shoulders—
a mess of black feathers.
Her hands, thin and scratched,
grip her phone tightly,
as if it’s the only thing
keeping her from losing
her sanity.

I watch her sit—like a lotus flower,
knees tucked up, one bare foot
dangling over the side of the couch—
a small protest against the dirt in her life—
she didn’t choose.

She speaks like honey poured too fast—
thick, spilling over her lips.
Every word is stumbling a story
she often forgets to finish.

Her laugh breaks open
like a bird caught in a storm—
a sound too wild, too raw
to hold in all at once.
She doesn’t laugh for joy—
she laughs like it’s a weapon,
sharp—aimed at the places
she’s already bleeding.

Lenore watches me—
like a crow watching the sky,
needing to survive.

She tells me she’s leaving,
the same way she’d tell me
we ran out of milk.

She keeps on talking
as she goes to the kitchen—
her fingers trembling
as she stirs a *** of soup
no one wants to eat now.

I write down her words,
each one landing ******* my chest—
a tape to rewind and cry over later.
I think she’s always been leaving,
one small step at a time.

And when she goes,
I will find her feathers
all over this old house—
black, soft,
tiny reminders of the girl
too tired to stay.
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