She was the kind of girl
Worth dancing with
     In the middle of the living room
To the music
Of late night television.

She was the kind of girl
Who made the sky dizzy
     Whenever it looked down at her
Because she was
More vast than the sea.

She was the kind of girl
You wanted to kiss
     In each and every snow drift
Because her lips
Were warmer than any jacket.

She was the kind of girl
Who held you at night
     And whose arms lingered
Because when she was gone
You still felt her around you.

She was the kind of girl
People drag themselves
     From their beds and walk to work
Because they needed to care
For a necessity like her.

She was the kind of girl
Who made you trip over
     Words you wished were nearly as lovely as her,
Because she was the embodiment
Of all you ever wanted to say

To swoon the stars and put the moon in your back pocket.

If I smile too much
it makes me look desperate

© Matthew Harlovic

He stands tall
proud
open
vertebrae linear
shining like the moon
sugar skin wrapped around  
delicate bones
and hardworking hands

He exudes comfort
like a warm summer night lying beneath billions of
constellations
they shine brighter with him
like crystals

Flowers grow from him
His heart is so much more caring than the sun
who berates delicate green tendrils with unforgiving heat
mysterious clouds can't shield his
effervescent energy
nor can smoke

He shoots electricity from his
fingertips
sparking life
igniting

He lifts massive weights
of time
of pressure
from the world's shoulders

He is now and infinite.

Walls of reinforced steel
reserve, packed high
with political ambitions
the steps leading up
into the night sky of diamonds,
for prayers from the pulpit of  doom
to those huddled below in the basement
chants and incense sticks
the temple stood imposing
upon every worshipers fear.

She was more than *****
as she danced snakes
gyrating to  the tax collections of
repentance. At night she coiled
around the sanctum sanctorum
of greed and faked ******* of deceit.

God gave -the  priest didn't!

Author Notes

Even if God gave the priest wouldn't?
Contemplation 11
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

It was, after all, an internet rose,
selected from google images,
carefully placed in a pool of succulent words
vanilla bean and gooey smoothness
bordered with delicate lace on the pages
a small bleeding heart stapled
to the top of the page

But oh! how she loved its beauty.
She smelt the heady aroma, licked the chocolate
and converted to vanilla slurp
and juicy apple kisses.

We slept well that night
ten thousand miles apart.
Romantically ready
for the journey across oceans
with towering waves
and saw toothed sharks
piranhas and nirvanas
all jumbled up and waiting
for this togetherness.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

Im done and dusted
packed away in a shoebox
of transparent memories

what was last night about?
delicate dreams in filigree flight
crisp as lettuce
crunchy to the core
yet adding that joie-de-vivre
to the seduction of senses

I'm truly done and dusted
as I stagger into todays
escapades of poetic fancy
unable to filter the diamonds
from the dust of dreams.

tomorrow may be
better when the serenity sails in
to calm the raging forest fire
of expression.

Author Notes

Escapism in its truest form,unable to keep pace with the thrill of creating newer poems with sensory effects. Does it work?I don't know. You decide
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago