"what are you waiting for?"
Cristina 

I need you to touch me
do it now.
I want your body, you want mine
remember you said
sweetheart, everything will be fine.

tips of your finger are silk
barely touch my cleavage
my entire body is so rich
rich of your small just sprinkle kisses.
I need you to touch me more
what are you waiting for?

your palm is burning, under my skin
looking in your eyes
I'm reading a long story of desire.
is all for me?

you smile to me, smile for me
when you do it
my thoughts become blurry.
please, stop whisper into my ear
I can't handle anymore
please
just, touch me!

"Stationed at odd waiting steads,"
Melody W 

Stationed at odd waiting steads,
figures traipsing along endless coast

you peer at and are peered at
through flimsy facades, wringing

hands pressing temples, knotted
hands that have caressed the untouchable

vast scenery, blurring greens and reds until -
an abrupt disconnect, and you are no longer seen…

to be forgotten is unrealized bliss,
a lone heron one with the skyline at last

©MW
"Waiting for my prince to come and love to preva"
April Watson 

You can call me Ella because i'm enchanted by you.
The way you are and the things that you do.
You never see anything you don't want to.
I wonder if you're enchanted too.

You can call me Ella because i'm cursed.
But the magic here is a spell that can't be reversed.
I'd like to ask my fairy god mother if she knows she gave me the worst.
I wonder if she knew with her gift my life would burst.

You can call me Ella because I live in a fairytale.
Waiting for my prince to come and love to prevail.
I wonder when my fairytale will fall.
Because there's no such thing after all.

"Although family will also be the birds waiting above in the trees, ruining the new was"
Michael Ryan 

Family what is family.
The people that decide to catch you before you fall.
Or the people that decide to pick up the broken pieces when you’ve been smashed into millions.
The millions of millions that no one else would be willing to pick up.
Even if those millions of millions was just a game to pick up a few missing parts.
They are the ones that will build a fortress around you and tell you the world is not safe for you my child.
But they will let down that gate, even knowing that the world isn’t good enough for you.
Family will have left the gate open for you to leave, but they will always beg for you not to go.
Even after you’ve left that mighty fortress they built all for you, they will cast themselves out to watch over you.
They will be the birds spying over your life, seeming to always be there, singing along to your tune of life.
Although family will also be the birds waiting above in the trees, ruining the new wash done to your car.
They will always mean to do their best; they will give all of what they can give and more.
No matter if they have to fight off the jackals of fate to speak to you once more, they will find a way.
If you are in another castle they will travel once more and once more until they find you again.
No matter how lost you become they will find the light in the deepest of caverns.
And if there is no light they will bring their own, because they know what will lighten you up.
Understanding they will be, knowing that tough times are tough to get out of.
With that knowledge they will be the best to have around, they are the ones that will accept that we all sometimes frown.
They are the blessing of life not only because they build fortresses around you, but have the ability to let you live.
No, they are a blessing because whenever you finally find out that they were the reason to so much happiness.
They will be there wondering, damn how did you just find out?

Spoken word poem, I think most if not all of what I write is spoken word.
"waiting for the next day,"
Ryan Hodges 

The city is a grid
of lights projected
by man-made mountains
built of glass and steel;
they reflect, distorted
off the glass surface
of Lake Michigan.

Good morning

The sun rises
with heavy-eyed commuters,
homes filling with
the smell of coffee;
yesterday’s events are
brought inside, rolled
up in a blue plastic bag.

Soon the traffic on the Dan Ryan
will turn the stretch of road
into a temporary parking lot.

Life enters the veins
of downtown;
it heads down Michigan Avenue
to the heart of The Loop.

The ferris wheel at Navy Pier
begins to turn hypnotically,
attracting all walks of life.

A Muslim passes a Christian
on the street;
they smile at each other;
their backgrounds don’t matter.

Someone is calling;
someone is answering.
Today is the best day for one,
the worst day for another.

The day does its job to go on

Chicago fills its lungs,
then exhales life back home.
The sun colors buildings,
traces of day
to be soon replaced
by the form of lit office windows.

From a plane passing over,
the grid is a chessboard
waiting for the next day,
the next game.

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