"adjoining" poems
The globalization
Once thought to be an important aspect
To connect the world
To diverse the world
Has been only a part success
And of course, a success to be
In a way people are connected
In the enchanting world of ours
Rising the common world consciousness
Rising and rising and rising
A day by day and day
The knowledge domain, a gigantic trip
Profoundly majestic experience uplifting people
Remarkably
All over the world diminishing the differences
Differences humans suppose to believe
Differences that drew humanity backwards
The differences mostly set by identitities
Identities in terms of nationality
In terms of religion, caste and creed
As we observe, differences softening them boundaries
A good thing as seen
Manifested due to globalization
Only possible due to global reach
Just possible due to connection in large scale
Diminishing are those differences as they don’t fit
Don't fit to the consciousness of the world
To the rising consciousness of the world now
More the fire it sets the plank to burn faster
Happening for good for sure, I believe
On the contrary differences too
In the verse of diminishing the truth
It contradicts the positivity
As see in the world today is extremism
Yes extremism happens to exist
If it exists for a long period
A whole long period of time
In the years to come
Is definately calling for absurdity
Which humans may not want to percieve
The adversities of the impact of globalization
Leading a chance for the high level corporates
To the world to have access to the marketplace
All over the world
Leading to a state of consumerism
To the people
People becoming more and more consumers
They are being brainwashed
For them to buy goods
That global industries produce
People are running after the products
****** consumers
****** sheeps
Those multinationals
And shark headed corporates
Are producing and manufacturing
The high headed corporates
The pigs are manipulating
Are brainwashing people
The sheeps are diverted towards it
The people
The only agenda is to gain more
And more profit only
By making the people slaves of themselves
And slaves of their products
And believe it
Coke and Pepsi may be
Right hand and a left hand
But the Coke and Pepsi both are the same
The very debate which is better is
Helping the corporates to sale
By making their brains washed away
Consumers
Sheeps
Brainwashed
In a sense they are enjoying
The debate they argue upon
And they are unaware
And they are manipulated
Knowingly and unknowingly
More often knowingly
****** sheep slaves
Another adjoining thing
most of the governments in the world
Are being run by the aid
Of the corporates
Only have a selfish agenda
And strategy to sale
Products, thoughts and philosophy
More and more and more
****** pigs
Brainwashing minds of the people
The sheeps
Having a streak of global consumerism
Selfish bunch of pigs
And the brainwashed sheeps
Say hell ya
F***king hell ya
F***k off
Get out'a here
****** freaks
Pigs and Sheeps
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
1219
Now I knew I lost her—
Not that she was gone—
But Remoteness travelled
On her Face and Tongue.
Alien, though adjoining
As a Foreign Race—
Traversed she though pausing
Latitudeless Place.
Elements Unaltered—
Universe the same
But Love’s transmigration—
Somehow this had come—
Henceforth to remember
Nature took the Day
I had paid so much for—
His is Penury
Not who toils for Freedom
Or for Family
But the Restitution
Of Idolatry.
5.2k
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name!
Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient;
I see that the word of my city is that word up there,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, with tall and wonderful spires,
Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships—an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets—high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies;
Tide swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d;
The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business—the houses of business of the ship-merchants, and money-brokers—the river-streets;
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week;
The carts hauling goods—the manly race of drivers of horses—the brown-faced sailors;
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft;
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells—the broken ice in the river, passing along, up or down, with the flood tide or ebb-tide;
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes;
Trottoirs throng’d—vehicles—Broadway—the women—the shops and shows,
The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying, drums beating;
A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—hospitality—the most courageous and friendly young men;
The free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves!
The beautiful city, the city of hurried and sparkling waters! the city of spires and masts!
The city nested in bays! my city!
The city of such women, I am mad to be with them! I will return after death to be with them!
The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live happy, without I often go talk, walk, eat, drink, sleep, with them!
4.2k
1103
The spry Arms of the Wind
If I could crawl between
I have an errand imminent
To an adjoining Zone—
I should not care to stop
My Process is not long
The Wind could wait without the Gate
Or stroll the Town among.
To ascertain the House
And is the soul at Home
And hold the Wick of mine to it
To light, and then return—
3.8k
449
I died for Beauty—but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room—
He questioned softly “Why I failed”?
“For Beauty”, I replied—
“And I—for Truth—Themself are One—
We Brethren, are”, He said—
And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night—
We talked between the Rooms—
Until the Moss had reached our lips—
And covered up—our names—
3k
I watch Laura through our adjoining office window
and pray to any god that will listen that she won't pick up the receiver.
I hope my glare burns the cord that...
******
*Good morning, Mr. Prater. My names is Laura and I'm calling from Vector Supplies.
How are you doing today?*
Her screech of a voice causes the hair on my arms to stand up.
Her laugh should be one of the layers of hell.
Hello? Mr. Prater?
Another customer dropped the call.
If someone with that voice called my home I would demand the manager
and accuse the caller of huffing helium, trying to get high.
She's the worst salesperson in this office.
Frankly, no one is great here.
At least we're better than the northern branch.
The boss, Mr. Leckman, opens the door and slithers into her office.
Laura, I saw that another customer hung up.
I'm sorry, Mr. Leckman. I promise I'm trying.
Try being more perky like I know you can.
Oh **** Don't encourage her you *****
And Laura, you can call me Ted, remember?
Yes, Mr. Leckman. I mean Ted.
Her giggle almost broke the glass of our window,
and if it had, I would have slit my wrists with the shards.
No hesitation.
I'm still watching the horror show,
and that's when I saw it:
He winked.
That ***** I knew she was ******* him.
That's the only reason why she's still here.
Sadly, I was interrupted mid-strangle fantasy when Mr. Leckman,
or Ted, barged in.
Ms. Dunn, get back to work.
Sorry, Ted--uh, Mr. Leckman.
He had shut the door before I could correct myself.
Great. I'm sure I'll get fired by the end of this week.
I need this ****** of a job.
It's one of the few places that doesn't make you
**** in a cup before you sell your soul.
Maybe I should bend over more often.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
It faces west, and round the back and sides
High beeches, bending, hang a veil of boughs,
And sweep against the roof. Wild honeysucks
Climb on the walls, and seem to sprout a wish
(If we may fancy wish of trees and plants)
To overtop the apple trees hard-by.
Red roses, lilacs, variegated box
Are there in plenty, and such hardy flowers
As flourish best untrained. Adjoining these
Are herbs and esculents; and farther still
A field; then cottages with trees, and last
The distant hills and sky.
Behind, the scene is wilder. Heath and furze
Are everything that seems to grow and thrive
Upon the uneven ground. A stunted thorn
Stands here and there, indeed; and from a pit
An oak uprises, Springing from a seed
Dropped by some bird a hundred years ago.
In days bygone—
Long gone—my father’s mother, who is now
Blest with the blest, would take me out to walk.
At such a time I once inquired of her
How looked the spot when first she settled here.
The answer I remember. ‘Fifty years
Have passed since then, my child, and change has marked
The face of all things. Yonder garden-plots
And orchards were uncultivated slopes
O’ergrown with bramble bushes, furze and thorn:
That road a narrow path shut in by ferns,
Which, almost trees, obscured the passers-by.
Our house stood quite alone, and those tall firs
And beeches were not planted. Snakes and efts
Swarmed in the summer days, and nightly bats
Would fly about our bedrooms. Heathcroppers
Lived on the hills, and were our only friends;
So wild it was when we first settled here.’
2.4k
My brother and I
don't talk anymore.
Not even if we run into each other
at a party.
With him ****** and me very drunk.
A hello is as far as it goes.
We pass each other silently
in the corridors of my home.
Things are different
slowly but suddenly.
We used to walk the halls of the school
holding hands,
even up until seventh grade.
Well he was in sixth.
Everyone told us they were so jealous,
best friends and family.
We planned to grow up
and have houses with adjoining yards.
We would share a pool.
But my brother died two years ago.
Now even if I try I am disappointed.
Want to go on a walk?
His eyes stare blankly ahead at the computer.
When sharing the kitchen space,
Do you remember that time
we broke the tire swing?
Not really he mumbles
with the slam of the fridge door
as he slips out of the room.
He'll come out of this.
People tell me all the time.
I don't really think
people come back from the dead.
Yet, every day I find myself
checking his features for signs of life.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
romantic callings
spanish bayonet
dagger plant
adams needles
jealously guarding
with expansive labor
a plant nurturing
most startling to find
new life
from adjoining steps in
unbroken broken ladder
rocks then plants
animals finally us
dedicated partnership
from evolution's mist
simple pollen deliveries
flower unto flower
cells and eggs
carefully enjoined
in pistil cradle womb
symbiosis of light
awaiting birth of spring
plant and animal
mutually interrelating
humble
and most hidden
might we extract
insight for our time
nurturing our awareness
expanding sacred ladder
one spiritual step
recognizing now clearly
ladder becoming whole
guarding still nurturing
welcoming spring light
emulating and repeating
a yucca mother's pattern
stupendous birthing
young yuccamoths
her amazing
our enlightening
brood
(with appreciation for genesis 2:15,
and for advice from a real life
yucca momma)
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
She came to me at Calvados,
A single night, without repeat.
The woman of my soul’s love longing,
to consummate with kisses sweet.
She entered in my midnight room
a simple pastel shift she wore
Smiling as she bared her shoulders,
the garment dropping to the floor.
So beautiful, this child of Gonne,
to this poet’s bleary eyes.
How often I had praised, in print,
her auburn hair and hazel eyes.
I was silent, she as well,
neither keen to break the spell.
She kissed me deeply on the lips
just as the stroke of midnight fell.
Her fingers deeply in my hair
she brought me to her freckled chest.
I licked and nibbled at one ******
like a baby at her breast.
She mounted me, her Rocinante,
and slowly, we began our quest.
My Willie in warm velvet wetness
wrapped as I returned her thrusts.
In spirit, we belonged together.
In truth,she’d wed another man.
A brute who’d tried to **** her sister.
She, too, had suffered at his hand.
As we played, she bent to kiss me
sweet Celtic sweat was in her hair
In another life she’d been my sister.
In this life’s love war all was fair.
She gave out with a little cry
as she took my Willie deep.
we came in unison so sweetly
but quietly, her child was asleep.
I remember, one time, Maud had asked
what type of bird I’d like to be?
Back upon the hills at Howth
when we were young and both still free.
“I think”, I said,” I’d be a gull,
playing at the shore for free.
Soaring high above the water
taking my living from the sea.”
Now we lay here in Calvados
near the town Colleville sur Mer
Her villa was named “Les Mouettes”
For one night only, we coupled there.
It is rumored that, in the Summer of 1907, William Butler Yeats and Maud Gonne shared physical intimacy for the one and only time in their lives. He the famous Poet and Playwright, she the famous Irish nationalist.
At the time she was separated from John MacBride, but they had not divorced, being Catholic. Yeats had a belief in reincarnation and both had, at times, dabbled in the occult. See also my poem
" Making Iseult"
The child asleep in the adjoining room would be Sean MacBride, later in life a Nobel peace prize winner.
Les Mouettes is French for "the (Sea)gulls."
I have read that Yeats wrote a love poem about this night, but that it has been lost. This is my attempt to replicate that lost love poem.
I thank Patrick McFarland for helping me revise the original version of the poem. His suggestions improved the flow of the piece.
.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC
(aka Pinky Andrexa)
4/4/10 02.09am
I am walking in a daydream under skies forever grey,
Lying always in the shadow of ambitions all foregone;
I'm going through the motions of another working day,
Feeling permanently static, as the world is moving on.
And you're forever shining like some distant blazing sun,
You're gleaming as I'm dreaming, making all who see you smile;
The wings upon your heels still elevate you as you run,
So many want to be you, or would emulate your style.
From distance I behold you, as a cat beholds a king,
All doors open before you, in successions of success;
Your flame's forever burning, while my own is dwindling,
I could not be further away, or love you any less.
While you, you dice with danger, dancing on the precipice,
Leaving admirers breathless at your daring escapades;
And all your leading ladies ever burn to taste your kiss,
Your destiny speeds to you riding jet-powered rollerblades.
Yet two unlikely paths have crossed and subtle friendship blooms,
And many dreams take flight between the gutter and the stars;
Making the span of distance shrink into adjoining rooms
Opening secret passageways, where chosen dreamers pass.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 5:13 PM UTC
Each morning, the earth and sky meet,
At first lightly touching, eventually adjoining,
And finally presenting a blend of color,
A spectrum of pink, orange, and gold…
In all their glory.
The trumpets sound, signifying a new day,
Unlike every other, yet it is still Monday.
It seems the birds and insects congregate,
Preparing an intricate symphony,
An orchestra of billions of noises,
Each his own.
And still no one knows
Who has danced upon the grass,
Sprinkling flawless, spherical drops
Of water, frosted with glittering crystal,
Onto the earth on which we walk,
That seems so common by ten ‘o clock.
And shameful, I feel at times
When I miss the air at its cleanest
By an hour or two, or more;
When I miss the symphonic chirps,
The dampened grass and rainbow sky,
I am mournful.
Thought it seems I always recall
The orchestra performs again tomorrow
Around the time of dawn.
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 10:39 AM UTC
Arteries benumbed
Reading pharmaceutical's inserts no fun
Reading your mind even worse
Print so small
Foldings such as a roadmap
Those molecular models delineated
Moods might just as well be
Translating cuneiform
You wedge-shape marks on me
Deceptive blinks cut my clayey gray matter
That mascara you wear
Like kajal on Persian Princess
Ovular pills with spider legs
How do I defend from?
Enigmatical ellipses
Narcotic exotic
I look for, but find no
Adjoining pamphlets or warnings
To all your strange side-effects
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
An angel came to my world with a message
Holding a perfect triangle in His hand
He asked me if I knew why he carried it
I laughed at him thinking such a crazy man
He placed it down on a piece of paper
Beginning to trace all of its shared lines
And as the image came together so complete
He then asked of me to open up my mind
He explained how its adjoining three points
All share equally the same space in between
He went on to ask me this single question
If I truly understood what it really means
He went on to say how it truly displays
In such a very special and wholesome way
A wonderful side of pure spiritual wisdom
Which many alive fail to embrace each day
The top point of the triangle sit’s our God
With His glory, grace, forgiveness and love
But the two lines which went away from Him
Went to the two creations He was most proud of
The third line reflects Gods strong foundation
A shelter when needing guidance the two would be
But here in the triangle they would be connected
Saying this is the way our lives should truly be.
If as a man you turn your head away from God
You cannot hide away anything you might do
As you are connected to both God and your wife
He shall see and feel all you might plan to do
It is the same for the wife as with her husband
If she ever for some reason chooses to turn away
God will see any paths which she also might take
And nothing would be hidden from Him in any way
The point of the message which he shared with me
Was to help me understand where my heart should stay
He said look at the connecting lines in your life
Sharing and depending will bless your lives each day
For God will love and embrace you both all the time
With His blossoming love in so many beautiful ways
And His blessings will always nourish your lives daily
When in this threefold embrace of love you both stay.
Never mistreat each other a single day in your lives
Treat and love the other as you would love yourself
And when God looks daily upon your steps each day
Your hearts will never in his eyes leave any doubt.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
I see,
I know,
I feel,
I recognize your pain.
All that you attempt to hide
from the world is a gloriously
open book...for me.
For, you see, I live in that
same pain as well.
We are neighbors, you
and I, though you
don't seem to know it.
We share adjoining rooms
there...like bookends,
holding up the spined
volumes of our
injured, fragile
lives.
But no fear,
for what I've seen
and all I know..of you...
will never leave my
sight and will never
be discarded or
disclosed to others
who will never,
could never...
truly understand.
You mean more to me
than even I dare admit,
and you always inspire
worlds of thought,
as you have carved
yourself a unique
space in this tattered
heart....
and I will protect this
'gift' of you...
as long as I draw breath.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
To tell-
Neither a raven nor a mouse
Could see my peacock
Tale.
I hold proxy panama
And why-born wyvern
Anomalies in--
Hindering hands.
The planets speak sometimes
With wrinkled minds and skin,
It's my 'winter hair'
They scream in
Silver petals.
I'm copper-rain-
-now
Adjoining to the finch
Burdening blackbirds
With my teeth.
We as everyone like to-
***** on our feet and-
Watch as dinosaurs
Evolve tongues that--
Paint.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
Leaving your mark upon me,
Kissing my shaking hand,
Keeping my dreams above me,
Loving me despite high demand,
I do not deserve you.
Calming my nervous thought,
Holding me in your arms,
Helping me through fights fought,
Standing beside me despite alarms,
I do not deserve you.
Ignoring the unnecessary struggles I cause,
Embracing my love, although I might be annoying,
Loving me despite all my flaws,
Accepting all that comes from me, and all that is adjoining,
And I do not deserve you.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
Is it not the grave that takes them from us
It is not life’s end
Nor is it cruel fate - lost time
Nor is it God’s law - mortal frailty
It is distance that molds our memory
Light-years of joy, sacrifice, love
Painted in echoes of light
Amidst the passions of our hearts
We are tapestries woven in the womb
Adjoining the wider tapestry of family
A rope stretching back to the dawn of man
And forward to the twilight
Distance
How those echoes fade as we pass on the torch
Those who bore us are not mere fires in the dark
They are our suns
The centers of our solar families
Children, like the planets of this solar system
Revolve around each sun
Mother father, father, mother…
And when our sun fades into the endless night
Into a distance beyond our understanding
We are challenged to become the suns ourselves
To hold the worlds around us with the same
Unconditional love
Patience
Truth
Mercy
That was shown to us
A gift to light our way ahead
Into the distances we too shall cross
As we forge the light we shall leave behind.
The burden we face
When we lose the ones we love
Is one of distance
Yet we bear this weight
Not by pleasures or pain
Not by striving or seeking calm alone
We bear it by passing time with those we love
We bear it by sharing the joys vested in us
So that one day, we are the ones passing on
Leaving behind the memories of the suns that birthed us
So that they live on in all we do
We all awake
To know that there are angels among us.
We know angels by how we loved them
How they loved us
And how love unites us all,
Even in the dark
Even when there is distance all around
And the inevitability of our mortal frailty fills us with fear,
Yet, there is an irrepressible force of the human spirit
Whether it is love, creed, or purpose
We feel it when those who have gone
Are still here with us
In our hearts,
A presence in our homes,
A familiar face in our children,
Or a letter in their handwriting
They never leave us.
So that distance
Is not there at all.
It is merely a measure
Of how far we’ve come...
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 10:38 PM UTC
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Words often used
but cliche is not you;
yet anything I'd say
wouldn't be new.
I wanted to see comparable beauty
so a pretty picture I drew.
Intoxicated by your beauty
my feeble attemp I rue
where my hand will fail
my unoriginal phrases lieu.
So here is the poem
whose words will ring true
well through the 14th
'Til forever plus a few:
Faith in women was lost,
but your eyes always renew
feelings that are harbored
and I want to eschew.
That is hardly a negative
but why, I haven't a clue
I'm an out of place Cinderella
and my foot fits the shoe
I'm eleven strokes to midnight-
this I'm sure you knew-
such an idea kept my mind busy
while waiting for the day I'm due.
So similar in mind,
logically grounded, but creativity flew.
The stars have us adjoining
by Aries' days one and two.
It was as if I put my hand to a mirror
but I don't remember who withdrew.
I only see a backwards glance and smile--
stunned, I had not a thought nor word to spew.
It's embarrassing to admit
but your attention makes me mew
the noise is internally heard,
and externally I'm a rouge hue.
Your past came back to visit
from its repeat I hope you grew.
Penelope's Box has again been opened
so of your suitors, there must be a slew.
Time is one thing I do have
so take longer than you have to
the reward will be worth reaping
when, again, those tranquil thoughts ensue
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
He greets me with a woof
and a generous lick,
Accompanying me from the bus stop
to our house on the corner of the street.
He then sits joyfully at my feet
Wagging a happy tail,
After fetching me a bottle of water,
A ritual he performs without fail.
Moments later he drags me by my skirt
To the lawn adjoining our house,
He throws a tennis ball at my feet
And dances gleefully seeing it bounce.
After an hour wasted happily in play,
He brings me my towel as I
proceed to take my bath
at the end of the day.
He waits patiently until I emerge,
Never tired of waiting- poor old chap.
From that moment onwards
Till the time of bed, he gladly occupies my lap.
A beautiful friend in the journey of life
is all it takes to make it worthwhile,
A loyal companion, a trusted ally,
forever willing to be on my side.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
734
If He were living—dare I ask—
And how if He be dead—
And so around the Words I went—
Of meeting them—afraid—
I hinted Changes—Lapse of Time—
The Surfaces of Years—
I touched with Caution—lest they crack—
And show me to my fears—
Reverted to adjoining Lives—
Adroitly turning out
Wherever I suspected Graves—
’Twas prudenter—I thought—
And He—I pushed—with sudden force—
In face of the Suspense—
“Was buried”—”Buried”! “He!”
My Life just holds the Trench—
833
there was a long trailer filled
with film reels the size of automobile tires
sitting in racks
it was my job to drive the truck pulling the trailer
through a convenience store parking lot
that was vaguely recognized
I felt confident that I could handle the job
and spoke to some other ghosts
concerning the details
abruptly shifted to changing my cloths
in an acquaintance’s home
in a wide open shower area that had fixtures of wood
that hung like closet hangers
on the tiled wall of the shower
there were sayings and quotes
written by other people using sharpie pens
that were stuck to the walls
I was carrying on a conversation
with the ghosts in the adjoining bedroom
one older, recognizable, sitting on the bed
two others, children, accepting a cynical lecture
from the older ghost
I felt the strong desire to add a quote to the walls
that sense of wanting to be heard
very similar to my desires in a awakened state
I thought and thought hard on the wisdom words
I should leave and came up with
‘’All thinking is exaggeration’’ but the sharpie pen
I chose, would not work on the tiled wall and I gave up
to enter the bedroom and listen to the lecture
with the other ghosts
there was a swirling understanding and then I awoke
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
*dedicated to Robert C. Howard, composer, conductor, musician, poet
and maestro...*
city of confusion and disorientation
exists not in pixels or imagination,
but in full color absurdity
close upon each other,
we hear remotely adjoining living lives thru thin walls,
humanoids of ilk and kith,
yet say nothing volubly lest we
discomfiture confirm each other's existence
there is much sound, noise, confusion,
masquerading to cover an agreed upon
profundity of silence
between every living individual,
even if blood, bed shared
all silently hum the city's song,
perhaps, hoping someone will hear us,
proving us right, or wrong, or extant,
this being not a credo, but a creed
if no one hears us,
no matter,
we hear our own machinery humming,
loud and clear,
for awhile,
it is sufficient
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Voices tell me that I should wonder on
the fascination of your smile,
I could coat my thoughts of you in
a blanket of your exhaled moments.
My anticipation of our meeting incomplete
till we speak no volume on our smiles.
We weave our reflections on to the other,
till distant faces adjoining to this moment.
Our symmetry whispers upon the others
perception, as eyes close and what was
but refection's of the others motion
is given form as lips................
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 6:19 PM UTC