"atlantic" poems
So,
this is what it feels like,
to be buried under heaps of leaves,
trapped
like gold in a treasure chest
living in the hold of the Galleons
of the Spanish Armada,
lost at sea, in the frozen
crevices of the Atlantic.
Yet...
I'm still free
like air--
**sweet, beautiful, fresh
air**--
who filter through
the cracks
and holes.
Nothing's changed,
I am still
Me.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
“Moby **** Herman Melville
<•>
~for the lost at sea~
after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining
the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls
sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality
I’m called to depart my beach shoreline unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming
god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion, nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties
my in-camera brain eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles
walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?
puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others
perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered
Memorial Day 2018
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to **** you.
You died before I had time ----
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My ****** friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ----
Not God but a ********
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the *****
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two ----
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagersnever liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you ******* I'm through.
29.7k
Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs,
Eyes rolled by white sticks,
Ears cupping the sea's incoherences,
You house your unnerving head -- God-ball,
Lens of mercies,
Your stooges
Plying their wild cells in my keel's shadow,
Pushing by like hearts,
Red stigmata at the very center,
Riding the rip tide to the nearest point of
departure,
Dragging their Jesus hair.
Did I escape, I wonder?
My mind winds to you
Old barnacled umbilicus, Atlantic cable,
Keeping itself, it seems, in a state of miraculous
repair.
In any case, you are always there,
Tremulous breath at the end of my line,
Curve of water upleaping
To my water rod, dazzling and grateful,
Touching and *******
I didn't call you.
I didn't call you at all.
Nevertheless, nevertheless
You steamed to me over the sea,
Fat and red, a placenta
Paralyzing the kicking lovers.
Cobra light
Squeezing the breath from the blood bells
Of the fuchsia. I could draw no breath,
Dead and moneyless,
Overexposed, like an X-ray.
Who do you think you are?
A Communion wafer? Blubbery Mary?
I shall take no bite of your body,
Bottle in which I live,
Ghastly Vatican.
I am sick to death of hot salt.
Green as eunuchs, your wishes
Hiss at my sins.
Off, off, eely tentacle!
There is nothing between us.
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*in class
they asked us
if we were
afraid of the dark*
no i'm not afraid
of the dark that
fills my room
at two a.m.
i'm not afraid of the dark
that engulfs
underground caves
or the darkness
submerged deep in
the atlantic ocean
but
i'm afraid of the dark
that seeps through
every fissure
and crevice
of my splintered heart;
the blackness that
cascades through
my veins
and the gloom
that fills my lungs
(with no room
for oxygen.)
*yes, i'm afraid
of a certain kind
of darkness:
the kind that can't
be illuminated
by a flashlight*
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
school starts soon
smoking joints on the weekday afternoon
in a sidelined shady
freight car, property of
Norfolk Southern
debating if this car will be
northbound or southbound
and ************ our fantasy
where we want to be taken
knowing full well maybe one of us -
(and they all looking at me)
will get out of this car and live to
see foreign places without having to
return in a body bag
we argue lazy who should go get the beer,
collect the quarters and sweaty dollar bills
and **** if I am not reappointed
leader of the beer fetching
besides it’s my
tan lab panting needing water so it’s my
responsibility and the nasty liquor store owner don’t hate me that much as the others so he’ll sell me beer without too much **** talk (some for sure)
asking where I’m laying low on a **** hot day like this one
tell him i’m getting on a train getting out of this two bit town which makes him reminisce and ask which direction
could be northbound could be southbound
hell could be west
but for sure won’t be
going eastbound
cause I seen the Atlantic and didn’t like it
too **** big and too **** cold,
too **** mean
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 1:16 PM UTC
Let love's sunset into my heart
With sullen greys tinged in pink
With last rays of warmth
Before there comes the chill
Let the last breath of fulfillness
Ease around my heart
Take away the sunny memories
Softly as the light fades away
Fading fast empty embraces
And kisses that have no taste
As softly whispered I love yous
Fall into the Atlantic sea
Come nightness surround now
My empty heart
Console my ache and care
So come now , sunset of my heart
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
A part of me lives miles and minutes and moments away
in an indefinite, dreamy place where clocks are not my enemy
and I associate the word “distance" with travel, not longing
My heart has sailed across the Atlantic,
moved eagerly through the Indian Ocean,
navigated using an atlas inked with butterflies
and stars that gleam ardently
(just as your rosemary eyes do,
every once in a blue moon,
when you’re able to sew together
the disarrayed thoughts
that dwell in your messy head)
You are so, so far away
However, if I avoid calendars and geography,
it feels like you’re right here beside me
In the afternoon, when the sun shines
through my bedroom window
and paints the world map on my wall with light,
I shut my eyelids and run my thumb along the string
that stretches across the parchment,
connecting me to you
I pretend that when I open my eyes,
you will be here
and that my aching fingers
that are so desperately
grasping the paper
will be intertwined
with yours
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
Meet me
At the place
We laid in
The long grass and
Could see Boston
On the distant horizon.
Would you travel
From lake Michigan,
For one last dive in
The Atlantic with me again?
Meet me
At the place
You teased me saying
You hated the hill and walking.
Meet me
At the place
I teased you showing
More skin than I intended.
Meet me
At the place
Where the lights aren't so harsh,
And I gave you all my stars,
Letting you trace constellations
One by one,
Until you could map me -
Navigate me.
Would you come
Meet me there
Once more,
So I could try to
Give you all the things
I could not before?
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
I have been in the moon
In search of love all noon
Searched through deserts
Even through garden of Eden.
I have Searched beneath the sea
Travelled wide even to overseas
Still could not find love.
I went to Vatican
Even to Mecca
Driven through the romantic sites of Paris
Bath in the Brazilian beaches
Flown across the Atlantic
Pitched my tenth for few days on the Antarctic
Spend some more on the arctic
Still I saw no love.
All I saw was lust
Angels with broken hearts,
Rotten roses,
Withered lilies,
Death faiths and monsters on beautiful faces.
I saw bullets in church offering boxes
Just wedded on number plates of ambulances.
I saw wars in diversity
Pain and mourning crowding all cities
The devil celebrating the dead of peace.
I saw three wise men
Where went love, I asked them
They said love has been nailed on the cross
Buried with trust
They are heading to Galilee
To await his return.
I followed with dreams
I met many returning with smiles of frustration
From where I was going with pregnancy of expectations.
We arrived to the scene
Like a nightmare, I witnessed higher sins
I saw men taking pleasures with men
Some with animals, some women with women.
Gun everybody walking sticks
People feeding on people flesh
With human blood the thirsting ones quench their thirst.
Is this where love is expected to return?
The wise men retorted,
Yes, the saints have been raptured
And his seven years reign has just began.
Then in a flash, I remembered that I have been taught
Taught about this dreadful end
I had also taught kids
Under trees at nights
Just to threaten them to live right.
What I thought was a mare threat or a fallacy
Has been awaken against my fate in reality.
Oh! We are among the leftovers
Left to reprove ourselves or be doomed forever.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
I want to be a materialist as much as I could.
I want to kiss the sun and marry the moon!
I want to invite all the stars, sending them a tweet,
and I’d like them all to join me on Facebook!
I want to carry the Himalayas on my shoulder,
and I’d like to swim across the Atlantic water!
I want to wax lyrical over the waves
and would like to fly with the clouds.
I want to be in the green
and would like to spread across the spring.
I want to paint on the sky
keeping my head held high.
I want to wear the perfect fit ring,
as perfect as the pi-perfect circle,
with no endless nano-decimal hole,
just fine-tuned to my finger hole!
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
When descends on the Atlantic
The gigantic
Storm-wind of the equinox,
Landward in his wrath he scourges
The toiling surges,
Laden with seaweed from the rocks:
From Bermuda’s reefs; from edges
Of sunken ledges,
In some far-off, bright Azore;
From Bahama, and the dashing,
Silver-flashing
Surges of San Salvador;
From the tumbling surf, that buries
The Orkneyan skerries,
Answering the hoarse Hebrides;
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting
Spars, uplifting
On the desolate, rainy seas;—
Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main;
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches
Of sandy beaches,
All have found repose again.
So when storms of wild emotion
Strike the ocean
Of the poet’s soul, erelong
From each cave and rocky fastness,
In its vastness,
Floats some fragment of a song:
From the far-off isles enchanted,
Heaven has planted
With the golden fruit of Truth;
From the flashing surf, whose vision
Gleams Elysian
In the tropic clime of Youth;
From the strong Will, and the Endeavor
That forever
Wrestle with the tides of Fate;
From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered,
Tempest-shattered,
Floating waste and desolate;—
Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless heart;
Till at length in books recorded,
They, like hoarded
Household words, no more depart.
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They set off from white rocks,
red geraniums, blue tile,
and let the green sea
lift and drop their ships far above the white foam waves.
The stony islands that were home
were swallowed in minutes by the hungry Atlantic
but they hunted the big fish,
the giant whales with human eyes
who rolled and sang and swam
in oceans a continent away.
They came from Sao Jorge, Sao Miguel
Faial, Pico, Terceira, Horta -
Nine island emeralds set in a black volcanic chain,
neither of the old country nor the new:
Halfway there and halfway gone -
secret jewels of the Portuguese sailors.
They sailed into unknown waters,
south around tropical shores
where dragons smoked and writhed on the rocks
and birds with brilliant red and yellow plumage
rose in clouds around their heads.
Then north, and north, north again
to colder waters
where sea lions barked and lunged
at the strange massive wooden beast
that coursed the waters,
strung with brown bodies swaying
on the lines and cursing the sails.
North still they swept
casting contemptuous eyes on
the cheap turquoise waters and monstrous slow turtles
of the Sea of Cortez.
Coming up from the desert, past the palms and the yucca,
the Joshua tree and Spanish daggers,
they chased their smooth grey prey,
riding the vast Pacific on their wooden island,
herding the leviathans onto their spears,
adventurers with an audience of only
gulls and sky and seal.
Until they sailed too close one day
to a rock-strewn shoreline
and saw the golden hills.
Gnarled oaks like grandmothers from home
with orange poppy jewels at their feet,
missions strung like beads in a ruby marked rosary.
The boats slowed, ****** in by a Scylla of soil
rich and brown and loamy
waiting to be seeded with grapes and apricots
peaches, avocados, lettuce, alfalfa,
fertile and heavy with sweet promise.
And the whales sang and the lions barked and the gulls cried
but the sailors were entranced, encharmed, ensorcelled.
The treacherous sea, the mysterious deep, the stony jewels of home,
called and wept
and waited in vain for the sailors
- beached and grounded -
cutting not waves but earth,
tracking seasons not whales,
seduced by dirt.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
The invitation had arrived and I was over the moon
It is really quite a mouthful, and it is coming soon
The Second International Gender Non-Specific
Inter-Denominational, from Atlantic to Pacific
Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
It's been eight years since the first was won by China
It was held in Illinois in a place known as Medinah
Turns out the swimmers used were just not what they seemed
The chinese had a total of nine atheists on their team
So, the time has come to try again and bring it to fruition
The I.G.N.I.D Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
No date has been decided yet, due to issues with each church
So, even though the invitations out, we're still left in the lurch
Saturday is out because the Jews are all at temple
Sunday, the Christians all must set a good example
Friday, cuts the muslims out for they are at Mosque praying
So we've four days to hold this meet, is what I am now saying
The Chinese team is back again, but the Atheists are out
The team's made up of Christians and two Jews who are devout
Their working on a movement that involves making a cross
The Christian swimmers get it but the Jews don't give a toss
The team from Israel's withdrawn because they are all sitting Shivah
They had a coach drown last week, he hit his head while in the River
The Arabs won't be back, you see they're not interested in the least
They get confused while under water and don't know which way is east
The I.G.N.I.D Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
Will take place in the New Year, we just need to get permission
The Jews won't swim with Muslims, and the Sikhs are up in arms
Because swimming with their daggers may cause other swimmers harm
But, we've got a great location at the lake up at the park
We can use it when we want to , but it must be after dark
Remember keep an eye out for a poster where you pray
We don't know just when we'll hold it, it may just be today
This is your invitation and the event is coming soon
It is really quite a mouthful, and it'll be held beneath the moon
The Second International Gender Non-Specific
Inter-Denominational, from Atlantic to Pacific
Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
See you there...
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
Grodey gassy bubble flow
Up to the surface, now it is known
That here did relinquish fish
A gripping odor Atlantic
I sniff'ed the breathe of that pungent fish ***
I chok'ed and gripped for the head of the mast
But when it came too far in I couldn't have last
Expired by breathe of that frightful fish gas
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 8:40 PM UTC
"Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play."
sang Paul McCartney in his song
and my first lover to me a long long time ago in the Atlantic mystery by the golf of Mexico.
I believe it's better that,
"when we love someone,
we do so un conditionally- without any expectations no riddles or fill in the blank games or cold computer screen mirror- button- pushing disaster!
Like my wealthy elite did to me just to show me how troubled he really was. Even though hurting to test a woman's heart is acceptable if worthy material.compensation exists.
Nothing really beats the face to face dialogue
embracing his lady with a hug and a passionate smiling kiss
an adorable " I love you"
from a true love lover
who was Lost and~~~~?
~~~~~~
Lost~~~~~~~~
passion~~~~~
change~~~~~
earth~~~~~~
(Fill in the blanks please.)
~~~~~~
Revised:03/30/19
By: Karijinbba.
(Asg/Bba)
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Hydrangea framed in cedar shake
Pastel blossoms for display
Ghosts of whales & whalers past
Salty mist of Atlantic spray
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Southern summer nights
too hot
swimming in a sea of humid
drowning in a pool of sweat
and sweet tea.
Sweet tea like syrup
dark hazel
filled with ice
cubed and perfect
from an imperfect freezer tray.
Frizzy hair
glistening skin
from a dull sun
tempered by an Atlantic breeze.
The moon shines full
lighting the scent of the summer night.
Honey suckle, hydrangeas, cotton textured
dandelions like parachutes against the
black night sky
is a southern summer night.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 10:49 AM UTC
T'was just before Christmas and I went down to the garage
To have my old car looked at by a fellow known as "Sarge"
He said I need tires and my wipers weren't so hot
My hoses all were leaking and my muffler was shot
The repairs just kept on coming and I saw a sparkle in his eyes
He was counting all my money, he was the devil in disguise
I told him "Thanks, but I would go and get another look"
Before I signed for his repair list and I was on the hook
So I went on to my friend's place to see what he could do
We've been friends for nearly 30 years...since 1982.
His mechanic took it out back and while he had it on the hoist
I saw a woman at the counter, looking rather moist
She said my car is leaking there's a hole that must be filled
I thought that if Rob had a coffee, it'd most certainly be spilled
A girl came in and she told Rob her boyfriend had loose nuts
And whenever he was driving her, they slid into the ruts
Rob stepped back, grinned a bit as he was looking down her front
And from where I stood behind her I could almost see her
Donation to the Angel tree that was standing in the corner
A door opened, a breeze blew in, and there was no time to warn her
Her skirt blew up, exposing her tattoo of some sprigs of holly
And Rob came round and covered her just like Sir Walter Raleigh
I'm sorry miss, for I did look when your skirt was lifted
And I must say, you made my night, for my drive shaft has shifted
And then a man came through the door and said "My name is Nick"
"I've problems with my reindeer and I need them seen to quick"
Rob said "we work on cars here sir , I can fix tires or a hose"
"It's nothing major son, I need a bulb for Rudolph's nose"
"It doesn't stay on like it should and the other deer get frantic"
"And I can't risk it going out when I'm over the Atlantic"
"So, if you would replace it now with something nice and bright"
"I'd pay you well for all your time and for aiding in my plight"
Rob stepped up, fixed Rudolph's nose and said "This one's on me"
"And for all work done in my shop you get a guarantee"
We all stood round as Santa left, for we new that it was him
For he left us each a candy cane in a metal alloy rim
And as we watched him fly away, I'm sure we heard him yell
"There's mistletoe tattooed on her too, but...where I'll never tell!"
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
twice by god's accidental interference,
our crash vehicles, super sized shopping carts,
connect, we are manger-penalized for unnecessary roughness
and disturbing the supermarkets peace
what better way to judge character than to examine
a single persons shopping cart contents?
hers,
all organic, milk, heirloom tomatoes, even the Chardonnay,
grown upon the farms of the island and vineyards on
the forks that shelter the isle from the ravages of the Atlantic
mine,
Hebrew National franks, yellow mustard,
very classy brioche buns, a six pack of Corona Light,
and funny colored, funny looking, rusted russet potato chips
with a tremulous smile, and an overly loud, derisive sniff,
pronounces me dead man walking sooner than later,
to which, I respond,
then, teach me, where shall we dine tonight?
later that night,
after a thousand kisses of her fluttering eyelashes,
she props herself upon an elbow and
in a tone sincere and caring,
extracts from the poet promises of
natural exclusivity
from now on, healthy, natural only, organic and pure,
from the soul soil of our shared habitat
her suntan skin, garden-digging hand, I clasp,
softly climbing on top of her,
announce with total genuine sincerity and solemnity;
I swear it, from now on, all my loving will be sourced locally
rewarded with a laugh and a gentle but hard enough,
garden to table (with her free hand), head smacking,
I noting nod, good naturedly
that both the laugh and smack,
as well,
*sourced locally,
sourced lovingly,*
which then seeded
this new only love jointly authored poem,
planted in our mingling blossoming crashing
bodies
5/29/17 i
12:43pm
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
mid-afternoon sunrays beam
against the blanketed city snow,
your miles away this December
wishing on the same falling stars.
Saturday trains murmur dusk-cascaded gleam
you're across the Atlantic shore
seasonal depression combating
last-second windswept bliss
unfinished song-writes seem
inkless on half-folded paper airplanes
for hidden chances and empty truths
lone twilight in streetlights mold
Nov 8, 2021
Nov 8, 2021 at 7:23 PM UTC
I read last Saturday in the
redwoods outside of Santa Cruz
and I was about 3/4's finished
when I heard a long high scream
and a quite attractive
young girl came running toward me
long gown & divine eyes of fire
and she leaped up on the stage
and screamed: "I WANT YOU!
I WANT YOU! TAKE ME! TAKE
ME!"
I told her, "look, get the hell
away from me."
but she kept tearing at my
clothing and throwing herself
at me.
"where were you," I
asked her, "when I was living
on one candy bar a day and
sending short stories to the
Atlantic Monthly?"
she grabbed my ***** and almost
twisted them off. her kisses
tasted like shitsoup.
2 women jumped up on the stage
and
carried her off into the
woods.
I could still hear her screams
as I began the next poem.
mabye, I thought, I should have
taken her on stage in front
of all those eyes.
but one can never be sure
whether it's good poetry or
bad acid.
4.8k
*Tybee , the Masters sonata of wind , crashing wave , sand and tide , Alpha and Omega of rippling current , mighty Savannah River completes her southern journey here .. As Sailor , ****** and maritime entrepreneur , embark , having left the security of her shore into the mighty , unforgiving Atlantic , her Lighthouse , a living testament to sacrifice , safe return to port as well as those forever lost at sea*
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
you and i are fretful, wary fish--
old souls. anxious beings.
sometimes i think that you and i are part of a whole--
the two fish tied together by the rope.
as the song says,
*"i wanna ruin our friendship,
we should be lovers instead;
i don't know how to say this,
'cause you're really my dearest friend."*
but honestly,
i crave you in the most innocent of ways.
if i could kiss you just once,
simply sleep next to you and be at peace,
that would be more than enough for me.
we made a pact -- at thirty we will get married
just because we can.
but it hurts --
i know it doesn't mean the same to you
as it does to me
i just want to marry you someday
live in a house near the Atlantic
and the rooms will be full of cacti and succulents
the scent of baked goods will waft out from the kitchen
where we will be battling the cats
for space on the table to let the macarons cool --
vanilla bean, rose raspberry, chocolate peppermint
some days, this is all i can think about
and i could never admit that to you
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
Gold sandy beaches flow from her follicles
Eyes like oceans, the Atlantic and Pacific are storming with jealousy
Her personality washes over slowly, low tide waves calm treacherous nerves
I use to navigate these water so well, acting the part of a sailor
These days, I consider myself lucky to hear her crash against the shore
My fingertips will never forget the feeling of sand between them
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC