"awesomely" poems
XXVII. TO ARTEMIS (22 lines)
(ll. 1-20) I sing of Artemis, whose shafts are of gold, who
cheers on the hounds, the pure maiden, shooter of stags, who
delights in archery, own sister to Apollo with the golden sword.
Over the shadowy hills and windy peaks she draws her golden bow,
rejoicing in the chase, and sends out grievous shafts. The tops
of the high mountains tremble and the tangled wood echoes
awesomely with the outcry of beasts: earthquakes and the sea also
where fishes shoal. But the goddess with a bold heart turns
every way destroying the race of wild beasts: and when she is
satisfied and has cheered her heart, this huntress who delights
in arrows slackens her supple bow and goes to the great house of
her dear brother Phoebus Apollo, to the rich land of Delphi,
there to order the lovely dance of the Muses and Graces. There
she hangs up her curved bow and her arrows, and heads and leads
the dances, gracefully arrayed, while all they utter their
heavenly voice, singing how neat-ankled Leto bare children
supreme among the immortals both in thought and in deed.
(ll. 21-22) Hail to you, children of Zeus and rich-haired Leto!
And now I will remember you and another song also.
21.3k
*Sung to the melody of
"Be Thou My Vision"*
O King of heaven
How Glorious Thou Art
Lord of my spirit
O Lord of my heart
You're ever gracious
You're my victory
I was in darkness
But in You I see
Father O Father
Your creation I love
You painted the sunsets
Made heaven above
I will sing praise to you
All the day long
I am your nightingale
You are my song
O gentle Savior
You're awesomely wise
Show me your people
You are my heart's eyes
Give me compassion
Your mercy to all
Give me Your voice
To lost souls I call
O Holy Spirit
Come rain on me now
Fill me with blessings
Your river to flow
Give me the wisdom
To honor what's right
Let me be salt
O let me be light
I am but ashes
My works are but rust
You've made me precious
Tho I am but dust
You are my Father
My Lover, my Friend
You are my righteousness
World without end
SoulSurvivor
(C) 9/16/2016
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
Then the arch painter,
up in the blue yonder,
stirs the sea of colours,
and posing in style,
infuses the magic with
tangerine daylight.
Then I don't know
if you were walking
by a brook or a river,
you would tune in,
perhaps like the sweet singer,
Hebrew King David,
the water nymph hums a melody.
Then the narrative resonates,
it never just goes away like the wind.
Birds chirp and sing
in the groves and on every street.
Then I was watching the BBC
on a black and white screen,
the beloved monarch had passed away,
and Britain was mourning.
Then she appeared
once in a stolen exhibition
by my poetry in motion
and jolly happy she was admiring
now she's gone I just dreamed.
Then amidst the melancholy,
I heard twittering birds chirping,
missing the mellifluous melodies,
so awesomely sweet,
alas, Queen Elizabeth wasn't there
to speak her English!
Sep 11, 2022
Sep 11, 2022 at 9:06 PM UTC
I set my cruise on the highway and
am passed by a red AMC Eagle.
This red rusty AMC Eagle has a
wind shied covered in frost because,
I'm guessing, the defrost motor burned
up in a bakelite mushroom cloud from the
dashboard.
It is held together with duct tape
and grit. The pilot sits behind his cardboard
console ludicrously warm in winter parka,
scarf,
hat
and gloves.
I pass him waving dressed
in my tshirt and shorts.
Driving in my new, awesomely
economical car.
Four dashboard vents dump lava warm air
to keep me pleasingly toasty.
The pilot will never understand that I wave
not at his expense, but in envy. The billboard
on my right says it all,
If I have to explain you wouldn't understand.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
There's a beautiful gun in my hand.
Flawless.
The nightshift sun gleams off the barrel like a swan on a lake
At home against the humid sweaty dark pressing against everything yet awesomely singular
The clock stopped a long time ago and gunshots took over in place of the ticks and tocks…
(I'm chewing on something soft)
… and I never noticed.
It seemed natural.
Every bullet chambered was just another hour passing
And though it feels like forever I know its been half a day
Blood laces the treads of my shoes
Hugging the rubber and drawing patterns that I'm less aware of than I am of...
(What is this? It's good.)
... myself
Everyone I know is sitting in a pile.
No more alive than the gun itself.
Still they talk. Memories are shared and advice is given. I don't care to know if its real.
*Everyone talks. It makes sense.
Even the dead*.
The ceiling fan noisily labors diligently if not futilely against the unspeakable heat. It's the only sound I can be sure of. The motion helps.
Nothing else is moving except...
(Chewchewchewithinkicanithinkican)
...My jaw. Steadily gnashing through…
(Everyone talks)
My tongue. I don't care about the blood at my feet or the fact that its coming from my mouth.
What worries me is that now everyone is staring at me and I dont have any gun at all
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
He is just like a Fatherer for Tennis!
Roger at 35 works out with dedication,
He also is a great human being in life,
Roger is just awesomely as a human.
He has a large & kind golden heart,
Roger Federer is an angel of Earth.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 12:08 PM UTC
I see you stirring
out in the far southwest
Just now I feel your wind
licking my face
I see something so awesomely
beautiful .
I want you to come home to my place
I see your naked thighs
shaking your hips of desire
I am amazed as you snake
through my ruins
Throwing kisses of debris
Stripping off the bark
of my trunk
I long for your twisted breath
in my hair
as you pound my foundation
to the ground
You splinter my resistance
My bricks fall into your embrace
Your black hair goes flared
Be my tornadic love affair
Stay with me until your thunder bares
All lightnings charge
making me glow everywhere
Twirl me , separate me ,
take your toll
I lie under your spell
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
Awesome Young
I stumble, catch myself,
But my breath is still short.
Skip around,
go back and discover,
uncover.
Incredible.
Awesome
in a way that overused word was intended to be
used.
There are so many miracles,
young poets, whose works
lost in the shuffle of the ordinary,
who don't get read, liked or
loved like they awesomely deserve.
One day,
someday,
I will write a poem,
naming names,
before a Congressional Committee,
getting them on the record.
Done it before,^
will do it again,
got take a week off from work
to get 'em all.
Odd,
even then,
will strike out,
can't capture them all,
they keep a-coming,
from all over the world,
places I never heard of.
It almost makes me believe
world peace is not just a
Saturday Night Live joke.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
I was told about this special book. I was told it was a magical book! Amazingly full of bright, light and insight. Allegedly one look and you were hooked and took! This great book of life baited, charted and crafted with will, quill feathers, leather and of weather. The great book of life highly and showily regarded the ******** the rife and strife.
Brilliant parts of art from heart! Boldly guarded by angel’s darts! Holding from different angles. Behold! The pages of this book mangled, spangled and tangled. Through the ages… the corners scorned, torn and worn. In theory the inseams very weary and old. Amazingly and appraisingly with thrill they still fold! Merrily told
and eagerly sold. The great book of life’s pages is of age, cages
and wages, stages and rages! The great book of life each a way to encourage or engage courage. The great book of life was inspired and transpired by a baby in a manger. Some pages spell and tell of a stranger danger! The great book of life is about the beloved also of
the unloved. Chapters in capture, scriptures in measure, rapture-
or torture. The great book of life listen to my envision with precision! The great book of life envisions death’s breath. Missions, those enclosed in prisons and visions! The many, many scenes serene and obscene. The in-betweens, the kings and queens! Dragons, drones
and many, many thrones! The antic, frantic and gigantic! Magic, satanic and tragic! blizzards or wizards! Ancient, distant chants and rants! The great book of life, a chance from a glance. Traces of many faces, places and races! The great book of life claimed to have named those bordered, cornered, loitered and murdered. The great book of
life is it! Amazingly it tells bits of it all! Basically about the small that brawl. The tall, including some that awesomely, eventually fall! The great book of life collects and reflects the surreal or unnatural. The frail and the pale. Actions hailed while eluding a whale! This great book of life will it prevail? Yes prevail! Amen! The great book of life amen, amen.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 10:06 PM UTC
“I’m still in awe of words” (in life, as in poetry, timing is everything)
objects, humans, surprise and interrupt our
daily modalities, knocking us, yo! to the ground,
we, pounding it, for the word void appears,
the frustration of incapacity incarcerating,
accompanied by the loudest silenced scream,
of no poetry available, try again later!
in life, as in poetry, timing is everything
we walkabout, thinking of the scheduled eventualities, or
the dates calendar-circled, though some questioned marked,
in pencil inserted, will I be a mother, find me a husband,
a human grander grandee, fit to be with me a noble progenitor
of more than our generation, watching the sidewalk cracks for an
inkling of when, on or about such and such an alteration,
a seam undone,
a stumbling, seeing a realization as we fall, hands extending,
a notice of arrival,
all needing reconnoitering, commemorating, a poem prepared,
but none to no avail
in life, as in poetry, timing is everything
so we are in awe of words, so necessary, everybody knows,
the awe in awesome, a description for the pixels encapsulates
in I-phone photos,
the where and the why of when, I was grinning like a stupid fool,
the inability to deliver precisely when required the covering of
an appropriate description, your words, use your words, will
fail you spectacularly and so we remain awed, realizing
in life, as in poetry, timing is everything
but awesomely awesome word worlds, near and dear, held forever
in scrapbooks, the literary overlay of the treasures of everyday life,
are the still life of our longevity contextual, the celebratory,
the unexpected losses, largest to smallest, in size order,
kept fresh when you flip through those poems in dusty binders,
in oversized sewing boxes, yellowing in concert with our eyes,
graying with follicles of past pluperfect,
recalling not just the when’s, but the more important, now, the
wherefore and whereupon, the words marking the conjunctions,
recoding the recorded synapses firing sequentially, brain to fingers, the ah so of the poetry of lifetimes
“I’m still in awe of words” (in life, as in poetry, timing is everything)
<>
Saturday
September
21st
2019
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 1:31 PM UTC
I set my cruise on the highway and
am passed by a red AMC Eagle.
This red rusty AMC Eagle has a
wind shied covered in frost because,
I'm guessing, the defrost motor burned
up in a bakelite mushroom cloud from the
dashboard.
It is held together with duct tape
and grit. The pilot sits behind his cardboard
console ludicrously warm in winter parka,
scarf,
hat
and gloves.
I pass him waving dressed
in my tshirt and shorts.
Driving in my new, awesomely
economical car.
Four dashboard vents dump lava warm air
to keep me pleasingly toasty.
The pilot will never understand that I wave
not at his expense, but in envy. The billboard
on my right says it all,
If I have to explain you wouldn't understand.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
I am "Josephine Wild."
I am 35 years old.
I am an artist and an ultra runner.
I experience the world differently.
I wake up.
I work and workout.
I play.
I eat.
Then I sleep.
I see things like design and shapes.
I focus on the details.
But I try to see the bigger picture.
I look at typefaces and fonts.
I get hyper-focused.
I like to work.
To make.
To create.
Day after day
This is what I do.
I am never finished.
I date things
Because I lose track of time.
Time is against me.
So, I learn not to waste it.
Sometimes, I make believe.
But I am not a child.
I am grace.
I am strength.
I am beauty.
I am determined.
I have a good heart.
I live in my own home
With my husband.
We share the same bed.
I have toys and figurines.
I collect them.
I arrange them.
They always stay the same.
They bring me joy.
I am easily distracted.
I like to escape.
I can run away with my thoughts.
I’ve learned to domesticate my emotions.
I am an artist.
I am wonderfully weird.
I like people too.
They are beautiful each in their own way.
It’s nice to connect with people,
To feel loved.
Now, I know that I am so, so loved.
It’s hard to let people go, especially when you love them.
I know that I’m not alone.
I am apart of this world.
I just experience it differently.
But sometimes, I don’t feel free.
My life isn’t easy, but it’s a gift.
Life wouldn’t be great if it was easy.
I’m easy to get along with, and now I understand.
I love music.
I love to sing.
The music I like doesn’t need words.
I’m sometimes without words.
I search for them.
I need them quicker than they come.
But that’s OK.
I try my best to better myself.
I am not wrong, I am different.
When I fall, I reset.
I try not to cling onto people, but it’s hard.
I’ve learned to forgive myself.
I’ve learned to love myself.
I make more of an effort to think things through.
I have succeeded at leaving my comfort zones.
My effort is success.
I am not a problem.
Life is opinion. The universe is change.
And I’m always changing, always growing, always living.
I have grown a good heart.
I am awesomely autistic.
Mar 4, 2024
Mar 4, 2024 at 5:15 PM UTC
f this.
and that.
f the soul-sucking siphons.
f the **** ******** on all the things.
f the wretched that ravages souls.
f plundering the vast unknown. f the broken that breaks us apart. f the pain that can’t find the exit door. f the non sequiturs that never stop. f all the thinks I'll never get to know. f the desert that evaporates technicolor dreams. f the reams of unsung ink.
f getting up too early. f never enough sleep.
f having no focus because mind is always trying to escape.
f the architects of this unending industrialized violent puppet reality TV.
f not having patience for utmost important because basic survival in this free range slave menagerie is just too overwhelming and chips away daily at already threadbare sanity.
f the aches under these ribs always begging for more.
f the abyss that eats cravings caved in for breakfast.
f the knowing that knows how awesomely amazingly brilliant loving flipping mind-glowingly ecstatic and jovial like a MF this existence could be.
it haunts me:
iridescent reflective ascendant peacocked wings
fluttering phoenixflies burst from ill-fit cocoons
surfing air so ******* fresh
even the Lorax ain’t got **** to say - he’s dancing
with kombucha in one hand and a DMT pipe in the other
at the festival called, I dunno, Just Because it’s ******* Monday
and we could
love and make and dream and play
all day every day every year every life...
and I look over
at this giddy ******
epic little boy version of me
and I think:
****
I have to keep trying
keep believing in the things
because the thought of leaving him
in this world, as-is
without me
is the hardest thing
I’ve ever had to think
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
Let me tell you of the day that never came.
The one we thought we’d see
So soon after the night.
Night of fire, day of searing light
That burned all the sinners
All of us,
And dragged us all to hell.
Hell.
Always hot and dry
We can’t wait until it freezes over
Freezes all of them.
All of us.
No more stench of charred flesh
No more black and crumbling bodies
With dry water eyes.
But the day never came
When we’d beg for water-
Ice.
Something other than
The lava forced down our throats on a daily basis.
We are tired of this!
No more, never ever, ever never forever will we
Finish burning
In Hell.
But we never did now did we?
The day never came, and
We
Are forever living.
Maybe more a torture than fire and brimstone.
But the day won’t come when it will all end
Or has it come already and this is our eternal punishment
For being sinners,
Sacrilegious in the way we moved.
And in hell we trudge up hills of spike rock
Carrying boulders the size of pandas with the attitudes of great whites
And all the stripes and teeth of rabid tigers,
Jagged claws of koalas and the ability to scent fear like no other animal can
And they are always afraid
All of us
That maybe one day
the day will come
and we will burn.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 8:14 AM UTC
I HAVE FINALLY RE-EDITED AND FINISHED MY FIRST BOOK, FROM CRO MAGNON TO PRO AVERAGE MAN: AN ASSORMENT OF POEMS!!!!!
Well, I have officially made my first book of poetry. The book is entitled From Cro Magnon to Pro Average Man: An Assortment of Poems. This was the first time I ever attempted making a book, and finally I have pulled it off!!! I made this book through the website: www.bookemon.com. Just a few minutes ago, I actually published the book on Bookemon for the whole world to buy! So, if you’ve wanted a copy all along, are interested in reading it now, and/or just want to help me keep chasing my dream of becoming a known-poet by paying for the book, YOU CAN!! Here’s what you do:
You go to www.bookemon.com
You enter “From Cro Magnon to Pro Average Man” into the search bar in the upper-right hand part of the screen.
When you hit “Search,” my books should pop up!! MY books! I actually made it.
There are two types of the book. A hardcover and a softcover version. It will say which version is which under the title. The hardcover version sells for $28.72, plus tax. And the softcover version sells for $18.07, plus tax.
If you would be so awesomely-amazing to buy a copy, just hit ADD TO CART, Then scroll down and hit PROCEED TO CHECKOUT. Hit CONTINUE under GUEST CHECKOUT, and enter your information there.
NOW, I KNOW THE BOOK IS KINDA PRICY, BUT BOOKEMON SETS THE PRICES THEMSELVES. MY APOLOGIES.
Or, if you don’t have any money to spend and just want a little preview of the book, you can hit READ beside the book and get a free 20 page preview!!
Again, thank you to everyone who has supported me through this long process of self-publishing my first book of poetry. And thanks in advance to anyone who is willing to buy the book and actually does. THAT WOULD MEAN THE LITERAL WORLD TO ME.
Thank you all again. Now I have all my time devoted to the continuing and making of my second book, Pocket Change for Priceless Memories. It’s coming soon!!
Thanks again everyone!
Nick
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
The Universe started, or possibly not,
(It may oscillate from now to forever.)
Everything perfectly fine tuned for Life,
the Almighty is awesomely clever.
Eleven dimensions! Billions of stars!
Multiverse now without end!
Scientists strive to explain everything,
much to theologians’ chagrin.
They teach about Adam, not atoms as such,
A story of serpent and sin
The “Big Bang” by contrast, doesn’t invoke
a serpentine tinged origin.
There are still known unknowns
And unknown unknowns
In explaining how Life did begin.
Preachers will cling to the gaps in the String-
call it their “Prophet margin.”
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC
What can we do in the end?
When our existence has become completely soulless…
And the world as we know it doesn’t deserve our perception of it…
Where’s the colour?!
What can we do?
Something, anything?
Something real? Love repeated…
Remember that thing… how it gleamed…
And now, there’s nearly nothing…
Nearly nothing because of what we’re doing…
And what we’re letting them do…
And there’s no god to save us,
Just our words and power…
Power that should be as simple as a flower that welcomes the smeller…
But instead we’re being devoured by a scent so sick and seductive it makes us shiver before being swaddled in its shadow…
An oxygen and spirit-sucking force that won’t stop slowly eating us until we give up the joke inside of us - the fake rose, the front; all our artificial flavour and fervour - the real desire is deep within and we’ve all felt and feel it like a vast river that connects all our fears and wonders, making us better, stronger, longer, brighter, grander, wholer - together - an awesomely dazzling luminous light that should never be underestimated by some jester…
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 12:06 PM UTC
Love notes disguised
As poems she wrote,
Are hidden under the pillow
Where she rests her head
On the bed that holds the only world
Where true love can blossom;
Because in this one
She gave her flowers away,
But they were tossed in
A locked bin and forgotten,
Now broken hearted and feeling discarded
she runs harder then when the race started
Has a destination in mind but no end in sight
Just the moon and the light from the stars in the night
She pours out her heart, I see the scars from the fights
And as I lay my mind, body and soul
On top of hers in an attempt
To use these words to heal anything that hurts
...We burst...
Into a realm where every reflection
Is the exact perfection you were never expecting
To discover in each other
Couldn't find it in yourself let alone another
Now the ground, once covered in moss and things
Is awesomely blossoming
With the most beautiful flowers,
Not often seen by the eyes of the waking world,
I turn to this girl
And speaking soft as all time stopped
She said to me
*"You've never been here before.
But I have spent more time here than there,
for various reasons I'd rather not share.
My mind, body and soul bid you welcome
to the only place I can help them.
This is my heart.
The very essence of my core,
what you see is all I have,
and nothing more.
So please tread light,
my heavily and shiny armored knight."*
While I remove my armor,
I can't help but wonder
Would I get trapped in this bliss
If we happened to kiss
The softest green blades between my toes
I've never felt grass like this
So I walk slowly toward her
I know; I may not get another pass at this.
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 5:41 PM UTC
A Fool In Love In Paris, In April
For crying out loud
I am awesomely proud
To be a Fool in love
With Mother Nature.
I thank the Almighty above
For everything he has done
Hoping that I have a secured future
Earth is now my haven, my Heaven.
I am a Fool who loves my wife
The beautiful trees and flowers
The hummingbirds on the top towers
And the daunting intricacies of life.
Today is the first day of April
I am thrilled like a new drill
I am excited to be the only Fool
Swimming naked in the icy pool.
For God's sake, I am a Fool in love
The eagles are hovering above
The green mountains, this is awesome
That's wonderful, that's very handsome.
This is spring, a new season with a lot of potential
Sure, I am lackadaisically controversial
That's why I love the mad and irate women
And the jerks who refused to say Amen.
Copyright © April, 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 11:51 PM UTC
Having fun
(Aren't we?)
--
Silence
//
//
//
Pornographic rain
--
Did you see her?
Feel her?
Touch her?
Know her?
;;;;
[{which one?}]
//
//
//
We are so clever
So
Very
Clever
So very awesomely clever
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
the bull riders came
from near and far
to try and conquer
Chainsaw's elevated bar
he'd buck them off afore
the eight second crack
none would last upon
his awesomely built back
around the rodeo circuit
this bull had a legendary status
for beating they who'd do
battle with his feisty apparatus
the goading spur of rider
not disconcerting him
he'd show them that he
was ever potent in trim
of an immortal bovine
we'll never see again
so celebrate the elan
of Chainsaw's grain
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 8:51 PM UTC
You're too sleepy to even notice
how i adore your angelic features.
You're awesomely smart
that's why i can't deny i love the way you think.
Your eyes are not expressive as his eyes are
but your eyes is my escape from the reality that is so harsh.
You are my comfort zone that i didn't expect to have you are an unknown blessing that God gave me while i'm losing my way to the right path.
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
Rewinding thinker
High hearted sinker
Appetites absent
Emotional respent
Replaying fault
Wounds full of salt
Igneous teardrop
Sinning nonstop
Benefits friendly
Awesomely awfully
Distractions fall away
Personal promise betray
Hidden happiness
Lost confidence
Powerful game face
Faithful basket case
Empty chested
Failed tested
Trapped sorrow
My twisted tomorrow
Desolate and despairing
No one even caring
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
You epitomize rhyming poetry,
because these rhymes do not bind you,
or rather you have not let yourself be bound by these rhymes,
as so many others have.
Your rhythm and rhyming do not hold back your poetry:
on the contrary, these rhymes allow your poetry to be stronger.
You may not know it, but this is a spectacular quality. Write,
and never be afraid of writing.
I read all of your poetry from the beginning because from the very first poem I deemed that it was worth my time.
We are a family, by heart, and not by blood; there is no foe.
and
I am never blind to not see the world's perfect wonders.
You describe yourself as an optimist, and rightfully so. This line is beautiful. The whole poem is awesomely crafted, and once again, the rhymes don't obstruct the poem's meaning and significance, and only enhance it.
*The canvas of black paint and glitters of gold.
A story that was left untold.
To golden new, from rustic old.
Too clear, yet too bold.*
Your use of rhythm in this poem is very impressive. It's unconventional, and it works. The imagery of the black paint is beautiful. I love how the rhythm drops at the end; it's literally bold.
*I have watched the stars, for they are like your eyes.
I saw it. I made a wish to an entity from afar.
Never was I wrong to see things that are lies.
A light was beaming. It was a broken star.*
The line Never was I wrong to see things that are lies really stayed with me. It's a powerful sentence and sticks right into the poem's theme. The way I interpret it is as "It's okay to delude yourself, as long as you're happy," which links back to the popular phrase "oblivion is bliss." Also, A light was beaming. It was a broken star is entwined with the previous line in the idea that we really can chose to see only what we wish to see. Who is this broken star? I'm really curious.
Anyway, thank-you for publishing your work. It's poets like you that makes HelloPoetry a real blast. Keep submitting your work!
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
Dubious: charge
The deluxe program in. Obtuse angled and oblong animals. Mecca sexúal, discoverer pulling back the curtain tails in mimicry and peacockiness as the horizon shimmers itself out. Do not eschew unwieldy ostentation towards benign mid-weight colors in the sequel to Blahnik.
Offers in the hesitant, peak winds of Southern-Hemispherical Antarctic weather barometer losses. The ice is like a hive of nameless blue lily pad vessels, each a different magical shade of the water's blue.
She like the uncommon baroque grandeur in an hour of time, herself-
Summons the immense symmetry of her elaborate lavender macramès sheath and entomb her skin, exploding across her body like milk-white daffodils draped upon a morning bow. Linseed and anise encompasses burnt sweet grass on the breadth of pine in a gentle pillow, anchored only by the veins of her red fruit nectar stitched at the grooves in her cool and unpunctuated lips. While anxiety numbing tufts of gentle satins wisp all the worry and turmoil away, pleasing every nerve, sensor, instinct, and exercise of glib humanity intertwined amid the pulse of our uncensored adultness. She glides amid the arcs of ebullient-molecules ribboned in winter synonyms, summoned up in her sensual and illustrious sublime, and the story of how like a horizon muted by organzas falling beneath her into that relationship she carries with her water God into something profound, immense, and totally ******* exquisite, yet beyond all imagining, she is always doing what has been the coolest **** ever to me. That becomes more magnificently indescribable like our amorous fire, incentivizing the luminous beauty of new stars to rush above us, and yet under us too, amidst the simple and perfected automany she so awesomely imbues.
Until the minutes are silenced in our heads and the days are warm with you.
For Sarah
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 7:32 AM UTC