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Anton Angelino Oct 2022
Call it touchstone, cause I tinge you gold
Rub my face against your chest like a noble metal
If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t discern my value
I’m a diamond in the form of a petal

Tears of joy make the finest jewelry, so do the raindrops that dot my forehead, running home to ya.
I await the comfort of spring
Months pass as I blink
The fuller the moon, the more I seem to love ya.

A shoal of stars passes above Calabasas and the peaks that reach beyond
The Hollywood Hills is where I go
My life is a love song
I’m a diamond unburned by every storm

I’m running for my life from my life
I’m running home to ya

I bathe under the moon under stars
I don’t know what to say to ya

I don’t know what I’m feeling when I’m with ya
But one thing I know
Is that it feels good

So spin me ‘round in the ocean of galaxies
Twirl me now straight into your deepest fantasies
Call it even, cause I need it all
Call it touchstone, cause you tinge me gold.
1st promotional poem off my 6th poetry collection "I Loved You Before I Knew It". For a special someone on a special day <3
Alex Durow Nov 2015
I ask you,


Who’s gonna be a prophet when we bought them all out?

God I saw your prophet at that festival
I think they bought him up a house on the Western Coast

Who Want It

I see men speaking of love and they’re speaking of god
But when those profits are to low they’re on that radio dial

Who Want It
You Get It

There’s static in their melodies, some are moving backwards,
You ain’t making breakups songs? You ain’t moving to Calabasas

What you thought you were making change?
Music about the money in the long run never pays

Who’s gonna be the ‘man’ when the money runs out,
Who’s gonna be a prophet when we bought them all out,
You’re gonna buy those Jordans with that Nike swoosh?

I may never be a prophet but at least I ain’t you

Who Want It

I ask you,

Who’s gonna be a prophet man we bought them all out


We Want It
This goes to a beat, I originally wrote it as a rap verse.
Cyclone Dec 2019
When a tear drops, eyes close, cries define souls, blind when I press recline cause my mind rewinds blows, loving the smell the of pine in a fine time of fashion, in Calabasas, I can lax the fastest, facts I must grasp with glasses, joy in the back of cabs, crab and lobster don't mean I prosper, cracks on the track, I seen imposters trying to scheme the sponsors, are they redeemed demeaning demons seen in a team of goners, check if their numbers crumbling if they're fumbling then shun their roster.

— The End —