"carly" poems
we tied yarn together
praying it would hold like rope
and maybe, just maybe
it could have
if only you had not let go
-carly jaye
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
following on with my current obsession with my tomato growing experiment, ive decided to look at books, and films, and any other related tomato themes, as follows:
The Tomatoes Of Wrath-Steinbeck
A Midsummer Night's Tomato-Shakespeare
Tomato And Juliet-Ditto
Frankentomato-Shelley
Alice in Tomatoland-Carrol
Night Of The Living Tomato-zombie horror!
E.T.- Extra Tomato!
Tomatoes And Prejudice-Austen
I Heard It On The Tomato Vine-Marvin Gaye
You're So Vine- Carly Simon
Summertime (and the living is tomato)-Ella Fitzgerald
LGBT-LGB+Tomato
BY Jemia de Tomatoville 😏🍅🍅🍅🦋💕🙄
any other suggested ideas welcome, as i may bring out a book on the subject (but thankfully, probably won't!) and will, or not, call it Tomato Wrong!
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 7:38 AM UTC
I'm not sure I can take another heartbreak.
After the last one, I'm sure there's no such thing as a soul mate.
It's much like stepping in dog **** this heartache:
Not what you were expecting and the stench is one that stays,
Though you stay up washing it in the night, quite late.
Yet love is a game that everyone plays.
But somehow, he is seeming quite attractive, maybe even my type,
That sweet chuckle, like light reflecting off a glass cup.
It's not so much that it fills the room, not that he's all the hype,
But it's the small reflection of a ray that shines just for me,
Like I'm the only one meant to see
Him laugh.
“This is crazy, but here's my number...” the radio sings out.
I wish I had Carly's courage, but all I can manage is doubt.
“Call me maybe...” she says with tact, while I just manage to hide my face.
What I know of love is loss that doesn't seem to erase.
And now, here, Carly tempts me to feel loss of what was never mine...
Then he crosses the line
In the carpet where I've been concealing eyes.
He shakes my hand and says something, might have been his name,
Oh I'd have listened if I'd been more wise.
But he's smiling again, and this time it is for me, it's mine to claim,
And so I introduce myself and take his hand,
This is adventure I never planned,
But oh, how sweet the light that shines from his eyes.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Friday night
is almost done,
it's past eleven,
body is stilled,
tired eyes gaze
by the closed gate,
restless soul
seeks peace
through low,
deep breaths;
Body rhythm
adjusts
to slow swinging,
like a hammock
stirred
by the wind.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gradually
body and soul
relax.....calmed
by Carly Simon's
persuasive
"Moonlight Serenade."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Tired...alone
amidst the silence
of this comforting
dark...but,
i feel fine.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
(good night, everyone!)
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 10, 2023
Jun 9, 2023
Jun 9, 2023 at 12:29 PM UTC
The man decked in blue
sits quite content
on a sofa
and observes wealthy offspring
waltz in flashing their brilliant teeth
glossed with potent peppermint.
These teens
don't know love,
lust is all it is.
While the Jazz bops away,
more whisky is poured
and they zip out to get jammy.
The man, mid-twenties,
kind of blue, dapper apparel,
has one on the rocks.
Sees them
walk in most evenings,
cute blondes with flawless skin,
guys in suits, bow ties, the works,
gaze into each other's pupils.
There are regulars,
Robert, the chap from Yale,
Quentin, sly guy at Harvard
and Carly, still at school the man believes,
who's coquettish, fresh,
these two want to have her
but she's astute,
knows just what she wants.
They're all after her in fact.
Every male in the room
turns their head,
can't blame them,
she's like Candyfloss,
all the men want a taste
but there's not enough for everyone
and they don't look like the sharing kind.
The man in blue
just grins to himself
thinking how grand it is
that he's single, sensible, secure.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
He was an old cowboy, and he never liked to hear that cowboys were a dying breed. Those were fighting words, indeed, so don't ever tell him that. Yes, a cowboy, through and through, and he hoped he'd die in the open, big sky of Montana, right by his old horse, Dusty. Falling in love with the outdoors, he grew up working on his uncle's ranch and was hooked from the very start. Now Ride 'Em Rick had breathed his last and finally met his Maker. He was ready, for sure, and died with his boots on, just like he hoped would happen. It wasn’t out in the open, but as he was snoozing on his recliner and he never woke up.
When most of his children were arguing about things they shouldn't be, Jet took charge to see to a proper burial. He refused to be among the squabbling siblings.
You never visited him!
Oh, yeah! The only reason you came over was to get more money out of him!
I loved Pop! You never loved the man!
*You're just like him! Pigheaded! Impossible to tell you a ****** thing!*
He's not just your dad, so don't act so high and mighty!
And so how would Pop have wanted to be buried? He was a hard man to know—even after seventy-seven years on this earth. Well, Jet knew his father was a proud man, and a lover of all things cowboy. It would be nothing fancy—he’d be done up in his good flannel shirt and jeans, and of course with his boots on, and his cowboy hat slightly tucked under his cold, hard fingers. A lasso would be a nice touch, and some of the old, cowboy tunes during the service would be perfect. Surely, if Rick was going to die with his boots on, they’d stay with him to the very end. So that was how it all would be.
And so Ride 'Em Rick looked regal in his humble garb. Stony in life, so he was in death. Mostly, the old man kept his distance, and that seemed normal to Jet. But now standing with his two boys, one on each side of him, Jet hoped he would have been a more hands-on father to his sons. With the help of his wife, Carly, he was surely keeping on course. The siblings were still at odds, but there were plenty of tears and hugs going around to keep the peace and to make a good gathering. And so it was a fitting farewell to man who felt most at home on the trails and in the saddle, buried with his boots on.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
I see your rosy stained cheeks and think of how they would've coated my lips.
How I would've known the warmth of your hand like I know the beat of my heart.
Care giver promises while her tongue played black and white film into my ears,
And while it played she handed me pieces of glass that reflected dreams of darkness,
Like a dye for the heart it stained discarded shoes,
But that's not all because it left lilacs in place of what we lose,
That smell comforts me when my hands meet to be disappointed,
Because they know their lack of size can be filled by another,
Two thumbs connected like the print bonded a perfect match,
But the print dimmed so quickly my eyes are still trying to catch up,
It's only the lack of tingle that my skin once had in abundance that bother me,
It spots are gone but what should I expect.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
Must you go to the New World
forbidden fruit, thrilling
nerve-racking, dreaded exam
Looming where the sun goes
a spell you need to break
trailer-trash meets the Long Carabine
Making love to Laura Inglis Wilder
Shock and Awe meets John Muir
Martin Luther and Chicken George
All clapper board and Hopper-esque
while James Taylor sings Mockingbird
with Carly Simon
Your fingers trace that coastline
those place-names where perhaps
you will stand and wonder
At what people can do
because it is all there
in the New World
A new world to replace
the one you already have
should you ever finish with it
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 1:02 PM UTC
she's driving me crazy, this kid
doing things i never did
big blue eyes and messy curls
oh the joys of little girls
one minute she's the boss, so demanding
then she finds patience, soft and understanding
she sing songs to the birds
making up her own words
tea parties with mr. bear
sticking candy in dolls hair
bed time stories after glitter baths
but i melt every time she laughs
she holds my hand, doesn't want to let go
and tells me stories that have no end
tells me i'm her absolute best friend
there's so much i want her to know
that there's nothing that she can't do
i wish for all her dreams to come true
and i know i'd give her the world
this sweetness, this light, my little girl
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
Separation Point
as I slam down another frosty one or two
trying to forget trying not to think about you
it's like the old Carly Simon song you're so vain
of course its about him you just said so very plain
by saying the words I'm trying not to think
makes it obvious that I am on the very brink
of wondering where my next move should go
the feelings cannot be denied I think you know
all the good intentions not withstanding now
there is no questions of why only ones of how
god now I'm listening to an annoying guitar lead
by Niel Young please stop now I really really plead
my nerves are on edge in case you can't tell
ran out of smoke days ago now Im in hell
and now it seems I have this hairless chest
I'm fumbling around making myself an obnoxious pest
where did I go wrong or has it always been this way
maybe I just didn't notice or refused you might say
to except the limitations of this dreary normal life
should have joined the colonial army and played the fife
just what is my point this thought might have occurred
I would explain it to you but I just can't think of the word
pour me another barkeep keep the golden nectar flowing
aw don't tell me that you think I really should be going
I know babe it's time for you to move yourself along
I wanna sing farewell to you but I can't remember the song
dam I sure wish I had me a bowl or two or a joint
I'm so afraid that I have reached the separation point
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 8, 2011
Sep 8, 2011 at 7:02 PM UTC
I've thought of you
In many ways;
Many complexities
On many days.
I've contemplated your meaning
To my life and the world.
To the universe and beyond,
Through flatiron and curls.
Through tumbling and leaping
Through broken leg and pain.
Through cold winter months
Through sunshine with rain,
Where you opened my eyes
Like the first time you opened yours,
To see what's beyond
Rainbows and other worlds.
You made me cry when you entered THIS world
I've often had tears
Of pain for your suffering
And your glorious new peers.
I think of you often
Over all these tough days
Of life on the planet
Where most is in haze.
Where struggles bring us light
To see far beyond
The sensory input
Such meaningless glum.
You now are much grown
You've gain more than I.
You're far more than I dreamed;
I sit here with sigh
Of relief that you're here
That you've grown to this soul.
With comfort to see
You'll learn more than I'll ever know.
That you'll make your mark
Not judged my a man,
But by whom you are within,
Your soul, your biggest fan.
Stay true to that spirit
Connected to all
Know your worth,
Realize your call.
You've nothing to prove
You are whom you are
And in 1997,
Your mom and I literally made a new star.
You ARE our universe, Carly Grace Bowles.
Happy Birthday! I so much love you.
Yes. I know I'm early. Lol
Muah!!!!
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
Hello.
My name is Carly Bunch.
I am from learning.
I'm representing my own thoughts and emotions.
My classes are long uninteresting scripts made of boring nothingness repeated class after class until the last day when you're as free as the bus that drives you to school.
My name is Carly Bunch.
I am from my mind.
I'm representing my words that I speak and my feelings I feel that are not able to be broken by fractures of words that make no sense thrown at me.
My name is Carly Bunch.
I am from my bedroom.
I'm representing the thoughts of dying in my sleep from lack of blood flow through my body and dying from the same heart attack that killed my dad in his sleep a year ago.
My name is Carly Bunch.
I am from kissing the soft lips of my true love.
I'm representing my freedom to love who I want to love and not caring about who knows about it.
I am from so many things yet they tell you nothing about me.
I am from screaming and clawing my way out of my problems with no control over anything.
I am from sleeping with a stuffed bear that makes me miss the person I love more than ever.
I am from sitting on the couch that my own dad died on and acting like it doesn't faze me.
I am from the smell of alcohol fogging up the memories of my childhood and the pain of hard carpeted steps rubbing my back raw from a tragic escape.
I am from feeling like exposed nails are scraping my face off but in reality I'm just waking up.
I am from hatred being tossed around like it's the cure for all of my mistakes.
I am from letting everything out into one poem with the same cage the elephant song blaring in the background about how complicated your world can be yet you still find a way to express your true identity.
I am from spilling everything to a person that I don't even know.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
Don't fix **** that ain't broken
Listen to these words being spoken
You think I'm jokin'
But let that **** sink in
This ain't even the worst part
But where should I start?
How bout' back to 2010?
Everything's coming back again
Things weren't pretty,
In fact, they were down right ******
Parents forgetting me and my siblings
They had better things to do
We didn't like to think so
but we knew it was true
We'd scream and yell, we'd had enough
But they weren't chicken to call our bluff
With their issues and misuse
And guys to mistrust
And girls that make fuss
Its no wonder I am where I am
Full of wonder and distrust
Life's just a ******* scam
This world's got me full of disgust
Flash forward to today
I'll hope and I'll pray
The good Lord will save my brother
From all the **** that started with my father and mother
My little sister
I see her everyday but I miss her
She's not the same
Timid and shy, back in the day
Now she'll **** you up if you get in her way
Ain't nothing changed in that house from yesterday
Except the absence of me
I couldn't take them away from all the dismay
No unfortunately, they had to stay
My siblings and me
They were all I had in that hell hole we called home
Then I left them there
Off to roam
My first real friends
And I left them in a place where happiness ends
But I hope they know
I want to watch them prosper and grow
They may be low, but they can rise above
So here's to my siblings, Kenneth and Carly
I hope you feel my kindness and love
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
Today her name is amy
Amy is strong
Amy is bad
Amy doesnt take your ****
Amy is confident
Amy doesn’t love and doesn’t expect it in return
Tomorrow her name is Jane
Jane is weak
Jane is good
Jane breaks down at your ****
Jane is insecure
Jane loves too much
On tuesdays her name is Jade
Jade is as strong as her name
Her name of stone
Jade seduces every man she sees
Every sad man
Jade doesn’t care
Jade eats his sadness up and licks it off their lips
Eventually the names change and they go from Ana- the ***** then Sady- the free spirit, maybe even Victoria who is exactly her name
Crazy they all are in their sick twisted ways.
The way that Cassie is the picasso of con artists.
The way that Emily is a **** for mindgames
The way that Carly will never find love.
They all are different, no two alike
But they come together as one
To create this monster
And that monster is me.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 7:46 AM UTC
I've been fairly great, comfortable. I've been thinking of this as just another day for weeks. But it's here. Being a alone is no fun. I went to my brothers. Lots of people there. Even had I known them, I'd still feel alone. I have this place in my mind that rationalizes the excuses I've heard and even given myself. Everyone is justified. The excuses, I had every reason; all others as equal. But it doesn't pour into the emptiness. It doesn't patch the holes; the gaps that keep everyone who has held our heart, now cold; a little glow hiding deep that we can't extinguish or lose ourselves, our sanity, our control if we ever took that one step that'd warm us enough to restart a fire that we know would burn our soul, not sure in which way. I'd die; I'd finally live. Idk. I've no idea. Can't truly give anything a chance, certainly not a second or more times. Not sure I mean someone, though Carly crosses my mind. But you, the better, and then the rest that poured a cup or two in this gallon hole. I miss you all. I miss you. I miss not fake smiling, inwardly fighting crying all the time. Which way care and love, dreaming of the same, we all ****** up. ***** too much to know we have anything of value, narcissistic just the same. Negatives we'd love if we knew the why. There part of the very essence of, hidden, the very reason we love. Do they answer a question we have asked for years about who we are? But the vision not clear enough; frustrations abound, expanding the expanse, "it's their fault, my fault, doesn't matter...loneliness just ******* sux."
I miss....
Not that it matters; just another day.
I'll be just fine tomorrow
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
Last night I dreamt I was in Carolina,
the trees all twisted to the coast.
The ocean sat steady and
the roads were never ending.
“I’m only back for six months,”
dream Carly said.
“No,”
an unmarked face and outstretched hand replied,
“you’re here to stay.”
With salt on my breath I tried to say it wasn’t so
but Fate just smiled and walked away.
Orange light broke through a canopy
as I desperately tried to follow,
but the shadow faded into
the steam of endless summer…
I couldn’t understand why I was back.
Clarity blurred and the landscape was a hill, a tree, a flower, a beach.
A bridge into sand stretched ahead,
bricks to a river beside,
and columns upon columns
upon porches upon porches.
“I have to get back!”
dream Carly screams,
but Carolina just shrugged.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 3:17 AM UTC
honey dripping eyes
brown river water hair shoots
shining at each turn
smiles huge reveals
velvety pink apple cheeks
golden glowing teeth
painting and painting
flowers on her pale temples
shining through her skin
insatiable thirst
right down in her pretty throat
making its own voice
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Republicans start to shop
If their candidate’s not on top
And their poll numbers suddenly drop
Because they’re labeled a flop
So those who used to push
For the heir apparent Bush
Are sitting on their ****
Wishing they had Hindu-kush
And that new-jack Rubio
What is it they think he knows
That allows his cash to grow
They will reap just what they sow
Now let me mention Teddy Cruz
Who hasn’t paid his dues
And when asked he has refused
But that should be old news
Although Carly Fiorena
Has a tough demeanor
Trump once asked, “Have you seen her?”
When he wanted to demean her
And then there’s Dr. Carson
More Don Rickles than Johnny Carson
Soft spoken spreading arson
With incendiary parsing
Now that I have your attention
Though it may earn you dissention
Some I just choose not to mention
They’re beyond my comprehension
So that leaves us Donald Trump
Someone that they’d like to dump
But he says, “Kiss my ****
See he’s energized and pumped
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
by James Bruce
You’re the top!
You’re the top!
You’re a Millard Filmore,
You’re the top!
You’re the Girls of Gilmore,
You’re lucidity’s not Huckabee’s weird views,
You’re an immigrator,
A great debator,
You’re not Ted Cruz!
You’re the style,
Of a Ronald Reagan,
You’re the smile of a foxxy Megyn,
Were you Hillary, you’d be pilloried, and flop!
But if Donald, Ailes’s the bottom, you’re the top!
You’re the top!
You’re the Wall of China,
You’re the top!
You’re acute angina,
You’re hyperbole that’s a felony in Queens,
You’re Rand Paul’s mama,
Barack Obama,
You’re full of beans!
You’re the star,
Of the G.O.P. camp,
You’re a jam on a Christie bridge ramp,
I’m a crippling loan, a Roger Stone, a flop!
But if baby, Jeb’s sunk lower, you’re the top!
You’re the top!
You’re a well-coiffed dandy,
You’re the top!
Your hair’s cotton candy,
You’re assets vast that cast a glow of Trumpf
You’re a Carly visage,
The Greenwich Village,
You’re Friedrich Drumpf!
You’re demure,
You’re a friend of pollsters,
You’re the spur on some heels with holsters
I’m not fit to race, too commonplace, a sop!
But if Donald, I’m rock bottom, you’re the top!
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I don’t want to be
The devil’s advocate
But Carly Forina
In the aggregate
Looks like a demon
And better yet
She’d be a president
We’d live to regret
Donald Trump
Might have made a case
When he enjoined us
To look at that face
Who would elect her
And in any case
Her Hewlet Packard tenure
Was a disgrace
Anyone can provoke
Massive layoffs
Like a non-contender
For the playoffs
She says she’s a savior
Former employees scoff
It’s campaign rhetoric
She should knock off
I’ll give it to her
She’s very well spoken
But a business genius
She’s got to be joking
Which prompts me to ask
What has she been smoking
By the end of the race
She’ll clearly be broken
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
OK; I will:
I will drone on and on about this and that
and you won't get a word in edgewise.
Droning is fun! You don't have to
check your mouth
or worry about vocabulary;
you just need to keep talking!
You can talk about sheep,
you can talk about skin lotion.
Did you know that lanolin
comes from sheep shear?
But no one yet has figured
a good use for hairballs—go figure!
I mean, the Scottish figured out
what to do with sheep's intestines;
I mean, the Scotts figured, yes,
I'm talking haggis!
But then again,
the Moonlanding was staged.
It's true!
Evidence of soundstages
for that prank can still be found
in Area 53.
But back to Hagrid —
in the Deathly Hollows
he seemed 3 cm smaller
than he did in the first HP movie,
and I'm not talking about Hewlett-Packard.
Can you imagine Carly Fiorina
as president?
I sure can't!
Did you know that you can survive
deep in the redwood forest
by licking the slime of banana slugs
for needed protein
and protect yourself from hypothermia
by plucking hundreds of fiddlehead ferns
and delving deep inside them…
hey, I think my drone batteries jus
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC
Finally relaxing
on my high-rise roof
I notice you across the street on
your balcony seemingly aloof
listening to vintage Carly Simon,
“That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard it Should Be”
You stare my way and energetically waive
I hesitate, smile and then return the gesture
As if on cue you stand and press against the railing
Still smiling as my heart beats faster
"What's your name?" you playfully cry out
"Who wants to know?" is my surprising reply
~Who really am I?
Sudden flashbacks hijack my thinking
~Song lyrics dredging up buried memories…
Why is this happening? Why am I sinking?
~Triggered
I hear your beseeching, unintelligible shouts as I retreat
Painful memories open like an oubliette under my feet—
p
l
u
n
g
i
n
g
Lost and languishing in isolation's labyrinth
© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
#
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 12:53 AM UTC
Could I ever write you
A truly holy sonnet
When I was forged
So far from Heaven?
Could you cry for me
While I could gather the teardrops,
With the lone intent
To flood the world again?
Can we ever know purity
Without a little harm?
Must I cleanse the Earth
Of everything
I can no longer care for?
Carly's eyes penetrated Hell
And cast me back
Into sanity again.
I'm standing on my own again
And by only her accord.
Let's make the world
A little smaller...
Whisper to me anything at all
That you could find meaningful enough
To discuss through the cover of darkness.
For the first time in forever,
I'm whole once more.
I'm venturing deeper
Into your enchantment...
This new labyrinth I've found
That I only aim
To immerse myself in deeper
With every setting sun.
I can only hope
To grow like moss
Around your careless daydreams
And take hold of even the smallest bit
Of your brilliant brand of curiosity.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
Give me your hand and let me lead you to the floor.
We're love dancing to whatever song is on?
Maybe some Sinatra, Martin or Tony Bennett.
Maybe Paul Simon or James Taylor and Carly Simon.
It doesn't matter, when we're love dancing.
Oh, you're shocked.
Maybe amazed to see the one you love acting this way.
But sometimes, things should be a surprised changed.
Play me some Paul, John, George and even Ringo.
It doesn't matter, as long as you dance along.
Let me slowly spin you aware.
As Mel Tillis or Conway Twitty belts out a song.
Throw in some Loretta Lynn or Lynn Anderson.
Whatever your choice for pure pleasure?
Maybe Marvin Gaye or Al Green or Barry White.
Just realize with them singing things might affect the night.
Play some Howlin' Wolf or Muddy Waters or some Rolling Stones.
Just realize in truth, we need know music to groove ourselves on.
Whisper to me.
And I whisper to you.
We be making more music when the morning comes.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
That's what its for Carly Rose,
if you don't use it, you lose it
a bowl of green with eggs and steak on the fourth of July
Independents day and we're whacked out Americans living breathing and dying by the scores and handfuls, the plague walks among us now, I read in the paper it says more and more get it and case numbers soar, my uncle tells me that it reminds him of Vietnam and the number of enemies KIA at the end totaling three times the entire population of the region, but I digress,
the whistle rings true and the crack and pop of the firecrackers feels good to see it, feels like you're lost caught in something special
I stumble onto an old path, past the mansions of Bexley on the edge of the railroad track overlooking the river and behind us peeking in the bend behind the trees stands the city skyline, the glass and stone towers gleaming in the darkening sunset of orange burnt moonlight encased in a tunnel of evergreen pines and peak summer shrubs alight with the blinking of fireflies, sequencing the secret we are all trying to express, I want you, I want you all, you beautiful creatures of this world, we pulsate and ;lust with every fiber of our beings hoping for a moment of sensual touch we stretch out and burn alive this word is meant for *** and love and god bless us if we can get both, running and gunning, that's what the languid pulse of the fire flies calling out with their golden green lights under the dull moon sang about as the head lights from distant cars would slide across a rail road intersection in some sleepy part of town, the full moon bright as a harvest stone, framed in this, secret forgotten, a lot, broken glass on concrete and gravel graffiti nonsense, neon bike lights dancing, leading a way through another day
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 1:05 PM UTC