"constellating" poems
delightful colorful
constellating memory warm
starshine in winter
/#dmperez
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
I've seen endless galaxies in her eyes,
And I have felt entire hemispheres
Hot and burning
Upon our lips,
The sun and the stars,
Consummating, constellating
Between her hips.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
Dining Hall
The day that Darwin dies
you call me at lunch
surrounded by raucous boys
who would ridicule your tears
Milk
You’re downing a glass
as I sip my wine
Separated by years
and words you don’t know
Our preference in beverage
is the space between us
The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack
Lullaby redhead croons my fingers bend three at a time choking out two-syllable death trap.
Constellating
Sandwiched between
fresh books
spines not yet cracked
Secretive soulmates
sharing espresso-scented
pecks on strawberry lips
Hush Hush
Hands that aren’t yours
hold back my hair
dampened
tears shed
over words you threw
shattering
showering me with shards
of the way you once felt
Day Long Marriage
Air-conditioned summers
bare skin on leather couches
your hand resting
on blue ruffled *******
Happy New Year
Crouching
behind closet doors
your voice
at once comfort and affront
I’ll forget the words you say
still clutching my phone
wishing it was you
The Other Emily
Purest form of you and me
Benadryl-induced delusions
refusing sleep
exhausted
warm and doe-eyed
in the glow of your fondness
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
I see the recollection
of a thousand and one memories
in the faces of strangers.
It is written
in the burnt out shellac
that write's the gospel
called ideal.
Upon all the waifs
that wail
on wainscotted walls
is visible a weary shade -
A woe begotten word.
That same ink
that wrote the scar
on a thousand and one faces.
It shone to eyes
of the right size
calibrated to the light
by a snowflake.
And once seen
O misbegotten dream!
Hours of amphetamine rooftops
under golden stars.
Mornings alight
with the free realm of jazz
which floats on hazy gaze
that constitute fields
of a thousand and one degrees.
Now not seen.
And is it carved
in the sweaty freedom
of a drunk?
Constellating crystal beads
pour to eyes
gray and sunk
with the wisdom of a prince.
With the stench of a skunk.
Brace yourself
for the wind does come
that marries wind
of heart and mind.
And behind it all
you see it now;
in the thousand and one faces
of the free
the bold
the meek
the drunk
the lost.
The recollection
of a thousand and one memories.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
Secluded dreams are your fragile fingers
never to caress harsh tree bark creeks again
pulsating in vain when you don't hear the drumming dominion
of my tactile gentle tips falling in love with your philosophical nonsense
constellating words become sensual sonoric spaces
between you and me betweex texts of adoration
one typing pad and a hot salvia tea
serves you' mastering over
the paint brushes
in a ***
and splashing
colours
dispersed
drawings, fine arts, parts of an intimate instrumentalia
To parties
salute!
Freshly washed t-shirt hangs over one empty bottle
Sealed contentment, sleepless nights, red wine dizzy
gifts
adrift and fiery
one giant dragonfly emerging from the clouds
At the end has crashed the mighty wings and
the haunted sounds; all of my desires for you
the old blood
corridors
brook
strings
swinging
catching a fire flower within your palm
torchering torches turning us, our lust, into the waxed reciprocity
sideral you still love me tropic me still crave
to arouse you solely by my
empty words
in between days solstice
in between the dying
night's Équinoxe
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
the sun and the moon and all of the dust between the height of your wings, they used to be full of flight but now I can touch the ice of orange rays and the red of dented craters beneath the pads of my ever fumbling fingers and it gives off a smoke in my stomach that even bullet exit wounds don't leave behind. i'm craving fizzy drinks again to numb out the stars in my eyes that won't stop constellating the white hope in your burning palms, have you been climbing blue fences again? the night doesn't tire often but the last comet that flew by last January the 7th looked exhausted and it had something to do with the way you blinked away fire from the moments you forgot to count
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
Stories swirl free
Memory fantasy dream
Constellating stars
Blurring transposing like art
Lonely snowflakes weep,
Wishes for gifts meant to keep
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 8:08 PM UTC
Head up high,
at the cold cerulean,
constellating my fervent prayers,
with no stars included,
sweetly encountered a canorous disenthrall
sang by the only dove
I saw at the sky.
-A.M.
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 12:23 AM UTC
Fearful cows. Proud buckets. Sequestered and barbed.
Three freckles. A constellating of anchors.
Violating space.
The long road travelled and the long road ahead.
Each length, perfect reflection of the other.
You are travelling as a mirror. Roving.
Violating time.
Swallowing hours. Draped. A shroud of volition.
The sky is still crying. The sea is angry.
You hear it sometimes, underneath the wind’s wails.
It can hear you. Sometimes. But always it sees.
Violating mind.
What it sees sends sun to sky and turns rain to
tears of joy, collected in proud buckets, that
drizzle down, dousing the faces of fearful cows.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 11:37 AM UTC
I am having a troubled mind and a lousy way of interpreting things going on around me. Never had I in my full awareness or complete unconsciousness thought that I'd be the alibi of the devastation in the place that is home. Today, people are homeless, orphaned, deranged. They stand alone even when they are together. Like a wrecked ship in the middle of a raging sea. To call myself lucky to have survived appears to me as an insult to those whose lives were taken like an ant stomped by a kid, whose homes turned to rubble- like a war field. No wars can be as destructive as the war declared by nature and no one can stand against nature when all of us are born out of it. Nature gives us a new sunrise every day, a single sun but always a new rise. It has given us flowers and streams, sky and stars, earth and gravity. We know not the start of these all, nor do we know when it will all end. It just goes on and on until it doesn't. What is the point in living numerous hours looking at the stars every single night, constellating each thoughts, naming each satellite if one fine weekend's morning a family of four with smiles plastered like their house's walls on their faces are to be doomed in the grave of the ruins of their safe haven? Fuss as much you do about the rainbows guiding you to a sunny morrow; keep walking the labyrinthine tunnels with hopes to see the light on the other side disguised as wider boulevards, never fully aware of the breathes we've taken -as walking in sleep. Why live a life when you know not your time to leave?
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
There's a storm raging
Fire racing through my bones
It's got my heart pacing
The beauty of nature
losing control.
A surge of energy
electrifies my mind
I reflect the fragments of life
as they die in front of my eyes.
Mother natures anger
Romantic intensity
***** of fire burning up
Constellating a painting
Across the night sky.
Rage is raining downwards
Breaking billboards
Pouring its heart out
Fierce droplets of hate.
This feeling is infinite
Like two lovers baring
Their souls to each other.
The moon caught my eye
And I whispered
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC