"drunkly" poems
Nowadays we ..speak freely...feelweakly.
Nowadays we.. think freely... thank... fewly
Bask...rudly.
Nowadays we ***** nitley...love litely...
Love fightly....
Nowadays we...Think fewly...talk..cool-ly
Do...small-ly
These days we wise...litely...blaze...brightly...high
Highly...booze...drunkly...boogie... funkly.
TheseDays we...spend freely
Debt...really.
Today we...hide deeply...no sleeply.
Feel..me ?
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
Sweet blueberry wine
from across the sea
you brought to me
the lovely night
Where she swayed
and laughed like bells
dancing free around
the shabby kitchen
that first time
we drank drunkly
she on sweet wine
and me on her smile
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 2:26 PM UTC
I...
I dearly miss you
Not because loving you brings me to life
Not because you made me smile a little brighter
Not because I once thought we were meant to be
All these things made me desire your company
But I unspokenly wanted all your attention
If I had asked, would you have accepted?
Or would my greed and insecurities
have driven you away?
You knew my insecurities about
my appearance
my family
my past
You took me as I was
But I never found a common ground with you
Keeping me in the dark about you
Your attention
Your Patience
Your composure
seemed to all be a facade
I wouldn't notice thunderstorm in the background
Of course, I notice
I always wanted you to be truly happy
A happiness that might not involve me
Sadly with a smile, correct myself
Will most definitely won't involve me
if I catch a glimpse
please let me smile and cry
Let me drunkly sing to
Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 9:18 PM UTC
i like the color red your eyes turn
and how it just slightly different from the red of your face
i like the way you slur your words
"i'm drunk off you, you know"
i like the way my accent thickens
so you have to pull me close to your face to understand me
i like the way you fumble to grab my hand
and then press my fingers to your lips
i like the awful way you try to growl your 'r's
"i'm french like you, oui oui"
i like the way you look when you can't find your lighter
and the slight disappointment in your eyes
when i light your cigarette for you
i like the way you quote poetry
like it was written for you to mutter drunkly
i like the way you appreciate things
"the stars, why don't we always look at them?"
i like the way you look
when you're trying to concentrate on the conversation
i like the way you look
when you catch me staring at you
"it's like i see you for the first time all over again,
your stare is so cold but so inviting"
i like the way you're drunk
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
each within each
becoming thick
becoming flower
most petals
most aggressively
****** brutal
through smooth throbbing
of broken smoothness:
back little unsquare
hips fully
plush between
chipped fuzz
electrically quivers
with arrow
deeply notched
pink roiling
steepness through
mouth rolling
tongue over
river over
of scarlet
rill
steam drunkly
burst kiss
kissing
into musk musk musk;
(very short swollen and rudely
dancing brokenness of
lips parted over lips
parting to leap
cherrymuss
of motile body
biting bed sheets
not wanting to
" scream "
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
Where to begin?
With a spin! With a sin!
But you've spilt all your wine
Down your chinny-chin-chin...
The neighbors are talking
Though I hate to relay
The concern that they show
For it drains fun away
You're just having fun
So you say, so you say
The spinning helps get you
Up, up and away
Your advances are tainted
By slur and by sway
You stumble and fumble
What an awkward display
Ah, now I sound judgy
My teeth grin and gnash
And I know I've grown pudgy
From all of the hash
But my tells are subtle
Not in people's face
You're stuck in a puddle
You'll fall on your face
I want to repair it;
We want to be free;
We'll **** and impair it,
...Him, you, and me.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
No easy ends - no simple way
to create a finale
of all that feeling,
buried deep. Trapped.
The heart - conduit
of all the good, and pure,
loving and fair
in that childlike innocence,
but too the cage,
controlled, emboldened, refused
by the cerebral gatekeeper.
Why let that emotion
out? Is it self-sustaining?
Should it be?
Searching in the thickness of grime
and the transparency of glass
both to find that balance
between self and self;
the self that needs its own,
and the the self that needs
its other.
To what end is the search
viable, in being separate
from the internal pervasion
of anxiety?
What does it mean to err irrepressively
from one side
to the other -
a seemingly ceaseless internal script
written drunkly, incohesively
scribbled across the walls -
is it damage?
A calamity of mentality
and an unsaveable prospect
to none of earth - and perhaps she knows.
So many things to ask, each
with an answer he doesn't have
or doesn't want to, tied
to questions he can't put into words,
for her sake, for his, for fear
for love or selfish compulsion -
there is no knowing.
Wordsmith indeed, unable to weave
the most fundamental askings,
but foolish enough to think
he has done it in his moments.
The tale of saving the broken one
has outlived its life
at the forefront of storytelling.
And still, she saves him.
In every word,
every touch,
every grasp,
every time
and every day,
she saves him.
And to think herself the wrong,
to take on the trial - the insanity
of only the loyal,
of only her.
The story is titled simply:
a crooked man,
and the perfect lady.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 8:05 AM UTC
we
looked
so drunkly
happy.
nothing
could
pull us
down
of the
infinity
we found
by
lifting
one another
till
dawn
kiks
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
Plumes of smoke drift idly,
like the chatter in my ears
Signal to the barkeep for
another drink to quell my tears
The sultry glow of neon blue
stains my face and hands
I'd like a drink to deal with life
and all the sorrow it demands
The lipstick-kissed martini glass
by elbow, nearly tips
The girl next-stool laughs drunkly
as she turns to me and licks her lips
Her speech was slurred,
her makeup smeared,
Her breath smelled of vermouth
Right then, I knew
That not one thing
She told me was the truth (and she said)
"You're the best-dressed man that
I've seen wander through that door"
"How 'bout we go back to my place?
-Hey bartender, mix two more"
I shook my head, and turned away,
In search of higher class
Nodded to the bartender,
and dropped a five to drain that glass
My gaze cut through the whiskey'd fog
And then my heartbeat stopped
When I spied a lovely blonde
alone, and looking at her watch
I crossed the floor, and thought "maybe tonight I'll be a man"
Kept on walking when I saw her
14-karat wedding band
The sultry glow of neon blue
Stains my face and hands
I'd like a drink to deal with life
And all the sorrow it demands
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC