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Madison Aug 2018
Not all depressed cut,
Not all sad shed tears,
Not all strong fight,
Not all monsters roar,
Not all young are innocent.
Some just work harder to maintain a mask.
We are here,
And you have reason to fear,
We are the best liars,
We can manipulate the greatest con artist without batting an eyelash.
Watch out we are coming.
This is a dark and serious p poem but that didn't change the fact that In was tempted to put "and we're queer" instead of " And you have reason to fear" ****
Skaidrum Jun 2015
.
Ͼ Dragonite, Dragonite,Ͽ
>< >< ><
Chinking at your heartstrings,
can you hear
it
շfreezing?շ

>< >< ><

A blush to
your snowy skin
and so you
stop
⇷breathing⇸

>< >< ><

A eyelash brushes away
a century,
a blink knocks out
two more.

>< >< ><

Fetching back a inked paw,
hear me rapping (oh so knocking)
on
your
selladore?  (cellar door.)

>< >< ><

Ͼ Dragonite, Dragonite Ͽ
brush the stars from your hair.

Ͼ Dragonite, Dragonite Ͽ
Words and blotches are unfair.

But then again,
scatter your inkheart, dragon boy.
.
This ones for you, Kal.
Eat the sky out, mate.

© Copywrite
Abigail Rose Jan 30
I’m so for you my
heart turns at quandaries like
thoughts of your eyelash
Styles 12 Aug 2018


secrets at dusk
tasted vigorous as
Coltrane blues

in a smokey nightclub
under mysterious saxophone seas

this style is not my own
but it helps me swim better

I decided to adopt it
curious why it tugs ruthless
on spit fire sleeves

deliciously drowning me free.




forest moons at night

help you drop it all
bags of unwanted programs
flung from broken chimneys

violet threads pass perfect
through kitchen chipped glass

moth wings burning summer up
like her eyelash fluttering innocently on some other guy's cheek

shattering divisions snag
on moonlight betrayal dance

enormous sea hooks chop in
helpless lips seduced
mad quicksilver rush

reserve this room for my only friend

we have private letters to write
on a future night when
god dreams come true.

This is for you.





My only friend.


What weighs heavy is certain light
how it pierces
through troubled waters.

A million traces of faces
lit up in every beam.

One night I felt it bleed through me
using rivers of sun-fire screams.

Volcanic poetry spoke without a sound.

Jim Morrison breaking through doors
under spells of hypnotic waves
wild vibrant shimmering
on multi-colored sheets.

This style is not my own
but it helped me lava streak
across bitter shores.




Now,

my voice strays away.

Gone hunting

a broken well voice
picked up by an old cracked bucket
leaking simple worded wishes

deciding to voluntarily borrow her
stolen forest eyes.

I heard them speak translucent leaf
on a summer day
when clairvoyant kids
heard God speak

on pathways of brilliant blue lake

when sunshine
whispered us
in scintillating ripples

right before our astounded,
washed feet.




I am dripping funeral summer sweat
under tombstone studded trees

smiling while choking in
liquid clouded dark.

Alone but not alone.

Mighty Ghosts of heaven
holding my head up

making sure the Nile
doesn't gush out while
I still cannot even write or speak

turn my notebooks into confetti
nothing describes this mysterious sea

a new species of saxophone waves
has belted its killer wonderland
sound out across an entire broken stage.


*

I can picture us
walking barefoot
on star contacted sand

gazing out
under champion chandelier wonders

walking on Texas Lightning storm colors
bellies full on Rumi soul food

our secret flames
burning up
plastic playgrounds

violating propriety
on some nuclear guarded beach

schools of fish cut
by saxophone hooked seas

blasted by vaults of unwrapped poems
someone else wrote perfect
in our dreams

we hope one day
the unpredictable silence
of simple worded wishes

will help us

extravagantly bloom
new spring leaves
rain stamped on tender delicious works

after winter is done
savagely wishing us dead
we are touched by other worlds.
https://youtu.be/6xcwt9mSbYE

For Drew
Love lost stoner, quiet loner,
what are you reading just now?
Gentle mother, sister, brother,
help me learn to forgive one another
Blunder, come out from under
your rock
Wash up, put on some new
socks
Wash your gentle love
locks
Long eyelashes and rock, crooked
corrupted slop
Just taste a drop, tip of your
tongue
Exhale your lungs, we are all
one
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2017
once upon a wrote


here and there, in fables and tales,
some in no guile and others
in chancier disguises,
some sine-known and some sign-unknown,
some dead in stillbirth,
some penned these words,
some a few decades old,
some of but a moment ago eyelash distant,
making me think that
someday I will scribe,
cobble some truths and
some falsehoods into one
leaping heaping melting scoop,
letting you decide,
which for better,
which for worse...


<•>

"No matter that plain words
are my ordinary tools,
With them I shall scribe the small,
Cherish the little, grab the middle,
Simplicity my golden rule,
Write they say,
about what you know best,
Surely in the diurnal motions,
The arc of daily commotion,
Do we not all excel?"

<•>

the reason we say so oft,
in whispers emboldened,

I love you

to our children
is not the utility of
its summarizing brevity

no, no.
it is because
the eloquence of simplicity
supersedes any other poem
any of us could ever write...

<•>

is this craft that chose you,
not defined by machine millimeters,
precision absolute,
curvatures, so eye-pleasing,
they demonstrate no tolerance
for tolerance of the ordinary?

the skill of words, too, cut so fine,
find the  extraordinary within,
refine, refine, refine,
shave away the trite,
the reused,
discard the instant recognition,
unusable

<•>

There are natural toxins in us all,
if you wish to understand the
whys, the reasons,
of the nearness of taking/giving away
what soully belongs to you,
do your own sums,
admit your own truths,
query not the lives of others,
approach the mirror...

<•>

The Truth Burden
is the accursed need obligatory,
the sacred sanctity requisitioned,
when the whenever,
chooses to drop in and upflag the mailbox,
an uninvited invitation,
announcing with precise bluntness,
that precisely now,
is the tool crafted moment
and you fool,
the selected tool

you must render unto Ceaser,
by your own hand,
render your own rendering,
do your own undoing,
go forth and in haste,
will thyself into the cauldron of the
Great Mystery of Creation

you cannot lie in poetry

<•>

come, sit for awhile, in poet's nook,
soft pillows for our hard Adirondack chairs,
situe hard by the bay, if too hot, we'll slow
drift to the sun room of
lace curtains and suicide poems,
still we'll observe the water, the rabbits, the cacophony low,
listening to all the noisier, nosier
creatures asking themselves,
and the trees and leaves,
where did all those poets come from?

<•>

to the interior delve,
via brush or limb,
pen or music,
the exposition, the exploration,
the reconstruction of composing
one's self, creation and destruction
of your own myths

movement of arms and legs,
sparseness of simplicity,
subsidiaries of centricity,
tributaries of complexity

<•>

how cold are the carpenter's hands,
the weather, but an added obstacle,
this heat, makes dying different difficult,
the wood bearing cross requires additional nails
and flesh, for the extra load he's bearing,
when it snows blood in Jerusalem

the whole world can transition
when one man dies and another is risen,
where oh where lies then, the juxtaposition?

there is none, for man is man,
his divine spark, embedded,
to his maker's mark, welded and wedded,
neither snow or sun,
can ever extinguish


<•>

now I ken better distance 'tween
artist and art,
I, a workingman's
daily dallying in simplistic machine craft,
my works deservedly lost in
the water-falling
of the endless also rans

non-nebulous distances.between skies of
Oregon country blue and
the worldy worn asphalt grayed words of
a graying man aging,
then let clarity speak, in plainest harmony,
know my deference’s soars to the high above,
one of us at birth, god gifted,
was not I,
it ain't me babe, but
one of us, his tongue,
like Moses-stung
with a hot coal
of language's divinity


<•>
Heavy Hearted Nov 2018
be careful-
you dont want to fall in love with me;
Im hard to hold and cold to touch (fall to pieces/treat the rush).
dont fall in love with me
because Im inherently cruel.
You will put me  above all, as the only priority, yet I will never be enough to show you how that feels.
dont fall in love with me
because I will watch you sacrifice, in every moment you thought you knew I will watch as you suffer for what you love. 
dont fall in love with me
because I will lock the door
from the inside so dont wait around,
dont fall in love with me
because I know my worth and I will demand many things, most of which will be a challenge,
yet I'll expect everything unto us for I know what my love does really offer.

Fall in love with me and
my soul will trace you back, and you'll see
I'm a rainy night, the silent snowfall in a lonely November; that im the space between each eyelash when you grin.  I'm a sunset that hangs over the smoking, foggy lake, and im the tiny hairs that cover a raspberry.
Im a song
and a poem and an epitaph alike
Im the dirt gravel path in the forest you hike.
I'm the wind and the rain
Im the first sip of tea
Im a warning to head,
Im the deep dark blue Sea,
Im whips of hard smoke,
perplexities
Im only what you want me
to be.
x free verse x
Joe Workman Aug 2014
The radio alarm is a bit too strong
for his afternoon hangover taste.
He goes downstairs, sets the coffee to brewing,
rubs his hands through the hair on his face.
As he sits and he smokes, he can't quite think of the joke
she once told him about wooden eyes.

The coffee is ready, his hands are unsteady
as he pours his first cup of cure.
He tries to be happy he woke up today,
but whether being awake's good, he's not sure.
Outside it's raining, but he's gallantly straining
to keep his head and his spirits held high.

As soft as the flower bending out in its shower,
fiercer than hornets defending their hives,
the memories of sharing her secrets and sheets
run him through like sharp rusty knives.
He decides that his cup isn't quite strong enough,
takes the ***** from the shelf, gives a sigh.

He goes to the porch to put words to the torch
he still carries and knows whiskey just fuels.
Thunder puts a voice to his hammering heart.
Through ink, his knotted mind unspools,
writing of butterflies and of how his love lies
cocooned under unreachable skies.

From teardrops to streams to winter moonbeams
to a peach, firm and sweet, in the spring,
he writes of pilgrims and language and soft dew-damp grass
and how he sees her in everything.
He rambles and grieves, and he just can't believe
how much he has bottled inside.

He writes how the leaves, when they whisper in the breeze,
bring to mind her warm breath in his mouth,
how when walking through woods he loves the birdsong
when they fly back in the summer from the south
because she would sing too and he always knew
he wanted that sound in his ears when he died.

He writes even the streetlights, fluorescent and bright,
make him miss the diamond chips in her eyes,
how the fountain in the park plays watersongs in the dark
when he goes to make wishes on pennies
and while he's there he gets hoping
there will be some spare wishes
but so far there haven't been any.

He writes that the cold makes him think of the old
hotel where they spent most of a week,
lazing and gazing quite lovingly,
and how he brushed an eyelash off her cheek.
The crickets and frogs and all of the dogs
sound as mournful as he feels each night.

He writes about chocolate and fun in arcades,
he writes about stairwells and butchers' blades,
and closed-casket funerals, and Christmas parades,
then sad flightless birds and tiny brigades
of ants taking crumbs from the toast he had made,
and political goons with their soulless tirades,
old-timey duels and terrible grades,
strangers on  buses, harp music, maids,
the weird afterimages when all the light fades,
the pleasure of dinnertime serenades,
sidewalk chalk, wine, and hand grenades.

He writes of how much fun it would be to fly,
and saltwater taffy and ferryboat rides,

sitting on couches, scratched CD's
pets gone too soon and overdraft fees,

the beach, the lake, the mountains, the fog,
David Bowie's funny, ill-smelling bog,

jewelry, perfume, sushi, and swans,
the smell of the pavement when the rain's come and gone,

and shots and opera, and Oprah and ***,
and tiny bikinis with yellow dots,

stained glass lamps, and gum and stamps,
her dancing shoes on wheelchair ramps,
that overstrange feeling of déjà vu,
filet mignon and cordon bleu,

bad haircuts at county fairs,
honey and clover, stockmarket shares,
the comfort of nestling in overstuffed chairs,
and her poking fun at the clothes that he wears,
and giraffes and hippos and polar bears,
cumbersome car consoles, monsters' lairs,
singing in public and ignoring the stares,
botching it badly while making éclairs,
misspelled tattoos, socks not in pairs,
people who take something that isn't theirs,
the future of man, and man's future cares,

why people so frequently lie
and bury themselves so deep in the mire
of monetary profits when money won't buy
a single next second because time's not for hire,
and that he sees her in everything.

Then unexpectedly, unbidden from where it was hidden
comes the punchline to the joke she had told him.
He laughs -- it's too much and his heart finally tears
as a blackness rolls in to enfold him.
The last thing he hears is birdsong in his ears --
the sound brings hope and is sweet as he dies.
Evan Stephens May 26
You are somewhere between
the track of my gaze and
Dublin's last days,
long with summer
& brittle breeze,
& fickle cloud
that denies a sun.

You are something between
a Daydream Delusion
& the poems I write that
speak your name with
every vocabulary.
"Limousine eyelash."
You are still here, and
you always will be.
Patricia LeDuc Mar 2018
I wished on a shooting star
I wished on the first star I saw in the night
I wished on an eyelash to find a true love
I wished on the candles on my birthday cake
I wished on the penny I threw in the well
I wished on a wishbone breaking it in two
I wished on a dandelion blowing seeds into the air
I wished on a ladybug to grant me good luck
I wished our love would come true
I wished you knew of my love for you

I wished that I knew… you were wishing for me too

I wished
I wished
I wished

I wished until there were no wishes left

(****! Where’s that Genie when you need him?)
March 27th 2018
Carmen Jane Apr 3
Traveling back in time,
My new hobby, it seems
To be
Reliving moments,
My heart replaying
The same exact beats

When traveling in dark places,
I am holding my own hand
And I am kind, kind with myself
I whisper in my left ear
That I will overcome
Anything,
I lay on my chest from that time
With my legs curled up
So I can be carried
By my old self
As a lucky charm
I press myself hard
In my own old self
Trying to glue
On my own skin,
A perpetual hug
Oh, how brave I was !

Instead traveling back
To those happy, enchanting places
I become the grass where I once stepped,
I become the breeze around my old self,
I hear every quiet rustling
That I did when playing with my hair
Coiling it around my fingers
I hear the echoes of my laughters,
That hit the leaves,
Of my own tree of knowledge
I hear every eyelash bat,
That creates waves,
Of warm loving breeze,
I whisper in my right ear,
Hold on to this moment
Don't let go just yet
Just a scribble
AJ Farruco Dec 2018
Nobody cares/
Don't expect nothing from no-one/
Except Allaah/
Who doesn't break His promise/
People shouldn't ****/
If they don't want to get hated/
On my nerves like an jackhammer/
Snap like a mousetrap/
Replica of my life/
Just to watch myself watch myself/
Awareness is a carcrash/
Broken body alarm clock/
Woke, without enough sleep/
Feet in my back/
Elephant eyelash in the public eye/
Embarrassment is dead./
26/12/2018.
Midnight Rain Apr 15
i have travelled
for miles
with parched lips splitting scarlet,
crescent eyes wandering the skies
searching for a meaning
that cannot be found

something like courage sleeps
tentatively between my brow,
my hands reach within me and
come back shaking,
both palms filled with fear
yet i do not dare lift an eyelash
at fate, it tests me as it must,
i suffer as i should

this is the life of a musafir
, *
a journey of the self that never ends, a pain that lives almost infinitely
and every breath
that passes, passes through in breaks

*musafir: persian word for  traveler, wanderer, passenger, etc.

feels unfinished but i’m okay with it
Wade Redfearn May 2018
Something rattles in the soul.
It must be paid attention -
  it is the soul, the only sure thing -
and rattled in return.

Slow begins the dance of tongues and hard news.
I learn a thing I never wished to learn.
Afterwards,
a dance of tongues in the ensuite
begins a sudden rapture of claiming.

Nails mine, skin mine
to make a pink impression on.
Bile in the back of the throat, mine.
Fear of death, mine. Oaths and oaths,
mine, too. An exchange of humility,
knee for a knee. The rigid wall at your back.
The wall at your back.
The night which enriches
bluer out of the blue air,
not the action of
the world moving at all.

The particles of water in a birdbath divide,
decide among themselves
to marry each to each, to reproduce.
They become an ocean.
They drown the birds.
My mouth fills with feathers,
teeth itch with the tiny mites
running between the shafts.

I am a bell, and you are a country.
I am a bell and sound from far away.

Hands touch the broken vase in her parts, the toes,
the eyelash, the sunken wreck, the crowd of dead,
the treasure.
They say
  all this
as if the map was drawn
and burned
and came again
in char from the tablecloth
to all our wonder.

A single miracle can last for weeks in the mouth. Sometimes centuries.

I will spend eighteen days in the void of grace.
What begins as a pain in my shoulders
will grow into a tree and bury me.
I will want promises, promises, promises.
(water, water, water)
I will never be satisfied.

Looking always for permanent loss it becomes easy to simply
misplace.
Your caution leads to strange decisions.
You put your keys in the fridge.

I would like to say I knew the words:
I cut the lock of hair, I drew the blood.
The hex was removed by faith and chaste reflection
but everywhere I look, there is a confusion
of hungry birds and beggars
and I forget the spell,
or what chaste reflection even is.

Anyways, something breaks. Not my doing.
Suddenly, I am just noticing sky again.
I am transcribed back into English.
My first decision is to wash my car,
and next,
to learn what faith meant to anyone.

Charmed, is it?
Something rattles in the soul.
It must be paid attention -
  it is the soul, the only sure thing -
and rattled in return.
It has nothing, really, to say.
It only rattles.
Just ask me.
joy Dec 2018
denial
it took me three months to accept the fact that you didn't like me anymore and four more months to accept the fact that you hadn't liked me to begin with. i stood there, foolishly thinking you would hold my hand and smile down at me like you used to.

2. anger
i was furious when i found out. i deleted all our pictures, my poems, your messages, our playlist. i deleted everything and i punched the wall and i cried.

3. bargaining
i asked you to be friends with benefits with me. if not emotionally intimate, at least i could be physically intimate. i begged god for you to be mine. i used all my 11:11 and eyelash wishes on you.

4. depression
i hysterically cried myself to sleep for months on end. it got so bad i had to go to the counselors and my parents got a dog and you got worried and everyone else was terrified i was going to **** myself over you.

5. acceptance
you now have a girlfriend. she's beautiful and radiant and everything i could never be and i.. blocked you. i accepted that you're a beautiful person but we could never be and we're unhealthy for each other. it took too long but i will not let my progress come undone.
disgusting. i hate myself for ever letting myself love this person. i wish he had never spoken to me that one night. cheers 2 one year of pain
Jade Jan 18
Most days,
she feels so lost,
that you would think
there was once a time
when she belonged to someone,
that she had accidentally
been misplaced somehow.

But you must first have something--
want something--
before you can lose it.

(And no one has ever wanted her.)

She is a translucent thing,
you see.

She must walk through walls,
for no one--
neither friend nor foe--
seems to notice her
when she enters a room.
(or when she leaves one.)

She’ll slip away
from a crowd so easily,
it was almost as if she was
never even there at all.
It only takes a second–
a breath,
a bat of an eyelash;
by the time you’ve turned around,
she’s gone.

(she's always been good at disappearing,
or maybe you're just bad at paying attention.)

But it’s no matter;
her presence does not faze you,
so what makes her
absence
any different?

No one would care
to love a girl like her,
anyway.
A girl so
o u t
                o f
p l a c e.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience.)
Like the dance of a song bird
That whistles its secret
Over an icy lane
And believes  
In a wishing plea
So~~~
Wish on a pine tree
Just for me
Wish down a well
But never tell
Wish on a star
Hope it goes far
Wish on a birthday candle
May it return that which
Only you can handle
Something that brings divine bliss~~~
Did you wish for a chocolate kiss?
Wish on a penny
May it fill your cup with many
Wish on founded feather
May hearts bond forever together
Wish on a four leaf clover
Don’t forget the songbird’s flyover
Wish on a dandelion
Wind carries its seed to fresh pine
Wish on an eyelash
Maybe for a little cash
Wish on a turkey wishbone
Before desserts blueberry scone
Colored rainbow high in sky
A wish to gratify~ oh my
Wish on high moon
Above a blue lagoon
Wish on digital eleven
To be granted by seven
Wish on flying ladybug
May it be returned with the tightest hug
Wish on a stone’s flat side
For a spiritual guide
Wish on coins in a fountain
Picturesque terrain
Of water~ not champagne
Acorn wishing tree
Better wish more than three
Wish as you move necklace clasp
Held tightly in your grasp
~~~
Believe in a secret you’d like to tell
One you said by a wishing well
That wishing tree
With your written ribbon of plea
Is nothing like ~~~
The wish under bright fireworks
As your angel quietly smirks...
MARIGOLD’S FEVER 2019
An icy storm howled and groaned about me, whipping the trees to and fro in its insatiable wrath. Sheets of rain poured from the murky sky, a torrent of water and wind pummeling my aching body.
I felt so small as I stood in the midst of the raging storm. So small and useless.
What was I but a mere ant, an insignificant worm in the face of this world? How could anything as small as I carry a ripple?
The world would still wage its wars, blind to the evil it was; injustice and oppression practically embroidered into the fabric of existence. Rulers would still dictate and control. The poor citizens would suffer in their poverty as the higher up drowned in their riches. Those who stood up and spoke out against the nobles were persecuted for questioning authority.
And so it seemed to me as if nothing we ever did would make a difference.
Lowering lashes glimmering with dew, I let the rain wash over me.  It seemed an ironic time for a storm, and I wondered if maybe the world was crying—lamenting over what humanity had come to.
“Why are you standing out here amid the rain?”
I took a ragged breath before turning around, blinking water out of my eyes. Eleanor stood behind me, leaning against a jagged pillar and studying me with an inscrutable expression.
“I thought I’d find you out here.” She said and pushed herself off the rock to face me. Her curly dark mass of hair was plastered to her face, and her fierce hazel eyes glimmered with condensation. “Moping won't get you anywhere you know.”
I shook my head at her. “I’m not moping.”
It was easy, easier than it should have been to slip on the masquerade, to look as if there was not a care in the world. The recent ordeals had left me drained and numb.
Eleanor threw her head back and laughed loudly. “I know moping the moment I see it. Now, spit it out.”
I clenched my fists in the pockets of my thick coak. “I am simply debating the best course of action to take from here.”
She grinned humorlessly. “You little liar. I see right past your guise down into your soft little heart. You can't-fool me, Flynn, I’ve seen more in this harsh world than someone twice my age.”
I tried to push the smoldering anger away, but her words sparked an inferno. She had no idea, no idea, of what I have gone through. How dare she make rash assumptions off of her own feeble experiences?
“You know nothing of what I have endured,” I said quietly, eyes flashing as I met her gaze.
Eleanor took a few steps closer until she was nose to nose with me. I could count every freckle on her bronze skin, every eyelash.
“You don’t sit around waiting for things to get better, you do something about it.” She whispered fiercely. “The world won't change itself, things won't just automatically get better. Everything that lasts takes time.”
Eleanor turned around and faced the setting sun; the sky lit up with the hues of the sunset. Her silhouette composed an impressive figure against the horizon, glistening with raindrops from the dull drizzle that now swept over the distant mountains.
“Someday,” she breathed, “you won't have to hide.”
I stared at her, enraptured at the quiet strength that overtook her features as she gazed out into the distance.
Eleanor twisted around again, her face somber. “Someday the world will accept you for who you are. But don’t wait for that day, don’t wait up for them—beat them to it and accept yourself now.”
A small beam of trembling sunlight entered into the suffocating darkness, thawing away at the ice that had slowly taken over within. I felt something I had not felt in a long time.
Hope.
Overwhelming in its promise and almost tangible to the imagination. I knew it was far away, farther than the length of the stars and back. And though everything was against me, though I would be met with opposition and suffering—would anyone else raise their voice for change?
I opened my eyes and found them full of the sun. “To an new dawn.”
Eleanor flashed her teeth in a voracious grin, her eyes full of promise. “To a new future.”
I held my breath at the words I would say; terrified my wish would disappear once uttered aloud. “To a world where those born of darkness, can shine just as bright.”

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
#book #authorlife #mywritings #character #fiction #emotional #fantasy #creative #story #darkness #drafts
Roman Payne May 7
Have you ever noticed how the paths the stars travel across the sky depend entirely upon on the way our hands move across each other's bodies?

And how new stars are born when I unhook your dress; new planets, when I unclasp your bra.

And how - when you untie your hair, whole new galaxies are formed, and float off into the nebula as your hair falls down around us.

Have you felt the cosmic trembling of my beard along your earlobe?

Or how - your eyelash sweeping across my chin sends showers of meteors to the end of time?

And how - the slower we proceed with our ritual, the slower, more gently, the earth will spin; the more elegant, more beautiful, the universe will unfold?

And how - we can even go back in time; to live and relive the stories we want retold.

Have you noticed how - all the Universe mirrors us?  

How - every experience and all of existence depend upon the extent of our adoration for each other?

How - we can even go back to the time before the earth was formed - for our love does not need the earth - we are two celestial bodies; nothing will disturb us, nothing will interfere.  

Off in the distance - the planets and stars that are the children of our whispers and moans, fade into eternity.

You see - if we love with enough elegance; adore each other with enough passion; we can even go back to before the entire universe began - to the time with no place, and the place before time.

For our love needs no time to love.

Be still, my love.

Look around us.  
Look at the delicate darkness.
Listen to the infinite silence.
Experience the magnificent stillness.  

It is just you and me.  
Nothing has ever happened.
And, all that is beautiful has yet to come.

Let us create a universe of beauty...

I slide my fingers into the aether of your thighs, to the center of the Universe to become - to the place on your body that will create everything.  For - the Cosmos will come from you, my Love.

Gently - I caress the sphere of your Landica.
I turn it, set it in motion, make it revolve - the way the Earth and all planets some day - are going to revolve once they come into being.

And - as I circulate the cosmic seed of the Universe we are creating, I hang upon the celestial majesty of your lip, and wait for you to utter your primordial - Big Bang.
Recorded version available at https://soundcloud.com/romanpayne
Ilayda Aydın Mar 23
Her Wandering Spirit wanders through the wilderness of love in desert
A sip wine in her pocket
Dripping from her Lover's lip
Girl drinks that wine
Surrounded with a festive environment
Walk ships and pour on the sands
They in-line like soldiers
Where is here?
Songs, cartoon trees and instruments
Sing!
With all of your vivacious
Her love makes rain
And makes pearls fall from sky

My sweety
What it'd be awesome to touch
To hair that will pour the pearls if i touch
falling down to ocean when open your eyelids
swimming... Swimmingggg

i can't reach
What a romantic to be able to dance among your eyelash
  there would be poetry smell on your skin this night
  I feel...
  Let the oceans be filled with wine pouring down from your lip  
  Let the all creatures dance
  Sky is crying to be able to touch the sea
  Oh mon amour!
  Let me being night to be able to be  blanket for you.
  Let me touch to your hair which like sun.

  
  Everything is on the dance this night
  The old lovers are dancing by throwing walking stick
  And she opened her eyes
  Dream got over
  Just desert and hot
  And lonely...
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