"glossiness" poems
her hair blows back in the breeze
as she strolls down the sidewalk
between all the trees
with a smile that reveals
every one of her teeth
and the dimples
of her red, freckled cheeks
she's an angel, i think
her divine, secretive lips
shine in their glossiness
begging me for a kiss
i stand aback, watching
mesmerized by her beauty
only able to muster the words
'dat booty''
- jared huskey
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
The whiteness of pearl
The glossiness of gold
See the richness of girl
From me walking away
Feel the warmth of her slap
Sense the sound of her thrash
See the rudeness of the girl
who is walking away
She say “I love your honesty”
I know honesty the best policy
Why is she so lunatic,
who is walking away?
She asked me for date
She was in shopaholic state
Guess the stubbornness of the lunatic
Who calls me miser again
Her gold bracelet not faked
But her sympathy is baked
It’s the attitude of the girl
That is baking that cake
Boy becoming single
Hardly changes the weeks
But the girl who left him
Tails a queue of pervert geeks
Oh come on my freakin brain
Just split out the stupid pain
See the hot figure of the new chick
Who’s walking on my way
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
I have medicine.
Am being kept alive by progress.
Little pills like droplets of pale blue
Doctor-nectar.
I have been inside women so beautiful
I nearly gave up
Ghost.
Their confidences were instruments
Of classical composers.
The creative pleasure of the
Universe manifested. Aesthetics. Pure.
Their bodies were salty
Words longing to be
Poetry.
They did it.
Made flesh immortal.
My hands were dead upon them; my
Heart skipped beats in the name of
Glossiness.
Twig fingers upon dead silicone.
And I grew around their hearts
Like a tree around a graveyard light post;
Watered with tears and appreciated at times
When any
Grieving heart throws itself at anything
Beautiful and
Rigid.
For something.
I know love.
It tickles and hurts.
And I know death.
They're related.
Sisters separated at birth.
I know Poetry.
She says to Death and Love:
*Do you guys have the
Other two
Thirds of
This
Medallion?*
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
A box of matches in your hand
You hold one before me, I catch your glance
I watch you strike it,
friction igniting an incense of fireside
I see the flame reflecting in the glossiness of your eyes
So bright and beautiful, warm
As swift as it’s flame became, it’s out
The smell of burning pine, cold
So comforting yet sullen
and without regard or regret I had fallen
Falling now, deeper into ashes
Of quickly struck matches
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC