"interlaces" poems
I met someone
we had some fun
then we were done
he made me so happy I couldn’t write
he made me so happy I didn’t bite
he made me so hopeful I thought we might...
I met this man
whose daddy hand
could burn my sand
we stole each other’s shirts
kissed each other where it hurts
planted flowers in these dirts
repainted stained and tainted glass
gave each other words to pass
decided not to pay for class
alas...
sand falls through spaces
between fingers’ interlaces
wind blows it in our faces
we shared some time
body soul and mind
there is no rewind
I said things I didn’t mean
Across the darkness like a screen
Pages burned and turned the scene
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
This is where
where our darkest demons come to play
they intertwine with dark interlaces of mingle
layered and stacked
our brains become not so seemingly single
for its all here
here in these dark layers of uncertainty and fear
you tell your tale tells of blue ivy dreams
to which your identity in an essence is perecieved as seen
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
There is a place within your heart
that is reserved
for the one you love the most
The one you must have
That special soul
that interlaces
with yours
becomes part of you
part of your very being
Without whom
life is empty and longing
I knew the moment I saw you
That it was you
That you were the one
The warm sunlight
shining in my darkness
I knew I had to have you
That you would be in that place in my heart
Although, I had only just met you
One glimpse was enough
I am so glad my love
That after all these years
You still shine
your warm sunshine
on me
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
Dripping with wild rafflesia, our home's halls reek,
As she walks, the stench interlaces with her, thick, fetid and bleak,
She reaches the dead-end, bringing the corpse lily to her lips,
I lurch an arm, but she's too far from my fingertips,
Now all I can do is watch as her teeth slowly, slowly, gnaw,
I'm there while her skin wrinkles like lapping sewage at shore,
Petals seep from her mouth in ****** clumps, gathering at the fold,
The dulcet caress of chewed flora blot her chin like gilded mould,
Her coughing tethers to the tantalizing ticks of the kitchen clock,
With no choice but to watch on, I stay until the final tock.
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 4:43 AM UTC
She weaves worry
forming a fabric
that interlaces dread
a craft created by the
aberration of a single
vulnerable thread
Jun 25, 2021
Jun 25, 2021 at 6:08 PM UTC
I remember my own Conceiving,
Stridulation of a loosen springs
Of jalopy parked somewhere in the rear
Of an upper level of a parking on the
Skirts of town forgotten by me but
Remembrance still is vivid as if I am
Creeping on my four to to the shaking
Out of tune a little vehicle with lights out
Both rear and front and litters of used Condoms with ***** filling and leaking
From its rubber carcass and butts Smothered though some flickering still
In the darkness of night on the skirt of
The forgotten town where misty and Panting glass was to and fro to and fro
Up and down and sidewise with a chance
Limb or feet splattered against sideways Windows leaving a print of sole with
All its interlaces and wrinkles and crinkles
And toes with torn flannel out of passion
Or just lost on the skirts of the town
Forgotten by Everyone but me where I am standing
Watching my own conceiving by monster
Of a doubled backs back in the car in the
Town where lights of out but reek was
There as if inherent in the very concrete
And all blocks and bricks and levels and
Tiers and I remember there my own
Conceiving as I was standing there on my
Own four and creeping up to swaying Lizzie and getting on my hind double
And approaching the panted and misty
Window with my both eyes reflecting
And glancing back at me at which a
Moment ever I arise with sweat
A-dripping down my temples and back
And cheeks and arms and breast
And wall in front of me in the dark
Town forgotten by everyone but me in the
Car where I remember was my own
Conceiving
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 3:51 AM UTC
rose gold in black marble hues,
like the sun in cloud-casted blues.
she is held as a precious gem
more valuable than the rarest of jewels.
she is the sun you gaze up with ardor;
her orange glow brews in your noons.
and when night interlaces with day
she turns to the beaconing moon.
i am no more than a star celestial—
only fractions of day do i appear.
and even so as twilight falls,
pollution blends with the atmosphere.
proficient main lead, front row seat
she is a prominent role in your play
yet in the background i stand once more
in the analogy of night and day.
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 1:20 AM UTC
traces of faces
and what they said
places and spaces
and paths i've tread
grace's embraces
the tears that i shed
interlaces encases
this mental homestead
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 5:06 PM UTC