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Noel Irion Aug 2011
song and *dance,
                             a lovely combin
ation.
whiskey and women,
                                      a deadly intoxic
ation.

put two and two together,
                                                                          el
ation*.
                                                             higher
                                                       no
                                              ain't
Janal Rajput Nov 2019
Where the sea kisses the land,
And Luna and Sole coincide,
Between them is a fine, fine, line,
They walk both sides of it,
Love and Hope,
In pure gold dance in diamonds and step in sunshine,
Love holds his hand showing a world to behold,
Their ambiance intoxic worth dying for it,
He could waste his youth forever,
Chasing kites, he finds no better time,
Lets them rub his back, grow in his spine,
Dancing to his own beat, two left feet,
Hope covers his eyes in the heat,

He looks back into the divide,
Where the sea kisses the land,
And Luna and Sole coincide,
There it is again, caressing his chest,
That feeling- it flows like the wind,
He sees Love elegantly dressed alone,
By the cliff-side, wanting to meet the high-tide,
Something broke, and he wanted home,
Chasing Love he screamed and wailed,
Begged her stop, she seemed so very far,
He couldn't stop her despite how he tried,
He couldn't believe it, is it true;
That some feelings can travel too?
So he watched Love meet the sea,
A silver bullet piercing the murky blue,
A shred of light glimmers in depravity,
Prayed for salvation or divine retribution,
For someone to find his center of gravity,
Maybe in the murky blue he'll find absolution,
Maybe in depravity there is the solution,
Maybe amongst the pollution and the convolution there is revolution.
Ocean Jul 2020
The intoxic flame framed phrase, burned my heart.
The unholy sin was unspoken, foreshadowed in the words.
Her captivating silky hair were surely not washed of fain, but of something more cleansing something more, concentrated.
Soft silence on her tongue, emphasised her words because the rose she spoke of was never found anywhere, but smelled in her books which had no bookmark.
The brightness that highlighted dark, was traitor
It represented her unkindliness with grace,
What looked in her coy, was actually pride
And her trap shaped in a window to good times.

Her scent was morphine, her smirk another shot, her plead an order, her wish, motive.
With guilt formed wrong thoughts of her, with pleasure her image.
But she was someone wise, who carried a knife and killed with smile.
Deepali Oct 2020
Smelting down to the road
Catching up the upside park
Hence had to ignore the harsh human vibrations
Which comes in way anyhow
whether its a old or new
Passing good amount of care.
.
Next
.
Reaching up the satifactory level with the one whom we met for the first time
And then intended to vowled such good stuffs that goes so amazing
That you wana go on and on with the toxic or intoxic flow going inside body
Mapping new ideas
Mapping new human being
Mapping new adventure
Mapping this universe another journey which has started up again.
But
This time focus.
Its a new life... time gave me today to again bounce back and come back again with maturity, responsibity.
David R Mar 2021
****** softness,
Angelic colour,
Gentle to taunt us
Queen of Summer.

Still she rises
Golden wonder,
Shows her prizes
Makes me younger.

Pink's too ordinary,
It's more lavender,
Heaven's emissary,
Beauty's avatar.

Aroma intoxic,
Sweetest optic,
First Rose in Spring,
Thou art everything.
Jack Neobard Aug 29
Summer, let me have Summer.

What once were the lush greens saturated in little stars now eclipse themselves in the spectacular distract of this new blooming fluorescence.

Why must one worth so of envy so be brief?
Brief too as any one leap of intoxic bliss before snuffed mercilessly by a gravity vengeance.

Now, I abandon myself.
An exhausted onlooker gone to capture the light, left now in the pitch and the cold,
Looking on as our fateful blooms crispen, shiver and die, leaving behind a disgorged skeleton;
It’s forked bones petrified lightning clacking amidst in my starved exhale.

Branches bare.
Branches of sorrowful recollection and bitter regret,
For this claim of springtime flowers was but a sly herald for my greenery deceased.

Summer, let me have Summer,
Though I dread it’s attention.
Such fresh green leaves would forever be spoiled with the poison memory of those flowers.
Of that conniving innocence.

Summer will never be enough.
A story of a heartbreak. Of a longing of a simpler time, but the knowing that if that time would return, it still would not be the same.

— The End —