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Making love in the sun, in the morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than our blood,
making love while the boys sell headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men- poor folks-
work.
That moment- to this. . .
may be years in the way they measure,
but it's only one sentence back in my mind-
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.
I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
and bottles and bums,
and I look up at the window and think,
I no longer know where you are,
and I walk on and wonder where
the living goes
when it stops.
A L Davies Sep 2011
1
layover in toronto:
******* rain &
emptiness out the window

2
hushed crowds:
the sound of/
rainy footsteps.

3
waiting for the greyhound:
dismal spectres
ask about my change.
sittin' in the big smoke/getting all soaked after a great guelph weekend/on a monday. terminal haikus.
Aaron LaLux Oct 2016
On a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an island,

had a layover in Dubai,
so I decided to visit a friend,
a beautiful traveler such as myself,
in Dubai the Hyatt was her residence,

I got off my flight,
and cleared customs,
took the Metro to Palm Deira,
then emerged into the thick Emirates air,

felt like I’d emerged into a tide pool,
the air was damp and salty,
as if I’d submerged my whole body,
into summer sun heated waters,

walked a long short walk to the hotel,
and entered the oversized lobby,
Dubai lives off of air conditioning,
and the climate control was welcoming,

my friend came down to meet me,
dressed as beautiful as ever,
a flight attendant she was very attentive,
we hugged and she invited me to the rooftop pool,

on the rooftop I changed into my swimming trunks,
because even though it was just I layover,
I bring my trunks with me everywhere,
because you never know when you’re gonna swim,

she stayed poolside,
gazed at me apparently amused,
after a quick dip I emerged refreshed,
toweled off and we talked,

she asked me why I write,
she asked me what my goal was,
I told her I didn’t know why I write,
or really what my goal was,

she pressed on,
and insisted there must be a reason,
so I answered her question,
with the following reasoning,

“I guess I write,
so that our collective humanity,
has some sort of documentation,
of our emotional history.
But I don’t have a goal,
and I am not flattered when people compliment my work,
because I don’t really consider my writings mine,
I consider them the world’s.
So when some says my writing saved their life,
I feel awkward because God wrote it not me,
still I say thank you because I don’t know what else to say.
The books I’ve written are bigger than me,
millions of people have read the poems I’ve penned,
but most people that that have read my poems,
wouldn’t recognize me on the street if they walked past me,
see it’s not me they know it’s the writing I’ve written,
which means readers think they know me,
but they don’t know me at all.”

There’s a moment of silence,
on that rooftop,
all the lights of Dubai,
reflecting in her dark molasses eyes,

and I ask this,

“Do you ever feel trapped?”

She seems a bit perplexed by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,
here you are,
in The Emirates.
You are constantly on call for an airline,
you could be called to go any minute,
so you’re in a constant state of defense.
Plus,
this whether,
I mean,
it’s unbearably hot here,
and people here are completely dependent on A/C,
plus there are cameras everywhere always watching,
and to open almost any door here you need a key,

it seems there’s so much security that nothing and no one is free.”

“No I don’t feel trapped.”

Her answer comes too fast,
as if she doesn’t want to take the time to think about it,
and speaking of time,
my flight to Thailand is quickly approaching.

I change out of my shorts,
put my ‘normal’ clothes back on,
khaki shorts and navy shirt,
so that I can cruise through without being bothered,

but I am bothered,
because I can’t even touch her,
this is Dubai and despite the pretty lights,
this place is not Liberal it’s Conservative Islam,

and everything is forbidden.

We make our way across the rooftop poolside,
walking on plastic grass under canvas canopies,
we get to the outside door she slides her plastic key card,
and we enter back into the climate controlled insides,

we reach the elevator,
she taps her key card again,
the elevator opens,
and we start to descend,

inside the lift I can’t help myself,
she’s too attractive,
so I try to place a kiss on her shoulder,
she pulls away.

“Aaron no!”

“What?”

“We can’t,
not here,
I can get in trouble,
seriously.”

She nods discretely to the close captioned camera,
recording our every movement in the corner,
I guess the only thing we can exchange here is glances,
the system still hasn’t found a way to stop us from making eye contact,

and eye contact is the only contact we’re allowed to make,
everything else is forbidden,
heck they’d probably even outlaw looks if they could,
the elevator opens,

we’re back in the lobby,
she offers to walk me to the metro,
I obviously accept her offer,
I would accept any offer she ever gave me,

We emerge back into that thick Emirate air,
that damp and salty tide pool,
back into that traffic and incessant noise,
back into the smell of the fruits of the sea,

I ask her why it smells so much like fish out there,
she tells me there’s a fish market across the street,
she tells me the Pakistanis shove fish in her face during the say,
and have absolutely no respect for personal space.

we reach the doors of the metro station,
already we can feel the cool artificial A/C breeze,
and I’m again reminded how fake this city is,
fake people fake air fake grass fake plastic trees,

seems she’s the only thing real here,
and we are about to say goodbye,
we hug quickly before we depart,
don’t want to catch the attention of the camera’s eye,

she waives goodbye,
as I descend back down the escalator,
I want to tell her that I don’t like goodbye waives,
because that’s exactly what I saw before I lost my sister,

in other words the last time I ever saw my little sister,
was when she waived goodbye to me,
before she drowned in the fish pond,
actually that’s the only memory I have of my sister,

but that’s another story for another day,
that’s a different trip entirely,
that’s something that happened long ago,
something that now’s a distant memory,

anyways that’s why I wanted to tell the girl in Dubai,
“Please don’t waive goodbye,
because that makes me worried,
that we’ll never see each other again.”,

but it was too late,
the hands of time had already pushed us away,
the escalator was already creating too much space between us,
I guess I can hope that we’ll see each other again in another time and place,

but for now,

I’m on a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an Island,

and the planes coming,
and it’s almost time to board,
and you can’t go back to a passed moment,
because the only constant is change and the only direction is forward,

so be forewarned,
if you love someone tell them right then,
because even when things are just beginning,
everything and every one is only a moment from the very end…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
A lesson in Time and a Reminder to Love
when the moon  writhe and crawling the silent night..
it was time to layover yearning  who clotted for sweetheart..
when the sun excited to greet the morning ..
it was time to embed cheerfulness on the idol of conscience..
sprinkle knitted heart turmoil and dew drops each cavity of jasmine petals ..

i greet to you,  my dearest sister..
each twist will crease beautiful crowded heart longing ..
so that  relieved you feel full carefree breathing..
with the presence of me,
i will fulfill your every drought in the lake of your worries ..
i will treat every your petulant  in lap with more  excellent attention ...

return back to you  as always,  my dearest sister..
to pulling  the curtain  the recesses of the heart that always hiding ..
to wrapping blush smolder desire in your heart arms ..

because your bliss,  my dearest sister..
it's  most beautiful thing that can i enjoy ever ..*

-the poetry is dedicated to a sincere friend of mine, Ha-

┈┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶ ƦУ »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

adinda

kala sang rembulan menggeliat merayapi malam sunyi..
tibalah waktu untuk menyinggahi gigilnya kerinduan sang kekasih sanubari..
kala sang mentari bersemangat menyambut pagi ..
tibalah waktu untuk menyematkan kecerian pada sang pujaan nurani..
menyemaikan untaian gejolak kalbu dan meneteskan embun disetiap rongga kelopak melati..

kusambut darimu, adinda...
setiap simpul lipatan hati yang sesak akan indahnya kerinduan..
agar terasa lega engkau bernafas penuh riang..
bersama hadirku,
kan kupenuhi setiap kekeringan ditelaga keresahanmu..
kan kumanjakan setiap rajukanmu dipangkuan perhatian nan syahdu...

berpulang selalu kepadamu, adinda..
untuk menyibakan tirai pada relung hati yang selalu bersembunyi..
untuk membalut rona kerinduanmu yang membara dalam dekapan hati ..

kerena bahagiamu, adinda...
adalah merupakan hal terindah yang dapat kunikmati..
whatever it's you're seeking won't come in the form you're expecting..
that's why they said,  "man purpose but God dispose.."
****** up along with it, then..
Kevin T Norman Jun 2014
Sometimes in the airport I save a seat for you.
I hope that you will be boarding a plane or on a layover
and we could happen to meet one more time,
before we once again depart in different directions.
Wk kortas Sep 2018
The casket was coming up, swaying and wobbling
Like a novice skater’s layover spin,
The workings proceeding apace,
The stillness of the August heat
Punctuated by disinterested growl of the backhoe,
The occasional out-of-place jocularity by the excavators
The creaky jingle of the chains holding the muddied box
As it proceeded skyward in its clumsy poor-man’s Resurrection.
The affair was being observed by an elderly couple,
Old enough to be of no particular age.  
Their car had Carolina plates,
But their inflections, their casually-tossed idioms
They noted that ruefully The grass needs mowed)
Marked them as natives.
They’d returned (Last time, most likely,
The wife uttered mournfully)
To take their son with them; he’d drowned when was five? six?
(The years will do that to a body, apparently)
In Kinzua Creek some half-century ago,
Back when little boys weren’t under a mandate
To be safe from themselves, as it were.  
He was our boy! We’ve never forgotten him!
The old man said, the words snapping off
In a manner that spoke of something else altogether,
How the whistle at the Montmorenci
Went off at three and eleven for second shift,
And your *** had better be there,
As those were good jobs that didn’t wait for bereavement leave,
Because there was always someone
Just itching to take your spot on the line,
And anyway life went on,
At least in the sense that television screens went all to snow
And tires went flat and fuses blew
And eventually a dead child
Is not always in the forefront of your thoughts,
Only tiptoeing in when the Press ran a picture
Of the Montmorenci Area Class of whenever,
Or there was an item about some other family
Who opened their front door
To a grim sheriff’s deputy with his hat in his hand.  
Eventually, after some time
And in defiance of both the odds and gravity,
The casket was settled into the back
Of the undertaker’s huge old black Caddy,
And the couple cane-toddled back to their car,
Following out the through the old spider-like gates
And onto the main road.
The brief procession fading from sight,
Until there was nothing left to see
Save the hillsides covered in old growth pine.
Syahmi Imran Apr 2014
On the loneliest rail and road
Is where I could see the foggy mountains
As on the trip I stare at the most smoky sky
Is where I could feel my mind at peace and calm

Of questions and imaginations.

On the widest field of grass, being greenish I layover
Is where I could see a figure of your perfect look
As the stars beaming down and as the moon illuminating away
Is when I feel like my heart beats a pound and my chest pumped a gun

Of butterflies and flowers.

And in the deepest hole of heart
Is where you unfold your love and passion
As you're lying down unfurl your affection and addiction
Here I'm sitting, giving, sharing, and holding

*On hopes and an unstoppable benediction.
Aaron LaLux Nov 2016
I’ll never know why someone Loves me,
even if they tell me in their total truth,
it’s possible that even what they believe,
is not exactly totally true,

so I don’t question Love anymore,
I never ask a Lover if they Love me,
because honestly to me love is a verb,
it’s an action not a title,

when in Love,
or making Love,
or showing Love,
or being Love,
there is no time for questions,
why ruin bliss with curiousity,
why have to know why,
why not just accept and be,

see,

I’ll never know why someone loves me,
even if they tell me in their own total truth,
it’s possible that even what they believe,
is not exactly totally true,

through,
the Night Sky I fly,
on a flight from Athens to Cairo,
I have a date with the Pyramids,

was only in Athens for one night,
en route from Budapest,
and with all this traveling,
one might ask when do I rest,

yes,
good question,
a much better question,
than “Why does she love me?”,

Why does she love me?

I’d only just met her,
and we’d only just made love,
still she looks at me so deep,
that I swear to my soul it seems she speaks,

and I swear she’d leave,
not even pack a bag,
she would just runaway to the airport with me,
and fly away to whatever destination comes next,

in this case the Pyramids,
and I’d take her I really would,
because I’ve loved and lost enough to know,
that her Love for me is genuine forget the questions,

so I ask,
on the couch,
in that living room,
at that house in in Athens,

“Will you come with me to Egypt?”,

I pray She says yes,
and as I’m asking her that question in Athens,
on that layover to Cairo from Budapest,
her hands I’m graspin’ and my heart is hopin’,
I’m open,
as open as my invitation to her is,
and then She replies,
in words so plain and full of pain,

“I would love to come with you,
but I don’t have a passport.”

And then everything hits me instantly,
so many things become clear,
I see how wealthy I’ve become,
and I see my success through her despair,

there,
She is,
on that couch at her friends house,
with nowhere to go,

watching false idols on the internet,
fantasizing about people I’ve actually met,
and I realize in that moment,
that I’m as close asSshe’ll ever get to freedom,
I am what She wishes to be,
so of course She’d run away with me,
of course She’d explore the world and her dreams with me,
but she doesn’t even have a passport,

and I am at a loss for words,
for me She is just a layover,
no pun intended,
but I wrote it so I meant it,
and as amazing as she is,
she’s just a Greek girl,
an Athenian human being,
but not Athena and the days are over for the Byzantines,

so she’s stuck there,
in that city of Yesteryears,
flooded now with refugees,
while I’m about to catch a flight out of there,

and I want to say so much,
but sometimes there’s nothing to say,
sometimes there’s no more questions,
and all the answers are plain,

so I don’t ask a thing,
I just sit there with here and smoke,
I just bare witness to another girl’s empty dreams,
because dreams without reality are just hopes,

nope,

not going to question this,
I’m just going to write it all down,
as I fly south over the Mediterranean,
in time for a feast in Giza,

and I want to give here everything,
not just a passport but a path to freedom,
but I’m just a bad boy with a good heart,
so all I give her are these words in hopes she’ll read them,

Alexia,
I love you and I’m willing to be patient,
and when you if ever get your passport,
come find me for I’ll be here waiting,
and I can’t promise you I’ll be single,
in fact I can’t promise you a thing,
because an honest man makes no promises,
and the true embodiment of freedom wears no rings,

but I will be here,
and I will accept you in all your Midnight Lights,
and I won’t ask you any questions,
and I won’t lie to you and tell you everything’s going to be alright,

but I will accept you,
in all your Midnight Lights,
and we will just let what we don’t know rest,
and attribute those unknowns to the Mystery of Life,

and I,
I,
I,
I,

I’ll never know why someone loves me,
even if they tell me in their total truth,
it’s possible that even what they believe,
is not exactly totally true…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

The Holy Trilogy Vol. 1; Masonic Psalms from Holy Lands
available worldwide 11/11/16
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N3QR3E4
True Story?
Josh Bass Aug 2014
I had a three hour layover so I ordered a bartender's handshake
She smiled at me and said "welcome home"
I smiled at her mistake and
told her I was only a visitor
She placed two glasses down and poured the fernet and ginger
The strong solvant dissolved the feeling of being alone
She poured another at half price
For the next three hours
I sipped the heart out of a perfect San Francisco night
Sam Schedler Jan 2012
The trip complete there’s nothing left
Save for the souvineirs.
It was a blast, a welcome rest
I’ll think of it for years.

But here I am at LAX
No dream, no cardigan.
I’ll have to wait a hundred years
Just to lift off again.

Don’t get me wrong the airport’s nice,
The smell is odorless?
The chairs, the chairs, Oh god, the chairs:
The source of my unrest.

I’ll sit and sit and try and sleep
but always: no avail.
The strangers stare, don’t offer help
They watch me as I flail.

The pillow doesn’t offer rest
The armrest pokes me, merciless
My mind white-hot and furious


Just calm down.

Relax your self.

It will all be over soon.

LAYOVER

Denied:  my only boon.
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
The intercom drones
a circadian rhythm
around here &
the lighting is diffused
to keep the masses subdued.
Baggage checkers
act robotic
& it doesn't really matter
if you miss your flight,
have a problem with your seat.
It's all factored
into the system
that the control boys control,
behind the scenes
of this perfectly
orchestrated illusion.
Jimmy Nov 2018
Last night I was able to get a few minutes with the devil at midnight, I was telling her about my ambien fulled mid-flight fist fight
She looked at me with delight as she offered a key with some coke that just hit
just right
She told me
"Kid you're on the right path, people looking to tear you off may tell you that there is value in sit ins and coups, but these chickens get to be yours for the picking. Stay the course
No remorse
Until you're forced on your deathbed
Stick here and you'll be well fed
Maybe your spirit dying of thrist, but what good is a death if you can't afford the hearse?
I'm here to tell you first and last, that after life the afterlife is laughter in the mind of a child. Kid go wild"
Jane Doe May 2012
Her prairie hair is grass gone to seed,
her voice vibrates on a fiddle string.
She taught you the meaning of homeward,
Americana Pollyanna, you tangle her name
in the cold northeastern stars.

She spills tall tales across the porch,
the air smells of thunder and cherry pie.
As a child she caught fireflies in jars
and has a scar in the shape of Alabama,
Pollyanna.

Tonight,
snow clouds roll through Chicago, the air is thin.
You stand in the window on a two hour layover
and look Homeward.

Pollyanna Mystica, a sky full of constellations
that you have already begun to forget:
watermelon seeds spit from the porch,
a spattering of insects on the windshield,
beautifully and infinitely random.


Freckles that trail down her knees and bare feet,
meandering paths you have followed before.
Pollyanna Diana, an fat moon smiles down on
the Kentucky dirt, rutted and red
where she will lay down her tired bones.
onlylovepoetry Dec 2023
Pradip marks the slow disappearance of faces in the market,
unknown yet familiar and thus important to the senses,
for our eyes crave continuity, comfort reassuring that time,
even time that robber par excellent, still provides some comfort
to our souls, in its own way, even the faces of strangers in familiar places are road markers, bookmarks, that even the known unknown offer a measure of solace, as we traverse the old familiar places
of daily life.

it must be remedied. some of you know that I make not idle promises,
that my promises to be there are effected, for I am affected by the
repair of the world in little, measurable manners, so the iCal calendar
modified with a Visit Pradip++, a new addition…

and on the way there
are few more exotic places where poetry grows that
will require some
layover visitations…

only time in its theiving secretive ways stands between me and
you denied grasping arms, taking the measure physical of a
beating heart
and river-wide smile,
maybe even I’ll practice with a trip to
remote foreign places, which they speak
the languages of poetry too,
Snake River, even Iowa!

olp/n.n.
Blown glass heartbeat,

With an extension cord, the vibrations are distancing themselves,

Between macabre and *** luck and **** luck- And affection-

Are heirlooms cry of antique tears.

San Francisco Chronicle:

“Boeing kidnaps…”

And my soul bottled up in an hour layover heist.

Boeing adult-naps.

Texas.

Texas.

Texas.

Amarillo beehive hair across the aisle, smoke and honey.

It stings my tongue, kisses my lungs, legs-crossed on the highest rung.

The Miller High Life-esque, reclining on a quarter moon.

Here we are, patience and mercy.

Here we are patience.

Here we are.

Here.
Kelly Jan 2020
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
My ex boyfriends found a man
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
Who hates me, though he’s never met me
At least that’s what I think
He’ll never be what I am
Or do what I can
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend now
He got himself a man

I get it, I got it
Nope, I understand
My ex boyfriend went and got himself a man

So we move on
Simultaneously
We’ve each found someone new
And he’ll do all things he couldn’t do

As for me

Whatsername and You-Know-Who
I was the chill chick you could kick with
And you made a big deal out of me
For a good minute
But you went back to the strip back to the chicks
With the fake **** that are just as big as mine
You could’ve had me the whole time
I was the real deal, head to toe, Inside out
And I’m furious like .. *******
But I still wonder where we could be, right now
And part of me would probably take you back
Somehow

My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
My ex boyfriends found a man
He’ll never be what I am
Or do what I can
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend now
He got himself a man

As for me

We were strangers headed to rush hour with an hour layover
Complaining about the wait
We bonded realizing we are around the same age
I only got your name off the plate on your necklace
Mackayla
We sat together on the arriving train
You told me about things in your life I had no idea about
Names and places and daily dilemmas and I related right back
You got off 3 stops before mine
When you departed a man and woman sat in the aisle next to ours
And it put me through deja vu because they’re both going through
What we just went through
Strangers at first who converse and relate
He was talking to her about how he likes to meditate
I found this strange
Especially when he told the woman how it was nice to meet and chat
Because life is no longer like that

My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
My ex boyfriends found a man
He’ll never be what I am
Or do what I can
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend now
He got himself a man

As for me

I’m sitting in the plaza one day
On top of the leveled wall
Enjoying the september weather
Checking some messages while waiting on a call
I adjusted my hair, then this man makes his way over
To me from way over there
I had caught him staring at me a few times
But tried not to look him in the eye
He sits right next to me
Thigh-to-thigh
And everyone around us is also a guy
Minding their own business, totally oblivious
Reading the paper, or scrolling their phones
And I just wanted to be left alone
Right across from my own home

My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
My ex boyfriends found a man
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
Who hates me, though he’s never met me
At least that’s what I think
He’ll never be what I am
Or do what I can
My best friend got himself a husband now
He got himself a man
(C) 2017 Kelly Mcaulley
Syd May 2017
looking back on the distance
all the time spent apart and alone
and worrying
and wondering
feeling as though time
was taking its sweet time
and oh, how it was
i remember i would sit in bed at night
and stare at pictures of you until
my eyes were wet with tears
i realized i couldn't remember your face
the details
i thought of you and i couldn't see it
and the pictures never do you justice
i remember waking up each morning
to the crushing defeat
of another long day without you
ahead of me
crawling back into bed at night
thinking,
my god, this is exhausting,
this marathon of missing you.

and oh, how it was
i remember feeling like the end
was nowhere in sight
and this distance would **** me

and now
the only thing that separates us
is a handful of days
and a layover in charlotte
hours away from you
i'm looking back at the day we said goodbye
and smiling
for once
because we are so incredibly close
to the best hello
these airport walls
have ever seen
stay tuned.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
: Janet E Steele*

And what is the body? And what is a house?

The body is home to pain,
there was a mouth that held back a scream
there are wounds that show the face of blood

The body is home to the spirit of layover,
and there he felt at home, listening to the song
time, clock & heart rippled


And what is a house? And what is the body?

The house is an area where there is none
the shadow of the body, in a corner
gramophone placed & prayer sent to far.

Home is where you come back
from a small meeting, and there you are
happy, because you have time to say love.
Josh Nov 2017
"Dreams are foreign and uncomfortable. The common dreamworld never quite mimics life in its truest form."

I flew over snowy mountain peaks on my way to Amsterdam, dreaming of existing in my truest form. My layover in Reykjavik was only three hours long, & I was traveling alone. Three hours is just enough time to worry about getting lost & I pondered what it would be like to let go.

My trip would take me to Amsterdam, then London. I would find myself in Amsterdam again by day 10. I chose to ignore the loneliness by drinking a pint of Belgian beer in a bar that was much too small and enveloped in tobacco smoke.

On my way to the bathroom I spotted a cat prowling the floor like he was hunting for a bird. He was out of place, yet here he was in his truest form. Forever hunting for a bird that was nowhere to be found.
Aaron LaLux Sep 2018
Just touched down from Darwin,
2 hour layover in Sydney & I’m starvin’,
met a girl at the airport,
and invited her to dinner,

they say there’s no such thing as a free lunch,
but I’ve got a credit card that let’s me dine,
at almost any restaurant in any country,
on any continent in any dateline,

so I often invite,
beautiful girls and other fellow travelers,
to dine with me as my guest for free,
where we share stories over appetizers,

more peace stories than war stories,
more love than hate,
because when you really get to know someone,
you find you differ in less ways than you relate,

anyways,
there we were,
both on rest stops till our next stop,
two world travelers,

I’d noticed an engagement ring,
more than a modest sized rock,
but I noticed the finger on which it sat,
made the look a bit odd,

see she wore the ring,
on her ******* instead of her ring finger,
so it was more of a fck you instead of a love you,
I asked her if there was a reason for this position,

she said it was because,
it simply didn’t fit on her ring finger,
that it was a simple mix up that was it but,
I suspected there was a reason that was deeper,

so I questioned her intentions,
why was she with this man but still acting like a free woman,
why was she speaking of “exploding like a volcano!”,
when she sees a man and feels an attraction,

about how she had a fantasy,
of meeting a beautiful Australian man,
on a beach and he’d teach her to surf,
and she’d ride his surfboard from the wave to the sand,

this was when I decided to speak up,
to tell her I didn’t think this engagement would work out,
that maybe tying the knot with a man was already a dad,
was not the best idea for a woman with no kids that liked to go out,

that maybe I was in a way,
an Angel of Divine Intervention,
and how every moment of our lives,
had led us up to that instant,

I told her no man owned her,
that her body was hers alone to control,
that life is too short to compromise,
that there is no moment other than now,

I told her that that was the reason,
that I didn’t have a wife,
because there are many women I love,
and to love only one wouldn’t be right,

how can I tell one of my lovers,
that she’s better than all the rest,
how can I tell any of the others,
that they’re not as good as the one that I’m with,

I can’t,

because love is not confined into the body of one,
love is free to love and do what love does,
and with that we finished our tapas,
and finished our rendezvous with cappuccinos and hugs,

back into the world,
back into the embrace of another lover,
back into the future,
to make more memories with more women at more dinners…

∆ LaLux ∆
NeroameeAlucard May 2016
She bit her lip as I stared at her body
I'm a moral man, or at least I try but tonight I felt more corrupt than John Gotti,
I jumped on her, desire written on her lovely face,
And I kissed and caressed her body
Her grunts and low groans sounding even better than a hole with an ace

She was quite the tease all through the night,
She wanted to be in charge on this encounter
She pushed me up against the minibar
And rode me right there, rough and wet on the counter

Then I got up, if for a brief moment, and laid her doggy against the still running sink
We had *** so many times that night
The next morning I could barely think

And that's my story everyone,
The best layover, well lay under really that I've ever had
Maggie Bartolome Jul 2014
We share a room. The light from her iPod stopped bugging me after a while.
We took out the bunk bed after we decided to be grown ups.
On a double matteress we gather hours of rest,
Our bodies barely touch or coil together
Just the breathing sounds we make in our sleep states are comforting enough.
When we hear a bump, we consult each other of whether we should leave the room or just go back to bed.
She started asking me to cover for her.
So mom wouldn't know what she was up to.
Mom trusts us as we would hope. And we hardly break that trust.
Life stopped being complicated for me.
It's like it began anew,  
Unfolding
Straightening paths
Smoothing the crinkles in each sheet that layover my little body
The bends disappeared, crusted confrontations
Forgotten.
I met him from a great friend of mine. We argued over something silly.
He called me after I explained I was upset.
I beat myself over the dry branches of thick trees
Scolding myself. Insulting myself.
I did nothing but remind myself of my exclusive habits to handsome men.
But he visited me and upon that spree of him skipping class, he was beautiful like the men. So I thought maybe, in the back of my mind, that I could explore him like the others and relieve him and myself of whatever we were clinging to.
He was clinging to something short of sadness. Much like grief.
And he explained that I was good and shouldn't place myself in a damp hole when the sun is capable of more than being bright and warm.
So we spoke and lay together in my bed resisting silly things.
Sitting up together he is ready to leave he says 'I'm glad I skipped class today.'
He kisses me. Telling me that he isnt interested in much else.

My mouth is filled with sweet smells, bitter tastes. This boys limbs quake, heart punching rib bones as fast as man boy can take, his glasses tremble to his skin too. Everything sticks slowly. I can see the ceiling moving. The shadows against its popcorn texture. I can hear my mother clicking her mouse by the computer. He breathes in, pupils enlarge almost as loud as an animals shriek.

I think I twitched.
My sister forgot to make the bed that day.
And I'm glad becaus he doesn't make his bed either.
Harsha Jun 2018
When I was in hostile environment training in Manchester
I picked up this butterfly pendent for you but never presented it
Because of your ludicrous inkling, that true friends should never exchange gifts;
When I first met you working at that coffee shop back home
I was trying to woo you by writing poetry but I failed and read them on my own;
When I was 20 occupied in Dubai I was rationalizing what adventures you might have ventured in to
While observing the city ***** ****** monoliths of sand cement and glass;
When I was stuck in an airport in Pakistan, I saw a humming bird and a blue plastic bag
Arbitrarily floating in the air, then thought of your indigo hair band
Which you use to wear, hopelessly on your left arm
When I was watching the Formula 1 back in Bahrain I watched the race cars firm pass
And wondered how our time together also expired just as fast;
When I was 23 - enduring in the war tore city of Baghdad
I meant to write but there was nothing stimulating
In that hell hole to write for your innocent soul to have ever grasped
Hence I held my silence steadfast
I spared you the misery when I failed to communicate the wounds I received in Ballad (a US Air force base in Iraq);
Then when I was in the ***** fields in the Kanoon province of  Afghanistan
I discovered that ****** is almost as intoxicating & addictive as you
When I was in a discotheque in New Castle, I saw a girl with a butterfly tattoo
Reminded me of how you spread your wings and flew away with someone more attuned to you
When I was in a seafood restaurant in Singapore, I ordered a Unagi sushi (I did not even eat it)
Only to induce the aroma of your favourite dish as it evoked the sweet memory of you
When I was in a 15 hour layover in Male sinking my feet in the sea sand
I simply wished that you were there with me holding my hand
When I was once stuck in the metro in London I allegedly meant to send a postcard
But got distracted by the fact that you were engaged to another hence it was excruciatingly hard
After a Coldplay concert ended in Liverpool I saw this little Irish lass
And thought how beautiful your children might take after your beautiful stance
When I was visiting a castle in Edinburgh oh! How I wished I have secured a castle for you
And how I should have said those 3 words more often than I ever moved around without you
Connor Jun 2015
Hello there lord in heaven! (the florist)
selling peoples the bouquets of
insanity
and psychopathy
raging
RED
and
******
and
BORING
Hello there lord in heaven
(the taxicab driver)
who's kids have been
gone a long time
and plays the classic rock on
the radio making poor jokes
and passing poor homes
with $3 in his pocket 1994
windshield wipers
sliding sobs
of tears/rain
back & forth.
Why is city so upset?
Tummy rumbling for
chaos and evening news-
-****** boiling in that
fever stomach deterioration/
sufferings/
***** on ****** reaper crazies sidewalks
where Vicky is walking her dog
(who died some years ago or never existed in the first place who's to say)
people yelling
“VICKY!!!” she's seen them
a few times,
two outta three wanna
**** Vicky but she's not having
it today.
Wayward man (our lord in heaven) on bus gazing from back window
eyes O P E N
playing games with nobody in particular and in silence
“count the needles!”
8 on one block.
He's by himself on the bus/at home/at work/at the park on his way to job/
in his sleep he's married
to a girl (dark hair)
who's a fictional fantasy fairy
and leaps from balconies at the end of all his dreams
signaling-
DIGITAL ALARM ON HIS BEDSIDE TABLE WHICH RESTS BESIDE AN OLD FAMILY PHOTOGRAPH AND A STACK OF HENRY MILLER
/STAND STILL LIKE THE HUMMINGBIRD/
AND A SMALL STATUE OF THE BUDDHA.
Lord in HEAVEN
(the office girl)
who's tapping her feet on the elevator up a few stories
to Electric Light Orchestra
and has a dog at home
who loves her like
THE SUN
ON A SUNDAY!
(name is Phillip, after her overdose 2002 brother)
oh that MR BLUE SKY!
“How CLICHE!” she thinks laughing to herself
at the small things.
Lonesomes of somewheres are begging for another cubicle
like her cubicle or a lover
like any lover
praying to that LORD IN HEAVEN
for tiny material wants in
tiny material churches.
LORD in heaven!
(Mundane MUTT *****)
pretending he has Schizophrenia
and conning a middle aged autistic woman
residing in a small Canadian town
out of her government cheque
(1300!!!)
later arrested and
SPIRALED INTO PRISON BY THE LEGAL SYSTEM
AND NOT SOON ENOUGH FOR A VAMPIRE LIKE HIMSELF
to be mangled by
iron bars and
PEOPLE SHOUTING IN THE MORNING
another one for our tax money. He wins in the end, I suppose.
LORD IN HEAVEN!
LORD!
ONE ABOVE
AND BELOW
AND  IN LAYOVER PLANES
HOWLING JETSOUNDS OVER
TAIPEI
TO VANCOUVER/
AND ON THOSE RATTLING BELLS
OF INTERSECTIONS
PICKING OUT OF
TRASH CANS MUMBLING
THE PROMISE OF ETERNITY TO
THOSE NOT LISTENING/
MY BIBLE
IS A FIST FULL OF COINS
PRESET FOR THE COMMUTE TRAIN HOME
AND LISTENING IN ON
BIRDCAGE CONVERSATIONS
OF THAT DISCONNECTED
SYSTEM OF PEOPLE
INFLICTED WITH
A SIMILAR PAIN AS ME
WHO MIGHT NOT LOOK AT ME
BUT UNDERSTAND.

LORD IN HEAVEN!
The leprosy
humanity
going from here to
there
and trying to learn a little
while they're at it again
F
  A
    L
      L
        I
         N
            G

                 A
                      P
                         A
                              R
                                 T
Meagan Marie Aug 2014
9 hours.
It's a long time to spend
in an airport.
I wore the wrong shoes
and my feet hurt
with every step I took.
But then I saw the tears
and then her story came pouring out
at me with them.
Dad passed,
mom barely hanging on,
flight delayed,
Sister ill,
daughter going deaf...
And my feet hurt
on my 9 hour layover
to Europe...
To the woman who poured your story on me,
Thank you. I needed a new perspective. And I hope and pray that your days since have been better.
Adam Breen Mar 2016
That codeine buzz
Johnnie Walker high better in lounge than air
because you don't fly enough for them to love you
**** it down while you can.

Proportion pharmas well
No Xanax pre-layover
Nobody likes an airport sleeper
And only your mum catches wheelchairs
off planes.

Give me night trips,
hot hostesses
to while away the time
while I burn my life through
this strange jet-propelled existence
loving only freedoms expressed
between confines of steel.

Freedoms reduced
our liberty sharpened,
exalted with easy available power points.
olivia g Aug 2017
You were thinking about God all night. If only you could without suffering sin, you’d swear it was true. Prayers clung to the gloss on your lips. You’d shaken your hair loose from the day’s mistakes, apologized for those that you chose to remember. But still, your body was a live wire.

Your fingers were knotted up in the chain of your grandmother’s cross when your first stranger offered you a drink. His smile boasted of layover stays in European cities, of glassy-eyed girls spread just for him, all neat and pretty on a silk duvet. You swallowed down your fears and let him order for you, just nodding his way so he wouldn’t get to hear your voice. A scotch on the rocks to ease your nerves, you reassured Him, and nothing more.

Let me slip into something a little more comfortable…you breathed easier in a strapless dress, a tight skin of black satin worth half of a month’s rent and all of your dignity. Eyes you didn’t recognize skimmed over more of your body than you let your own mother see. The little girl she raised would have been afraid. The good Lord Himself was a skeptic, a dwindling shadow of a doubt still stuck in the doorway. …She’s so exposed, can she really offer any more parts of herself to the world, or has it all gone?

You’d just gotten done with praying for the ****** when one of them shows up at your feet to thank you. You try to forget. You don’t want to remember that you asked for her in your sleep. She is a gift…not from God. You feel as you would have if you had seen her naked. Her white dress wraps high enough around her neck to make you second-guess your hands.

Touch…The thought hits you like a freight train and makes you sway. She laughs, guess I shouldn’t have gotten you this drink, huh? You’re halfway finished with the glass she gave you before you tell her you’re okay.

A hangover may keep you from church in the morning.

Just seemed like you needed to unwind.

God would have healed your heart then. Only you start to think now that the pain of someone else may be what keeps you alive.

Maybe a dance will help.

Her hand is warm as she leads you out onto the floor. Instead of letting go, her fingers squeeze the spaces in between yours. She leans in so she can hear you speak above the pounding of the bass. When she tosses her hair, she smells soft, like fresh roses. You feel her thorns press into your sides like the fingernails digging into your chest, and the pain breathes new life into you.

She dances up against you with her body like a hurricane. The shallow breaths against your neck are no longer just that. They are howling gusts, a swirling mass of a storm that comes to life in glaring black-and-white headlines, “disaster of the ages”, “the bullet you can’t outrun”. They are screaming at you to get a grip before you crash to the ground, another casualty in her wake.

Her hand swims up your dress to touch you between your thighs. You let her. It’s okay. You ease into her, let your eyes roll back for her. You kiss her unholy, her tongue tasting like redemption. The strokes of her fingers take you as close to Heaven as you’ll ever get.

Forgive me, Father, for I am sin.
Cecil Miller May 2017
Is there no pillow for my head to find repose, no hall of redemption where I lay down the sorrow of confusion?

The dreaming of memory is a very strange thing. I have been puzzled. Here is how. In my very early adulthood (if you can call it that)
I spent a fair amount of my time as a transient nomad who was on the lamb from the police. My memory of that time is fuzzy, but I do have a recollection of all the towns...
Except one.

I can see it so clearly in my mind, and have been on it's wintry main streets a few times in my dreams, for it was in the Autumn​ or the winter months that I traveled. I recall that it was so enchanting to me that I nearly stayed, though I was only passing through.

I, with my back pack, somehow was there on the main township road, and though I don't remember my mode of arrival it must have been by bus and I on a layover with some time to wander.

In my mind it feels I could have been coming back to Shreveport on a plane from the military.

It could have been on any number of exursions. I was always running and moving about.

What I remember was checking in to a local drop in center. I had been told to check my bag in one place on the street, perhaps at a traveler's aid, and I was given a cup of coffee, while I waited on a check-in at another location which was a hostile or shelter.

I meandered about the wide boulivard  that was edged with still melting snow.
The local youth hostile offered one free overnight stay.

I cannot remember if I stayed, or if I was able to be sponsored a bus ticket out of town, or met another kind stranger who offered a ride out of the town.

I cannot remember what State the town is in. I remember nothing else about it except I feel that I had been there twice, once with a traveling companion, and once again, later on my own, which was the time I recollect on the street thinking that this village might make a good home, should I ever want to begin again, if I could ever be afforded the chance, or really need a place to hide. That is if it weren't middle America in the early 1990's and very dangerous for a gay boy to be travelling alone in these towns.

Here is the part that makes no sense, except for why I cannot remember it. I can't possibly have ever been in such a place, for it is off the path of highway 55 on which I always travelled.

I thing I told myself I would go back to the town one day, when I was in need of a place to visit, but I cannot remember the name of the place. I cannot be sure it exists at all, but in my mind.

Still, the arcitecture of the buildings were different that the generic houses in Shreveport - almost like a New England town.

All I can fathom is that there are pieces of me out there that are somehow still lost, or that I chose to leave behind, rather morosely because a place so perfect and normal  could never be my home. I was but a visitor.

I cannot even be sure I was myself​.
Maybe it was all just a dream that I had about a dream I once had.

Maybe if I were to have the experience again, I would grab hold to something and anchor myself to such a beautiful place.

Maybe I wouldn't be so afraid to stop running, that I could stay a while and talk to some of the people. As I've said, it was cold, so nobody was out.

I hate these bittersweet moments of recall that I cannot decern fantasy from reality. All the same, I do not think I would choose to give them up. The minds is the greatest scape across which to gaze.

I wonder if there could be some sort of collective vagabond consciousness that allows us the peak into each other's experience whenever we are at some sort of life precipice? Sometimes I feel as though my thoughts are not my own.

Even insanity has it's moments of perfection.

I am going back to sleep.
This is a writing about last night's dream.
Is
hindrance May 2019
this life is a lovely layover

colorful things in my sight
there's a flower to my right
and into the grass I'm sinking in
and now the sun is licking my skin
i have given many hugs
and i have seen many bugs

i have never found a four leaf clover

i have never found a four leaf clover

and i have seen many bugs
i have given many hugs
and now the sun is licking my skin
and into the grass I'm sinking in
there's a flower to my right
colorful things in my sight

this life is a lovely layover
Oskar Erikson Sep 2019
calling a lost lover
to begin to head on over
this bedroom was only a boarding gate
and this bed your layover.
Butch Decatoria Sep 2016
[Simple is now online]
                            the hackers' profanity
                            Keep it simple - are codes ever?
[MEGA-TRON is now online]
               " I'm for reals"
                 That's who I am on here

Someplace out of this place,
somewhere there is here,
inside the monitor eyes watching us in our
         
 drama in choosing a persona   
 * the name of your cyber self
    that fits you / and hides you

Not really. It does not concern you,
non-threatening cattle
sheep, mob flash fad :  
"we can train our pets
do tricks on command"

*If all your friends jump off a bridge?

                         Mom use to say
If Killer whales can jump through hoops... so can you.

[NoOne is now online]

We're all inmates in a bigger cell block
hell grazing on grass,
pit-bulls / Bull fights to ****
entertained by the cyber cud
highs and glory holes
we gnaw and maul over ...
its like passing the time for mongrels
on their backs--glazed over lovers

The ***** of a point is the prologue
of the trilogy now bleeding into you
intimately, main squeeze the syringe
lost looking again
finding that              {NoOne is online]
can't read to you ... fly caught
in another kind of web.

Even in the fog of it
you should know when you're dead
and the world full of the same
thunder roles down penny lane
when you can't find another soul
or even Wi Fi wired-in
connect for a kind conversation
with someone out there real
through this here square artificial face
non-sentient hypnotist
for you to cluster-**** yourself
bleed for less than their
mocking

[Welcome. You have spam...]

Members and Bearded clams
puckering and peacocking
---(Join for free--Instant Access--into your
     Big house bound layover domicile)

When you can't recognize the world
            these times at you--commits homicide...
I won't blame you
for what you do
It's only you doing it to you...
             Yet Sorrow can be returned like the sugar
that you had once borrowed,

may give you what you need to take
and hot days together
drink the sweeter
Lemonade.

Give and take - a sip.

[HardMIKE is now online]

"I wanna be Omega Prime"

You choose you to be
one tomorrow at a time...
Facade of DotCom with this monitor's face.
I can feel it artificially
radiate its digi-hate on me....

[OP is now online]

"Down with OP's Piece..."
--O for Omega (fool) P is for Prime,
like the one and only, deserving my name
  * [NoOne] * Comes out and plays...

Now milk is the witness -
(a pic of the most recent face)
of a possible crime / missing / fallen
off the face of the Earth.

(In the years of that baby face simulate
the length of worry tears and wrinkles graying)
Fading away / humanity has gone slowly
missing... the hush

Not a word.

Still hurts.
Makes me nervous, care to say...
Keepin' us on our toes, eh?
You think maybe ... just
Look-out for dangerous
that one there
    
                               Who?
                                         *[NoOne]





* cares. *
Cassi m Apr 2014
Somewhere we go to **** some time
stars layover head, always to far to touch
rigorous detail while the silence speaks out
in this moment the sun is shinning in our night sky
this feelng i should get when your within reach, constant suspension
mindset strict, single i'll stay
until in her eyes i find that midnight sky
frankie Jul 2016
you
I love you, I love you, I love you.
three words said repeatedly, back and forth
but when did "I love you" become a phrase that only one of us said?
I'm here waiting for you, and you're out there, looking for someone new.
Someone new to call princess, someone new to "love" and then
put on layover until the next comes along.
I know I should accept it if you don't love me, but that's not what you say every time you call me.
You say "I love you" and I say it too, blinded by something I wish was still true.
cxbra Nov 2017
10/30/17
Claimed

maybe I should have been more difficult to love
like my baggage was never claimed
and it’s still got a hold on me
maybe I should have been easier to let go
like my baggage wasn’t important anyways
and I left it all at my previous layover
maybe I should have forgotten the importance of being important
but I can not forget a feeling I’ve never had
so it’s important that you hear me when I say I want to mean something more to you
Sometimes I get overwhelmed too
because deep down I know that one day you will wake up and I will be that baggage that you’ll never want to claim again

— The End —