"liaisons" poems
*as winter acquiesces to the blazing sun
a soothing breeze softly grazes tips of aspen
gently shedding past liaisons
a perfect panacea
allowing wild freedom for summer’s dawn
healing from the ominous night
a flower gingerly releases its grasp
leaning into golden rays of summertime
keenly aware of newfound vulnerability
it yawns into the light
a rousing essence induces
a silhouette of life once thought lost
prodding river’s rigid ice blue crystals
to melt and flow with buoyant wonder
kaleidoscopic-like waves
having weathered near annihilation
a sculptured consciousness remains
painting summer clouds with soft-hued wisdom
all awakens from the dream
and should the cold return once more
the sun will shine again
©2016janetaylor
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 3:23 AM UTC
You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy.
Mommy,
you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep,
ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet,
I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither.
I'm posing and rolling and cooing
biding time until you're tripping on the
Ambien retreating to a dream.
You're only reprieve.
'Cause when your *** is asleep,
I be mixing up the Play-doh,
red and yellow, black and white,
'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright?
Dirt pies from the backyard,
put 'em by the brownies
in the morning world-weary in your pajamys
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos --
stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous--
hand me piece of paper and two crayons
macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons
these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
"Color outside the lines, eh Lucy?
don't play by the rules," my Mommy say,
but I been around long enough to know dat
'dese rules pay. Outside the lines? Is just uh sloppy.
Been outside the club in front of the line
with my fellow shawties.
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Chicken and fries three meals-a-day.
Chocolate milk three meals-a-day.
Tricycle boys three wheels away.
Hands on your hips can't make me stay.
Lego blocks lodged in your skull.
I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though.
Alright, alright, time to get confessional.
All my ***** accidents are intentional.
I melt my own Barbies to feel alive.
Snort glue sticks just to get hella high.
Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face.
Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair.
Mommy, you've got ****** on your pants.
Ha. Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch.
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
*A spirited moon
'neath furtive glances,
anguished of despair
looked upon hushed
entangled constellations
and heeded a warning,
for he knew well of lavishing
recherché intricacies,
mattered naught how exquisite
nothing lasting could come
of liaisons's effusive grandeur,
'tween clandestine stargazers*
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
The kite gets high, stays aloft-
quite some time displaying
enviable dexterity, for fun
do spectacular somersaults as much times
as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh
then look! how the wind gets *****
with her, if she has something
of a skirt, it goes up, up to an
indecent height, she doesn't have
that balance a player at such
heights should have kept always.
Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite
displays before the world at high altitudes
with a unholy interest
to show herself more accomplished
than what she really is, could you
pardon that frivolity, because she
has many more colors than clouds.
He admits abashedly that he too was
once in love with her frivolous attractiveness,
but he never could understand a kite;
in spite of the lightness, that makes
it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance?
After all what is a kite? her merit?
a strange arrangement that defies
common sense, all it can do is aimless flying.
Isn't it a charge serious enough?
even a dry leaf, or a falling feather
can do these acrobatics for a while.
What is the meaning of a kite,
kindly someone notify , if it has any,
meaningless flying is not for anything
of substance, what kind of play
is it, if it is perceived as one, by any one
why the folly of someone take us
for a ride all these years, without
a second thought, he wonders
who might have promoted it, had some
ulterior motive, some point to prove;
wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak
in everyday life .
He would suspect, in the bargain many
generations too spent their time
in this vein pursuit without any thought.
Any kite display a greed to go up and
stay there, till the time it is possible to float
don't want to be back, when wind is on her side
unless force is applied, what does it signify?
Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers
he knows, and he can't but appreciate it
and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud,
play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts
could such a liaisons are to be be tolerated
she knows how a cloud tastes at different times
Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her,
she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
it's not even noon, but
my thoughts are drenched with
*** bound and gagged.
you're dancing around the kitchen, clad
only in a pair of
lace ******* you paid
too much for at Victoria's
Secret liaisons by the
seaside, sand sieving through your hair:
all forms of metal-backed currency taste
like ***** on your fingertips stuffed
roughly in my mouth,
call me a ****
pretty please?
promethazine slathered over
watermelon sherbert and
soaked in Sprite; put a lid on it and
shake vigorously until well mixed.
Xanax exacerbated migraines mean
naptime for me, and I forgot to tell you
the Gatorade is spiked with *****
(or maybe tequila; I've well and truly
forgotten) and all of this
is just another means of
replacing you.
you're wrapped in an
ecru trench coat,
cinched at the waist over
concealed weaponry:
unlicensed pistol and wet coral *****
constrained by a black leather holster and
cobalt cotton.
you kissed me with
******* in your nostrils and
nosebleed on your lips;
you killed me with
contempt in your mouth and
venom on your nails.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
my ***** Little Secret, symbolized
by ***** words and little idiosyncrasies and
secret secret liaisons;
je c'adore,
laying Control alongside
cast off clothing and kicked off wet *******
heartbeat aflutter beneath your
oh so deliberate ministrations and
thighs aquiver beneath your
oh so deliberate teeth.
my wrists chafe; bound by bitter steel to demure wood,
powerless
or rather
entirely in your power.
you've always loved it,
the thrill of exploration, of
Newfoundland, of
conquer and subjugation and ravishment;
your tongue flickering against my
**** like eiderdown,
fingertips tracing spirals and Möbius
Strips upon my *******
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Knowing makes me wonder
At evocative truths which abound
Salient sentience is a crucible
Where the enlightened meet
To sip ambrosia’s elixirs
Enrapturing mesmeric enchantments
Fecund grace ensues
Pervasions depths seem within reach
With treatises we expound
Lecherous libido’s pandemic liaisons
A chorus so unique
Each one a sentinel equation
In harmony replete
The decadent arrogant squirm
As rubato’s flair reveals
All the things that might have been
The love that they concealed
As they reach with grasping greedy hands
For things they can not steal
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
nestled within
this ocean of tranquility
with its zen-like decor
they sit for hours
in total silence
a smiling Buddha
sole witness
to the arrow-like exchange
of amorous glances
each glance
an implicit confirmation
of intimate liaisons
from lives past and present
the odd tap
of wooden chopsticks
picking up sushi
the only music
time
dare not enter
this oasis of love....
as eyes keep
rapidly exchanging words
while lips stay silent
© 2019
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 2:20 PM UTC
struck by lightning twice by twenty-four
this astronomical record was hers, Guinness proclaimed,
this lady so famed, top of her class at Stanford, then Yale Med,
and blissfully wed, to a surgeon who always came in second
this did not matter at Cabo, or even in their first condo
but as her curriculum vitae grew faster than a Walmart receipt
on Black Friday, he scrubbed up for one bloodletting after another, removing appendixes, and appendages, feeling her shadow
grow heavy, even in the bright lights
of his operating theater
his first was, of course, a nurse, though at least her age
his second, a decade newer model, fixed his lattes at Starbucks
number three was the neighbor with whom they shared
nothing but a fence, and a few awkward stares
her hours in the lab with petri dishes grew, and
she never let on she knew, that her clean shaven number two
was lying with others to stand himself
when he asked for a divorce--number four requiring more
than liquid exchanges in sweet hotel suites--she acquiesced and even let him have the Welsh Corgi, the cabin in Aspen,
and half the 401K
to this day, she recalls imagining his liaisons
while she married menacing molecules to one another
in tubes under faithful light, seeking answers to questions
asked by the dying she would never meet
a lump would only grow in her throat
if she thought his scalpel never sliced
the heart of number four, for five
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
There is no God
If there were, every smell would be sweetgrass
and lemon.
and
If there were not,
we wouldn't have noses.
So there it is.
It must be that
I failed to notice the shrinking days,
the ever smaller liaisons,
the patches of silence.
Then there came the equinox.
Everything was eight hours long,
and you were nowhere in sight.
Who is responsible for that?
If my skin is soft to the touch
and unwrinkled
if my hands work faithfully
and my heart also,
then I must be blessed.
If I have my heirloom ring,
if I have a blightless history,
if our galaxy is still cold in the
right places, and hot in the
right places, then I must be blessed.
And if I remain troubled
with all those gifts -
then I am doubtful, sour, ragged.
Not worth the love I crave.
I am a child at a magic show,
second-guessing the theatrics -
There he is, behind that screen,
with a dove and dowsing rod.
With a tiger, and a cage, and a key.
So I am troubled-
it seems that everything came
in the lapse after a kiss,
where everything which could be touched
could be ignored.
Then the kiss was gone -
and there was the world again
stark and unholy,
bright and blue as a bruise.
How brutal it is to live
on that third planet under the
sun, behaving poorly. How failure
meant nothing, in that orbit.
How brutal it is!
never to face the thing that sustained us
(not even to thank it)
Nov 25, 2010
Nov 25, 2010 at 8:36 AM UTC
Sans toi, les directions,
et tu déchires ma tête véritablement en deux
assis sur le ciel
faire de faux
miroirs d'ors sous le plein bleu,
devenu pâle, comme des fragments de déchirure rouler,
ensemble, éloigné,
au milieu de tes liaisons symmétriques,
s'ouvrant changeant en ailes,
dans toutes les directions,
et tu déchires ma tête véritablement
en deux assis sur le ciel
faire de déchirure rouler,
ensemble,
éloigné, au milieu de tes
liaisons symmétriques,
s'ouvrant changeant en ailes,
dans toutes les directions,
et tu déchires ma
tête véritablement en deux
assis sur le ciel
faire de déchirure
rouler, ensemble, éloigné, au milieu de
tes liaisons symmétriques,
s'ouvrant changeant en ailes,
dans toutes
les directions, et tu
déchires ma tête
véritablement en deux
assis sur le ciel faire de
faux miroirs d'ors sous
le plein bleu,
devenu pâle,
comme des fragments de déchirure rouler,
ensemble, éloigné,
au milieu de tes
liaisons symmétriques,
s'ouvrant changeant en ailes,
dans toutes les directions,
et tu déchires ma tête véritablement en deux
assis sur le ciel
faire de toute ce qu'on veut.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 4:23 AM UTC
Standing on the edge I look down upon cloud shadows and rising winds wild with leaves. Spirits crying, rejoicing- their tears, rain drops blanketing the earth- their passion fueling the suns fire-The priestess of Muses her drawn sword hanging- singing songs- disturbing the bards and artists, daring them to create - drinking music-breathing life back into the elements. Shadows competing for their place in the play- Liaisons made liaisons broken- time fleeting -the moon dance continues -moments-war plucking the strings of Gods- The Goddess in the mist, spinning tales-spinning life-spinning death-awakening finally from my earthly slumber-myself burning at the center of my innermost being-Lighting the path surrounding my climb-the culmination of all my soulful searches-quiet whispers coloring my heart-hidden paths and finding pleasure in it all....... ~M
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
dans l'étirement lent des tardifs
après-midis tu
distilles en colonnes, poussiéreux
saumon peignant de faux
miroirs d'ors
sous
le plein bleu, devenu pâle,
comme
des fragments de déchirure
rouler,
ensemble, éloigné,
au milieu de
tes
liaisons symmétriques, s'ouvrant
changeant
en
ailes, dans toutes les directions, et
tu
déchires
ma
tête
véritablement en deux
assis sur le ciel
faire de toute ce rien
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
lost my heart in the circular realm
when I think of anything it sounds
like a drugged up
contradiction, that never was and never will
it's like I'm Dead.
In this vacuum presumed
Dead.
who I know , who I knew
the people that helped me grow,
are never recycled as new.
I keep writing these lines of my poetry mind
that to everyone else looks twisted and lied
like my mind is corrupt and they knew all along exactly
what's up.
What I know for sure is that nothing is for sure
But someone's said that before,
so I guess I'm a fake
unless I discover something new,
something blue, something old,
nothing at all,
it's absurd
it's fool's gold
it's an unreality
from the line of a sonnet
written on a vanishing moon.
it's like I'm Dead.
My dead ancestors have taken up all
the juice for my parade.
I'm left a charade; a skit;
half-hearted & unfit
it's like I'm Dead.
My obsessions say it all
You know the reasons
the buzzes
and the contrite liaisons.
You knew
all along
the undead song sang
to the soldiers
whose lives are ****** war zones
You know my cellophane
you've seen it televised live from every side,
and on every dead celebrity whose tragedy was pied.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
Did the earth move for you ?
Or just the headboard shake ?
Was it physical and rough enough ?
Do you have the scars today ?
Did she tie you up and slap you ?
Stuff things up your *** ?
Normality has fled your world
Your nothing but alone
Was it one more notch to add
To a catalogue of *****
A series of liaisons payment just to *****
You hurt all those who loved you
Not a thought of their emotions
You threw it all away
You have no concept of loving
I despise what you've become
I sleep alone at night
Because of what you've done
Now you carry on your madness
A cancer eats at you
I want a gentle lover
Who holds me in the night
It's hard for me to find him
You left me cold inside
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
My Lady let our passion run free......
absorbed in the flames of desire....free our lustful desires.......
your seduction envelopes me....as our lips touch sensually.....
taste of their sweetness......our arms entwine....
bodies pressed against each other....
heat between us intensifies....whispering words of passion.....
The feel of your flesh.....your skin....
making the passion between us grow....
lips caress lips.....my fingers exploring your skin....
feeling your body tremble under my touch.....
as your breath grows deeper....
I am entranced within the beauty
of your stockings and lace....
as we let our fantasies be fulfilled.
Oh my Lady.....open yourself to me....
give to me all that you are
and I shall give you all that I am as well....
cuddling within the warmth of the afternoon
our desires burning like an inferno
as share all our hearts and soul
has to give to each other
the world outside melts away
the heat from our passion
melts away the walls of this room
leaving us into a paradise of our love
where we let our passion free
absorbed in the pleasures of our affections
within this secret liaisons.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 12:55 PM UTC
I keep it closed and locked,
In an imaginary, leather binding,
With its many pages compressed,
So that memories far apart
Are easier to retrieve,
Like scooping pearls
and shells on the sand.
There are stories of great adventure,
Tiny incidents like crystals
Shivering in the sun.
Lovers I knew in ancient times
Sleep among the pages
But come to life as I read,
My eyes caressing them as
My hands once did their skin.
Colors of eyes and hair remembered
Leap to paint the air around me:
Yellow sunlight and bodies moving,
Both electric and languid
In tangled sheets or long grass
After passion passed.
Some flashed like fireworks,
But others burned long and slow,
Not ready to love, nor to let go.
Smiles across a playing field,
Surprise midnight visits on holidays,
Costumed for Halloween with tiny stars
That shimmered on the stairs next morning,
Or inebriate feasts on the Fourth of July,
Tanned in the water and soothed at night.
There are short liaisons with friends
And long affairs, living with lovers,
Imagining it lasting forever
And battling the serious and inane.
Thinking everything will say the same.
And underlining all these times
Is the solidity of just one true love.
Finished November 14, 2021
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 10:06 AM UTC
To raise a seagull would be no small task – do you know why?
Because both you and I are not seagulls.
If an individual is perceived to be revolting, then the question arises as to whether non-conformity or debasement are the identifiable issue.
Like those cheapened activities which are secretly laid bare within the hotel hallways of Sin City, my immeasurable and baron liaisons have also been revolted by scorpion-like stings, as the wind promotes her seductive and tantalising thoughts through the brushwood of Autumnal celebrations around the vicinity of Nevada.
It is important to understand that the fullness of sound involves the synchronicity of isolated connectedness, and that we validate both the message and the messenger.
Balancing acceptance and change is horribly attractive.
Do you know why, my reciprocal affiliation of that which is considered to be humanity?
For that which is conceived, formed and reproduced within the solar system of Nirvana is not so readily articulated within the parameters of epistemology.
Aren’t ornithology and psychology both flighty?
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.
after all
the late night talks
and spilled juicy secrets
the virtual kisses
and fake promises
shared by lonely and
loveless strangers,
is that all?
that was it?
what went wrong?
just like that,
you don't talk anymore.
does it hurt?
does it sting?
or immune you became.
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.
in this era and time,
love is one click away
faking affection
till you make it,
from falling in love
to being dumped,
to tales of virtual
romantic liaisons
and online trysts
is new normal
and oh so familiar
like good ol cliché.
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.
speechless?
shocked?
feeling betrayed?
ok,breathe and cry a little
then mourn for your plastic love,
do not expect something that
started with a poke and a wave
to last a lifetime
up to the grave.
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.
everything
seems disposable
the ugly truth is
seldom exposed
often faked and filtered,
hidden behind layers
of limited-edition masks
designed to please
the love-starved.
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.
one statement
one killer line
one wrong move
the game is over
before it begun.
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.
👋🏻👋🏻👋🏻
-epl🌻
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 10:59 PM UTC
City,
sleep
as the ends of your
sea seep like
blood through our
crevassed
pores -
City,
sleep
and dream of
waves
crashing harshly
against the uncut
ridges of
tomorrow's
shores -
City,
sleep
with legs closed
to Olongapo,
to the freight truck
liaisons of
our starless nights,
mounting
clouds so light
and bare
they ought to be
bright -
City,
sleep
running
fingers through
the pocketfuls
of loose change
in the torn hems
of your skirt,
pricking
fingers
on the pinions
and gears
that grind quietly
the dollars
crinkling
your sunset shores
awake, city,
and know
the caress of
your marbled dawn,
and smother your dress and yearn
to acquiesce,
City,
sleep
no more.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
Knowing makes me wonder
At evocative truths which abound
Salient sentience is a crucible
Where the enlightened meet
To sip ambrosia’s elixirs
Enrapturing mesmeric enchantments
Fecund grace ensues
Pervasions depths seem within reach
With treatises we expound
Lecherous libido’s pandemic liaisons
A chorus so unique
Each one a sentinel equation
In harmony replete
The decadent arrogant squirm
As rubato’s flair reveals
All the things that might have been
The love that they concealed
As they reach with grasping greedy hands
For things they can not steal
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
Falling into his“Love Batter we learn to think
what really matters its a science
Not a test this is far from the reader's digest
Traveling East or West what motivates you the best
How every ingredient makes you feel cozy
Rose sprinkle no time to be
(Rip Van Winkle) no sleepy time Chai tea time
How do we ever find the time
Telling someone to be mine be more entertaining
then tell her you really love her what's inside her
How to flatter her and give her your better heart of time
Send her an equally love letter with your love ingredients
Be obedient with poise light up her baking flowers pansies
A musical instrument with a subtle sound of noise
Something is giving you the crunchies
Her baking lips how they cream into the stem rose pink,
I fell for her red-hot, ones love batter I wanted to drink
Radiant as can be the next sugar high shot
Any suggestions
On so many missions
Love liaisons add some golden raisins
Love was coupled hands mixed eyes double
Falling for him and lifting her up sings.
Her gravity spooned angelic wings.
sugared and floured hearts angel dust.
We bond together to trust.
For the right reasons Valentine all seasons.
I suggest we get started I cannot resist
The moon shuffles wedding list
A-Couple A-+stumble
Kisses of an hmm-yum gamble
He’s hot and I am cold
Weather together eyes coupled
We stay strong where we belong
You Betcha or I will bake ya…
When we come together we listen.
The birds heat lucky red words.
Get’s easier the same person glistens.
We have and baking fingers hold.
The same kisser reaction
extraordinary to marry.
Love triply floppy disk.
Hands wedding finger
mixing perfect whisk.
How he bakes me a cake.
His easy task heavenly
love falling ingredients divinely.
All the right condiments.
Sugar dissolved love pursued.
I never in my life felt like this.
Love so crazy glued…
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
She was poetry,
And she was beautiful.
With her eyes
Filled with metaphors.
And the secrets
And similes
In her smile.
Her personified hair,
The adjectival laugh,
The imagery in her hands.
Liaisons between
Her eloquent feet
And the soil.
She is poetry,
And she is beautiful.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
we
have
sensuously fondled
the soul of each other's mentals
with
creative wordplay
prosed verbs and nouns
and emphasized the importance
of the vowels
U and I
we
have
bathed in the
ocean of our imaginations
almost to the extreme of obsession
and composed thoughts of
double digits
like
60nine along with
other numbers and letters
and rhymes with reasons that
b l e w our minds
m a n y
times
we
have
metaphorically
foreplayed to set our bodies aFLAME
and playfully insinuated which vowel was to blame
U or I?
count l e s s times
we
have
f
a
l
l
e
n
into
the depths of
our verses and have been
s w e p t away by
the intensity of our poetic liaisons
e v e r y
s i n g l e
t i m e
©2002cj
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
you stole the heat from rose marie and wrote holland on your wrists
all lincoln roses, roving gods and heterochthonous mists
liaisons built on bread and honey
marred by a dead man's tryst
I have watched you watch me grow so **** old
are you taking in any of this?
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 10:33 PM UTC