"limeade" poems
it is a day of sunshine,
yet i am chained
to a desk.
balancing budgets.
but oh! how the sun calls.
it whispers,
sweet, slices of
watermelon dreams,
in to my ears.
it murmurs, bubbling
brooks of tantalizingly,
**** homemade
lemon-limeade.
it talks, incessently
of mangos, eaten warm
and straight from
the skin...
it beckons me, to sin,
to walk barefoot, across
forbidden grass...
to the sand...to the sea
oh! how the
springtime sun
beckons me....
yet,
here i sit,
admist budget misery....
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
And I don’t think
I have ever seen
A sight
More worthy to
Behold
Than this relic
Of my past life
Glowing gold
In a bed of green
It seems to me
Its energy
Is tangible,
Is literally
Trailing gold threads
Through the chilled
October air,
And I’m not sure
If I’m seeing things
That aren’t there
Or if it’s really
My lover’s hair,
I suppose
I’ll never know
For certain
If those hideous curtains
Are still hanging
In the apartment
We used to get
Burnt in,
But I guess further
It doesn’t matter,
Not with the fervor
Of my new life as
A learner
Replacing my dreams
Of bounty and ******
Not literally, you see
I never hurt her
Or treated her badly,
It’s just that once
She had me she’d
Had enough,
So what to do what to do
With all this free time
And all this free time
And all this free advice
About making limeade
From limes,
Or however the
**** that saying goes,
Either way this blows
And the wind is doing the same
And the way that the gold
Swirls around her frame
Makes me happy I still
Remember her name.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 12:23 PM UTC
limbo bow
limp impure
lime I'm
limousine scene
limeade made
limerick rickety kitty
limit mit it
limb from limb
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
i lied about the exorcism--
that neon ghost
still haunts my phone
and though all of us are silent
you sing my tinnitus till the storms get back.
you don't know it's been raining all week
because i never told you;
i'm so scared of spirits and spiders
and weathering small-talk--
your sun and my curtain-clouded bedroom.
in a sunpatch on your floor,
i dreamt of leaping off the grid
and landing back in lake hylia a hero;
now i only dream of daytime drinks,
a summer solitude as dull as the ends of my hair
'cause i can't even throw back my dad's ninety proof
without the sun in my eyes
so the truth is
between zelda and zookeeping
i've been seancing on the dusty carpet
arranging myself around album booklets and ***** shirts
and maybe i couldn't help it
maybe i lit a couple candles by your name
not thinking you'd think of me
or think to shine solar snapshots onto my pillow--
a presence to make me breathless
enough that i can't
***** them out
and they keep me up at night
Jan 26, 2025
Jan 26, 2025 at 10:48 AM UTC