"limerance" poems
Next to your pyre
Nest to your flame
I am ashamed by my mortality
these days have made ash accumulating of me
the grown-up ghost I'm taken to be
a soundless sonder
Through another man's lens
through another boy's poem
you are still beautiful to me
Some other man's Eurydice
Some boy who didn't turn around
when faced with the world only a few steps away
Now I am buried under this city
practicing sleepless nights
I talk to you backwards and pray for the world to begin again
a double exposure in third person
the picture makes sense, the pieces don't fit together
My schizophrenia in monochrome
Limerance,
though spurious
pending supplication
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
When my body can't take it anymore
I go into the closet- not to pray, but to worship;
I kiss the complacent coat hangers there, orderly on their metallic racks,
My lips on smooth plastic; eyes closed,
All senses centered on my mouth;
Enraptured, I can't see any colors at all..
The surface doesn't soften, as I beat out my lips
Against the mild anvil; altar of pain, loving the more distant you
Somewhere on a compass that the heart knows best;
This pain is merely a devotional exercise, to take my mind
Off the fact that the hangers can't actually kiss me back.
The wool blazer has your blue eyes;
The polo shirt has some, not all, of your softness.
The shoes delicately waft a heavy, calming manly odor of leather.
The weight of the clothing leans back against me, sighing
And muffles most of my cries and exclamations
While I sway, to their soapy limerance of fabric softener and dust.
If I push far enough into them, they enclose me all around
Just like a lover's firm grasp, of aching seams and straining stitches,
Loving me soundlessly, from many directions at once.
To silent, undanced waltzes, we hang together, in furtive salute;
For they are not free, and neither am I;
But we can dream together, in the small cottony, worsted room,
For we are old friends, we have known both sunshine and rainshower together
And long, undying afternoons, of tears and questioning why.
They have known many of my beloved's names,
And I in turn have seen them both inside and out, plush and threadbare.
We have no secrets any longer; I know their every scar by heart
As well as they know mine:
I can never discard even one of their kind,
I have to keep them closer than skin.
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 8:14 AM UTC
In Limerance
Longing lust lingers
A compulsion
Stroking your skin with my fingers
A sensation
As my body wells with more than just emotion
An impulse
Leading to slow soothing motion
I'm helpless
Against your irresistible body
None of it remains untouched
Expect the parts the animal in me wants so much
Soothing turns
Gasping breaths
Breathing and heaving in unison as I hold you in my clutch
Your whispers
Longing desires of the night
Our breath
Heavier by the minute, we can't control try as we might
The intensity
Heightened with rustling clothes and locked lips
Our clothes
Light thuds as they fall to the floor
A soft moan
Letting you know I want more
Your body over me, the most glorious sight
As I gasp for air and sigh loudly with delight
Our movements make the bed creak and crack
Slow thrusts
Arched backs
I feel you throbbing strongly, as you fill me up with a part of you
The sound of us in ecstasy.
This is where we create,
Our own ****** symphony.
Oct 9, 2019
Oct 9, 2019 at 5:46 AM UTC
DRAFT
All that glisters is not gold. 7
(To) Those who think not: let it be told. 8
Take heed the lessons I could not grasp, 9
And perhaps your gilt chains might just unclasp. 10
End:
i realized it was (but) the the blind who told me I could not see;
For I slid off my contacts, and saw the same (aureate) world...
I had begun to look upon [] with shame, pity, and disgrace
Angelic _ _ threads no longer etched in his face
The silver lining is gone, gray and rust take its place
Now when I look upon him, 'tis not a look of love, but of pity, shame, and disgrace, because I killed him and made him a prince maybe
I created a world where the rust washed away
Crumbling as easily as freshly fallen snow
The same icy snow that melts into the hearts of the crown's next fallen victim
The sword drops from my hand as I lay in defeat
But the earth never took me as one of its own
My skin and my flesh stood fast on my bones
I laid there and cried for what seemed like a million tears
But even the purest water(add: ,the purest apology,the purest regret) from the depths of my soul could never let the earth take me
My eternal love for you, it will never let me go
Time after time, day after day
Pondering life as it all turns to gray
The leaves and the sky stay the same, always_ _
I laid all alone yet I never did fade.
Time after time, day after day,
I laid all alone waiting for something to change
As I pass though the graveyard I stop and I smile
A flower is laid on an old marble grave
The words on the stone were ones I had known very well
A familiar stone etching of words once carved in my heart
"An ephemeral limerance, ceased at long last"
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
is this love
or a state of infatuation
that succumbs me
every time i see
a piece of thee
is this love
or a state of infatuation
that drowns me
every time i hear
thee sing
is this love
or a state of infatuation
every time a touch
from you i feel
is this love
or a state of infatuation
every time i get jealous
from seeing thee
with another
is this love
or a state of infatuation
every time i write
a poem about thee
on how you hugged my day
with your endless smiles
is this love
or a state of infatuation
that i feel at this very moment
this moment only i know
this moment that's indeed ephemeral
too quick to conclude
too sudden to say
too early to understand
that i love you
then this is limerance
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
You had asked me once,
If I was in love again
If I had found another box for god to rest in
I answered,
Not then.
I have heard the god in you, the death that creeps behind your porcelain shoulders
I have heard the anxiety of life that guides your eyes to mine
At the one point you were afraid and seeking some gravel to place your shoes
you let the grains shift, licking your soles
There isn't a place here where the smallest atomic twinge of regret will not forever imbibe me
I am inextricable and intimately a child with the universe
I will forget to remember you then, and you will be the way all loved ones are dead to me
I will be alive and away
Love is a camellia blossom, she is the dream of the rosepetal
she is the envy of stems
She is a figment of the fractal dimension
she is tangential and perpendicular
I am a substrate
I am the loam and the cold damp earth
a dream of mother soils
the derided character of an oxygenated heaven
I die to give you birth
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 2:18 AM UTC
When did you become
A somnambulist, my dear?
Where the disconnect?
About the time your ache
For outlying places began to moon-wake?
I get the sense
You knew long before me
Our days of limerance had culminated.
As if something remote
Had stolen you away.
Do you remember the twinkle
Of twilight in each other's arms
Or was this phosphene?
What then was love? Cafuné?
It's no matter.
The sweet smell of rain
In the air now tells me
Something's brewing, and
You won't be happy
Until what was "us" has been
Washed away.
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 12:47 PM UTC
as you strut your ways
what a put on
to get what you want
your out to ****
like sunshine
people forget
your loving ways
only get me high
news flash
i know your ways
i amazed at the way
you show me all the time
you hang me on the line
and gone before i'm dry
but you only try
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
Mellifluous days that harmonise in hues,
If it weren't for her screams they'd be beautiful,
Nil could but walk an inch in her shoes,
Feelings so ineffable she misconstrues,
When will she learn that she needs to be merciful?
Despite the tragedy, a series of revues,
She feels a hiraeth to deeply bemuse,
A home that never was and so she is woeful,
Lest turns to the bottle and downs the chartreuse,
Thus she shall awaken when the day renews,
Full of hate but too tired to be revengeful,
The epoch of her failure brought on by the blues,
Craving the limerance that others enthuse,
Alas! it seems sincere that she is doleful,
That mocking kind of sorrow she tends to misuse,
Nothing more illicit than ego to refuse,
To dote on herself would simply be shameful,
Would leave behind ephemeral residues,
Nil could but walk an inch in her shoes
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 6:55 AM UTC