"moscato" poems
It is the color of love
The calmness of her hand in yours
It is the quietness
Of your empty house
It is the feeling of peace
when you down the pink Moscato
hoping it fixes your problems
Because the heat is gone
And you’re alone
It is the feeling of
Your alarm going off
Never shutting up
Always happening daily
It is a lapse in time
When you think time has stopped
When you wished
Time had stopped
And you wish you could sit there smelling the lavender flowers
And the heat making you feel
Just tired
But time continues and burst of slow
Calm winds hit you peacefully
It is the color of sadness
Because her hand is no longer there
Your bed, empty
Your pillow the endless clouds
The lavender fragment gone
Because you’ve stopped trying to imagine sunsets and how your life would be like with sight
You’ve given in
It is the color of darkness
The color of your life
But don’t fret
Because when your head hits the clouds
Our worlds are the same
For when you close your eyes
And they close theirs
Our worlds are the same
As the sunsets
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 5:21 PM UTC
Forgetting about that uptight blight.
Emanate apathy
Unapologetically.
Cheers to you Baby Jesus,
I'm all jacked up on pink Moscato; by noon.
Without a clue of what to do
Retreat to a beach
For a gala beset by an erubescent sunset.
What marry monarchs,
All clinquant, in gold light
All turn to heathens, in the night.
Perpetually transfixed
By a curious mix of
Rhythmic eruptions & fevered delight
Like fairies & nymphs
Amidst the moon of misbehaving.
Wondering eyes are tantalized
You are luxurious, feral, **** boy personified.
I was mystified by the wild & eroticized by the style.
A Huckleberry Finn identical twin, ohhh but of course
— You had a Porsche.
But we were far from bonafide.
All is well,
Who really gives a **** about a relationship cuff…
I was inherently drawn to the effervescence, of your soul.
Together in disconnected bubbles
Like a glass of champagne,
Sparkling to the surface effortlessly.
Daytime friends and nighttime lovers;
Nympholepts in retrospect,
Carefully tip-toeing around
Blossoming curiously & compromising cantor.
Over winsome side-long looks
The burgundy hardtop drops down
Into my body & out of my mind
Tipsy daze were just foreplay
For the passionate midnight sexcapades.
A midsummer’s night moonlit dream
Manifested midst the trysts of Spring.
Every Sunday
Drinking champagne,
Not practicing self-restraint
Sneaking into private estates
Dive into the grotto pool.
Worshiping the Sun, not the saint.
My late night lover show me your wicked pagan birthright.
Two lonely hearts bonded over confessions in the dark.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
**** You!
I'm tired of yo tendencies,
It's funny how quick-a-ly,
Ya best friend can become you're enemy,
I could only count on you for disappointment,
Drowning in your in your sorrows, hopin' I can make you buoyant,
With all the dudes that burned you I'm supposed to be ya ointment,
Dependent on me to be ya clairvoyant,
Help you with your problems the second, a text ends in a question,
And mine goes unreplied, every time, I'm neglected,
Then when I cut you out of my life, you contest it,
You're a self indulged user that's why I am steppin',
But I still got mixed feelins like a malloto,
I'll never let you know because of my bravado,
And the though of you got me chuggin' on Moscato,
'Till the bottle hollow,
And I forget ya name tomorrow,
Yet your attraction is an addiction I relapse in,
I'm conflicted 'cause this contradiction got me distracted,
Reminiscent on kissin' lips n satisfaction,
And then you flipped it like an improper fraction,
Oh, and ya know I hate math,
Delete ya out my fone like ***** ***** take that!"
Pretend ya someone I don't know like, "Chick stay back."
Feelins are like secrets so I keep 'em till my safe cracked,
And for you I opened up,
Tellin' each other things that are too deep to touch,
Don't know what I coulda done to keep you but,
If I ever see you, I'll run on pins and needles just,
To escape,
You're my problem so I get drunk to get away,
Then get high enough to look at you with disdain,
Knowin' no aquatic life can survive in your fish tank,
Playin' hopscotch with the line,
Between love and hate, I think I finally picked a side,
I said I'm playin' hopscotch with the line,
Between love and hate, I think I finally picked a side...
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 7:53 AM UTC
I searched for a feeling that made me feel like a million
Went to hell and back sometimes had to be a chameleon
But when my time to feel it I was rocky road ready
When I saw your hidden treasure i knew dinner was hot and ready
So I step into the abyss deep in your ocean for that buried treasure
When i cracked open your box i found ecstasy and pleasure
My land was ready for you to drop the bomb on it
Had my soldiers ready all protected just in case of crooked mission
You wanted me to Iraq you and sneak up from behind
But I'm cautious so what I give you is hard to find
My friends said I was fraternizing with the enemy
But when your soldier is at attention with a dime piece ain't **** you can say to me
I cooked you dinner while your dessert on the menu
The funny is to me you used to cold like with the flu ha chu
Finger itching finger licking for a taste of that bubble yum
soon as you let me enter it became on and popping like some bubble gum
If you the enemy i surrender my flag to you
what you got is boss no suit and tie but loyal
moscato had me feeling like i hit the lotto
especially when you spread it like butter and show me what you used to ride my bike like Throttle
I'm going all in i hope my soldiers don't shoot quick
I hope she nasty and her intentions is to meet my kids
Round 4 still at war on that kitchen floor
Round 5 we park benched to the subway doors
i love your sweet nectar your bee hive has stung bee
No poison venom just love uncontrollably
I’m deep in your treasure giving you techniques to remember
My Love and Head Games will keep you saying"Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?"
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
From a tiny seed,
Cultivated on the vine.
You fed hedonistic need,
Turning grapes into wine.
Sun-ripened botanicals,
Coated with white snow,
Reactive chemicals,
Delicious moscato.
Metabolic complexity,
Antioxidant neveau,
Oxygenic activity,
Bubbly pinot grigio.
Crisp and refreshing,
Cheeks become sanguine.
Acidic and effervescing,
Behold, fruit into wine
1/17/2016
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
Can I just go on forever and never have to love?
Can I etch my eyes into the curves of my fingerprints?
When will my heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird?
When will I be enough for the ones that I touch?
Can I keep walking without a home?
I am overcome
with intense displays of emotion
sometimes,
In the pouring rain.
And I know it's in vain
But I carry on,
Oh, you know I carry on.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
Kissy Lips
Kissing lips
Kissing My lips
Tea Lights
Merlot last night
Moscato 2night
Kissing Lips
again
and again
and...
then...
5am
Kissing lips
breathlessly
coming up for air...
Your presence
Our moments...
so very
necessary...
(You know who U are...)
(c) N LaTrice
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
Sunday newspapers continue to gather fragile New England snow on the curbside,
a stomping ground for purgatory, the home for these roller-coaster thoughts.
i'm not much for small talk.
my clothes are always inside out and i'm raging losing battles with my steel-toed tear ducts-
steel, as
grunting is a masculine expression,
and so i'll lift weights,
but gain no strength, just aches of all of the intimacy that I've never allowed myself to emit or absorb.
a soggy sponge,
a rotten oak stump,
fallen leaves-
a childhood meal coming back up over the fists and the heaves.
counter-intuition,
the alcohol binds the seams;
tear ducts are dams
and everyone needs a method of additional reinforcement.
numbness and empty-mindedness aside, I'm
still a make-shift dumpster lover,
hardwired, disassociated hinge-sucker.
too sensitive to open the window blinds or morning newspaper,
there is still no muscle definition, only
liver damage.
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 1:08 PM UTC
Reasons why I am going to Europe:
I am going to Europe because I am nineteen— almost twenty— years old and, for some reason, I am expected to have my entire life planned and ready to go. I am expected to go to college, get a degree which will give me above-minimum wage pay, possibly meet a boy. Date this boy on and off (as well as a few others) during my early twenties, get drunk a few times, maybe do some drugs, marry someone when I turn twenty six. Have two kids. Pay my mortgage, plan to travel when I am older. Pay my student loans. Do yoga on the weekends.
No thank-you.
I am nineteen— almost twenty— years old, and for some reason, I have no idea what I want to do with myself. I went to college for a major in English with a teaching license— I hated it. I tried to **** myself three times. So here, I am, working at Food Lion, running around the woods, drinking Gin and blood orange juice on a Monday night, with no plan. And I am happy. I am going to Europe because what else would I be doing with myself? I am going to Europe because I want to wake up in a hostel with someone else’s shirt on, the smell of salt on my skin, and the taste of wine in my mouth
. I am going to Europe because I don’t want my greatest thrill in life to be going to Whole Foods one Saturday of the month to buy nice wine and a quality meat only to watch the travel channel and hope for places I will go to ‘someday’. I am going to Europe because why can’t ‘someday’ be today?
I am going to Europe because I may get lost in a market place, in a bottle of Absinthe, in the arms of an Italian man, in the bottom of a bottle of sweet Moscato, in a pub in Ireland, in the mouth of a french girl, in a German forest, and that will be alright. I am going to Europe because my feet itch, and my soul is thirsty. I am going to Europe because sometimes it feels like the world is only as big as your home-town, and that is only an illusion that needs to be cured.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Tepid Moscato and Brie On Melba Toast,
Sandpipers chasing the retreating surf,
Orange sun dawdling as a old
Man searching his lost memories,
Thick salty air caressing a lovers Loose curls
Flaccid waves reaching casually for
The Cerulean sky as their arms retire back to
Their sides.
Tepid Moscato and Brie On Melba Toast,
Another afternoon On the Coast
~AD~
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 5:55 PM UTC
Set I
You don't really call on me like you should
Dial my line and I'll roll through your neighborhood
We all have problems under this hemisphere
But you persevere and smile so fierce
I know your circle doesn't want smoke with me
Because they trust we can go all the way
He broke your trust, trust me, is all I say
It's okay you need someone that's calm and patient
Someone who's never okay being complacent
Who's honest enough to check you in the wrong
Does the armor on your skin belong?
Won't you be my plug?
You could be the one
Like Summer Walker, start with a handshake
And eventually, I'll need more than a hug
Let's vent late at night with Pink Moscato wine
Open up to me about these emotional crimes
All that you're missing; this late night attention
The best combination
To feel empathy is ultimate satisfaction
Communication is not meant for one side
So, do what's best for your mind
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 11:49 AM UTC
Emotions transcend from my brain
into the deep ocean waves
we are trine, we are one
like sweet moscato wine
emotions transcend from your eyes
like deep ocean waves, I'll float in you
I'll swim into your mind, connecting your body
and soul
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
cherry red lipstick sips
at the glass of bubbly moscato,
while sitting on the terrace
of her home in Venice,
in a pink silk robe with
black lingerie underneath
feeling the hot mediterranean
sun on her olive skin made her
feel alive, as the day went on
she reads poetry while still
pouring herself another
glass of wine
every now and again,
as the sun
begins to set, she sees her favorite
thing; la luna, the moon. she’s fascinated
by the stars and the moon of the night sky
she writes her own poetry wishing she was
apart of the night sky
Buonanotte amore mio
she whispers to the moon
every night before heading to sleep
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 12:47 PM UTC
I can't stop day dreaming about that little freckle
nestled in the hairs of your right eyebrow,
The way you scuff your Nikes across the asphalt,
How you taste like Moscato and always keep quarters in your pockets.
I love the hairs on the underside of your jaw,
the ones sleeping under your skin.
They're all wrapped up in you;
Just like me.
The way that gold chain sits on your chest gives me goosebumps.
I love to drag the heavy cross pendant
back and forth, when I'm lying across you.
I can feel it click... over every link.
Its tiny tremor wiggles through my hand.
I melt, when you cup my face
in your gently rugged paw.
So I just quiver
and try not to drip
through the cracks in your fingers
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 8:14 AM UTC
Once upon a time
There was no time
No me, no you, no rhythm, no rhyme
No bright days, only gloomed night
No good health, no strength to fight
Once upon a time
I imagined no time
Our nights sang sweet like Moscato grapes on a vine
Tangled in you i was like a ball of twine
Once upon a time
I ignored the time
****** off because you werent mine
So this type of sun wont set to let love shine
Once upon a time
I won with time
Before my eyes, my heart, and my tongue went blind
So until the day my time meets her time
Ill be waiting for
Once upon a time
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
an old soulful glory hole
sits abandoned in a ****** gas station
bathroom
where you and I
once took ***** baths
on our way to Santa Barbara
drinking beer and wine in the back seat
of an old Honda sedan
our hands brushing
while passing a large bottle of Moscato
and tall cans of Bud Light
the glowing tip of your joint
illuminates your face
and it's perfect
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
It's those late drunken nights
The contamination of the Moscato
That makes it hard not to
Want you in the bed.
That late drunken night
When the moon told it no
But it's body carried on anyway
Because those late drunken nights
They're addicted to your lips
To your soft skin, and **** that smile
And the way you stare into their eyes.
Every time it's a late drunken night
It's you it wants as prey
Sometimes just to lay
Other times just to liquify
That space between your thighs
And be the one to **** it dry
Those late drunken nights like
To go until you ******
Til you pulling it's hair
And scratching it's bare back.
Til it's breath resembles your na na
And you can't take it no mas, nada
Those late drunken nights
They always want your ***
But when the drunken night rests
It wakes up the next morning,
Not even remembering your name...
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
i'd been saving
this cream colored
dress for you
with the silk lining
and lace flowers at the
hem,
instead i am brushing
pollen off my shoulders
knee deep in dandelions
pulling canada thistle
and sheperds purse
a black and white
filmstrip on the refrigerator
moving in stop motion
empty moscato
a blue flannel
and a half drunk
waterbottle still
on the right side
of my bed.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
Dolphins, black tights, sombrero,
The red lipstick stain on your napkin.
Dancing on the table, high in the navy blue air, bass grinding.
Shiny white teeth, swirls in your eyes, lines everywhere.
You pull those suspenders close to you.
Drinking that moscato in your right hand.
Pinkie up.
Nothing but a boss in that chair,
Turtles touch your feet,
Nothing but in your boxers that Saturday evening.
I really don't care what you smell like.
You remind me of careless unicorns in a dark party.
Growing, laughing, crying, singing in the shower.
Music bleeding through your body.
Sadness, tears, curled up in the warmth of the cool blankets.
This is what flies in my head, I throw it on a paper and call it poetry.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
Before you left, you struggled.
Making me your endeavor.
Fed me wine & flattery.
You bid me goodbye.
You said you never use the phone.
Am I going to be waiting?
My ash tray is so packed now,
Hope thinned down by smoke.
I sat by the telephone
For the last time yesterday,
Drinking your red moscato.
I am done with you
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
Blended and aged to perfection
semi sweet or dry to taste
you pair well with any meal
We toast with you
and celebrate special occasions
when you get all bubbly
Rosé
Blush
Blanco
Burgundy
Chianti
Moscato
Reisling
Pinot Noir
Malbec
... just to new a few
My carafe breathes
with FERMENTED GRAPES
fill my Waterford crystal glass
Poured to perfection
I drink you in
you complete my day.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
rejoice in wine
that you sweat out
while singing songs
out of tune with best friends
on unusually warm February nights
rejoice in the feeling of feeling alright
for once in a while
rejoice in laughter
that hurts after an hour
but you're finally smiling
about how much you love your friends
rejoice in solace
that you find in the strangest places
like the floor of your old dorm room
or the bottom of a bottle of moscato
you don't remember finishing but have videos of
rejoice in love
because you don't need a single other person
in bed, that way, to feel the same glow in your soul
rejoice in knowing that you're okay
rejoice in that concert hall when you lost it all
in your favorite song
you realized there you hadn't quite lost everything yet
rejoice in knowing what you've got left,
and love it
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
This rhythm echos through me
Vibes soothe my mind
Smooth lyrics
Leave me lost in time.
This beat moves through me
Moscato Fills my glass
As this feeling
Fills Me.
No Longer Feelings of Love
Tho I do Love
I am no longer in Love
I Love Her
Tho I also Love Her
She is either here nor there
When I need her she's never there
Tho, my feelings are always there
No one ever said love was fair
Well in Love love
Because
Other Love
Is Always Love
They keep me tight
Never letting Me Pop
Letting My Stitches Pop
They keep my screws tight
My marbles stay locked in placed
The Love my friends give is always tight
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
I only drink ferocious black coffee--
a silverback strong knuckle-sandwich to the chest
because it screams at my throbbing heart like a drill sergeant.
I drink whisky because
because I enjoy the the burning taste
of sandpaper raking against the back of my throat.
And it gets me hammered the quickest.
Pizza for breakfast,
I'm eating champions of pineapple and bacon
with four different cheeses because **** you.
The words I write are contrived reflections
trying to get by in a place I'm trying to convince myself I belong.
Cynicism glares with tired sunken eyes
at deja vu reiki songs,
but my hymnal is the bottom of a moscato,
and I sing louder when grey ghosts from the past
whisper lonely nightmares.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
Moscato smile
Curl your lips
And curl your toes
Liquid dusk in a dusty glass
The lines between forgetting the reason
And forgetting the person
Are blurred
I pour another glass anyway
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 1:21 PM UTC