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B Yeung Feb 2017
Music
Slides from your eyes, hands,
Guitar strings
Voice
into
my senses like

wine
elixir
Cut grass
Woodsmoke

The demons of your mind
Are the demons of mine
The animals tearing the surface
Of a pinpointed, widening iris

The delicate lisp of
The depths burning
The surface
The sarcastic twang of an
Upturned syllable

Starry twinkles
In the corners of your mouth
Mirrored in my
Starry
Iris whispers

And the music
Of
Every whimsy
Sliding into my eyes

Like wine
Spilt on a dartboard
Waiting to be hit
K Balachandran Feb 2012
squre, round, ovel, even in irregualar shapes,
obsrving windows, i found this truth:
a hidden illegitimate desire to become doors.
Àŧùl Dec 2016
Beautiful
And
Romantic
Red
Everything
N**ovel­.
A 2° acrostic.
HP Poem #1311
©Atul Kaushal
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2022
C ontact
A crostic
P osting
F inn’s
I  maginative
N ovel
Y arns
@
G lobetrotting
M usician
A nd
I  rish
L yricist

C haotic
O ccasionally
M ystifying
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
"too many consonants":
that's how you end up,
with the basic quotient
of the english speak "world"...
"too many consonants"...

     mind you:

   shchoor...
                  which is equivalent
to
                        szczur:

   but you can tell apart
               a shovel
                               from a chart...
so you can combine the two
simulataneously
                       to fathom the basic
exchange of language
     within the "focus" of nouns, yes?

no?
          no wonder i've been given
a chance to nibble at something,
quasi-living,
             lived out gangrene.

— The End —