"pinkest" poems
i often, longingly, of your striving pinkest
lips do eat by my own lips curling with
them into a neat pile of tremendous ***
i often, strivingly, long to eat, of your chests
pale basin, the apt fruit of your *******
i, longing, and strive with the savage
electric lash of thy fragrant throat
i dance and marvel at your feeling
my chest hands
i drink of them
and i'm etherised smoothly at
their hot rumple of my skin
and i you just can't barely
for thou art the dripping
rill of Cupid's apt *****
thou art, between darkness
and light, abruptly hung
with my flesh (from which
is sated thy lustful flowers
perfectly glistening petals
'neath me and groaning)
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC
Meet me in the streetlight
Meet me in the sky
Meet me in the wrinkled grass
Meet me in the high.
Let's meet under lashes
Let's meet in the dust
Let's meet where it’s burnt and stale
Let's meet amidst the trust.
I’ll see you in just a little while
Hiding in my poem
I’ll see you through the pinkest glass
I’ll see you and you alone.
Find me in the smoke
And then find me in the shade
Find me when there’s no one else
I’ll be killing the charade.
Come searching on my doorstep
Come longing for my tugs
Come bury what you mustn’t know
Come cringing at my lungs.
Meet me at the crime scene
Meet me in the dark
Meet me when it’s the end of ends
In the moment of the spark.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
Campus twilight chases the pinkest of airplanes
Across sunset pinched sky
February is making up its mind to March
I am making up my mind to loneliness
I will put the college age feminist cuff in my Levis
And swear you off
Swear you into oblivion
Kissing off this dusky breeze
Jump into liquid night
The 10 minute homeward stride
To lighted windows
Uphill to age 20
We could all shed tears
For a 17th year beating a hasty retreat
But we don’t
We’ll pillage the future
Before it even cracks a smile
Such are the years of inbetween
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
Horizons traced with trembling hands
breathe darkest depths aglow
bring pinkest rose to scarlet hues
all innocence be thrown
dew forming now on swollen bud
sweet nectar old as time
as shaking limbs cry out in bliss
to you, sweet love of mine.
Or....
Rut me, **** me, kiss me, **** me
take me on all fours
throw my back against the wall
then roll me on the floor
Abuse me, use me, wear me out
and make me scream your name
then have a swig of bedside beer
and do it all again.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 5:01 AM UTC
How fast fade most pinkest trees
How digits dance 'neath Catalpa breeze
Ignoring last October's deadest death
They arrived on time then took last breaths
Scattered seeds among their foes
Had no need of planting earthen work
As cycles shadow ploughman's dream
The fickle fruitless cherry grows
He rode rough crests over wildest waves
His ship stayed unsunk under skinny toil
His family landed and held holiest hope
Now blossom buds over grassy graves
Darkness darkened darkest health
Metal sheets broke bones full force
Lungs would not get the care of air
But hours still channeled wisdom wealth
She bent the knee for sacred loves
She scraped it on the firmest strife
Her pies nor pulchritude but soul inspired
Now stillness stays beneath starry moves
When bloodiest blood ****** didn't produce
It drained itself from veins and strained
Veiling valleys making mountains make-believe
But sharpest tongue emptiness refused
What meagre maggots worthless worms
Are those of us who never yearn!
We rarely learn to live so well as they
Who gave us genes and grace and days
All I offer oft only when I try and I work
Nothing else can I do nor more can I hope
This most modest shallowest honor to give
Of them in springtime remembering is
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
*
"... Come,
catch her."
Rising;
anew
from glowing
ashes.
Buffeted;
by the hollow
of her
shoulders.
Swirling;
amidst sweet
handfuls,
gently
blown,
from the
cherries
pinkest
boughs*.
Wings spread;
"Do you see them?"
Flying
again...
Off
grid
without
a course.
Wild
sparks,
follow her tail
across an
ever brightening
sky*.
Let
her fire
burn
your eyes.
*Watch,*
as her tears
heal your
pain.
*Reach out,*
&
touch
each
silver lining
as
she
takes
You
dancing
freely
on a
breeze...
Floating
deliciously,
with
nimble
fae;
Spun,
in the
wisps of
tiptoeing
spiders.
Dizzy
together
(now)
with the sound
of their sweet
laughter.
~Open~
in
a sky of
blossom &
sparks.
~At One~
as
All
around,
she hears, quite
... unmistakeably ...
~for the sake of mischief~
whispered softly, with
each bluster.
*"Do you hear it too?"
*
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
i
tonight he
ard t
he
whole increasing
churn of asleep
moon light
profess
******* a pair
of giggling
gorgeous effluent
skinny skin
and peaked mounting
each lush pale
drop of flesh
a pinkest isle
dithered and
cooed a string
of pleasant
sharp rasps
of whitish
light
(the moon like
like honey drips
the whole sky fantastic
and carnal with
the imploding bulge
of her Winter
set ****
).
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 7:19 AM UTC
with cords electric, you've strung me stinging, with them, me. your mouth
is an apple. your mouth is a fragrant cavern.
in which is my my mouth. mingling. from them springs a mountain
of wind. your hands are, on your wrists, pale spiders. on me slung. your web
of cool scuttling love. on my belly.
you go supple. into palms. they are a colour. your colour. the colour of death
just before you live. you are strenuous. a boundless taught moment. of unugly caffeine. i am a noise.
and you are a colour. you said it in me. big and tiny. in my tiny bigness.
and in the backyard. by the sleeping pile of forests. you draw the hammer
of your guns. and i wilt.
sprouting. effortlessly. infinitely. eating the gilt purse of your pinkest tiny.
and we are like wind. who grapples with leaves. and they touch like
lovers. we are like that.
like health. like sickness. freshly shearing. every molecule of our bodies
onto the indigo eaves of eve. quickly, carnivorously, slaughtering light.
let's then just be.
in quiet. and symmetry.
cords electric. strummed with fallen night.
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 3:17 PM UTC
I have drawn portraits
charcoals of Saints
who stayed in one plane
for 200 hours, not moving a hair.
I built a castle, over a hill,
which one I forget.
I have painted oils,
landscaped with smiley faces,
they might look as if they have boils.
I have written, specious, meaning one thing saying another,
poems and probably will do again.
I have laid with Mona Lisa naked,
her perfect breath breathed
into my head.
I have chased Dragons, had a princess by her long hair,
her breast a white snowy her mouth the pinkest gasp.
I have stood taller and fallen farther.
I would, gladly,
do it all again.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
all the streets in girl things comely
arms a bit are haired in
(tan and tan)
the golden crush of whose mute fingers
make blithe the spring
and against
find the night homely
piercingly the mooon against
into slivers thousand make
their drooping slender of cotton haste
as cherry petals,
a branch from shake
in the wind to uncurlsome
neatly wan ankles
and fists o' skin girlsome
crease and crease alike(andunlike)
gossamer
faintly
of
pinkest aching to part
To enter loving
To exit heart
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
it was pretty much last night
it was, pretty much, last night
it was, pretty, much last night
it was last night, it was pretty
much
last night
the air was strings of farcical serious unheat
that clutched about our wayward
strips of
meat
in a the street was a lot like
a neon painted carpet of a
trillion quick sparkles
glinting sorely
on the
immense nook of eve
where was huddled darkness' slinking cloth
a twill of slutty
colours they prattle on the door
ways on the hinges
and the unopened lids
of the fire cold skin
that my lady wheres the night like a carnal shrug about her
well sinewed luxurious shoulders;
to which i'm scuttling fingers
over her vibrant trachea
and down the small
premise of her
sternum
to the
able stillness
of her *******
and on their rush
my soul is molten wax
and
verily
my
heart is tooarapidstutteringglobe
at the blushing crust
of her softest
pinkest
!
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 1:11 PM UTC
These gelid mornings
engender island dreams
of pinkest flamingos,
hot sands, swaying palms,
chattering parrots,
and rising tropical sun;
but finer far, Lady,
(closer, nearer, softer)
would it be to wake
beside your naked flesh
(willing, inviting, enfolding)
beneath a pile of quilts
in the dawn's iron chill
and coax from that
smoldering feminine heat,
from the striking sparks
of your eager kisses,
the exquisite, explosive fuel
of your caresses, deep
within the you of you,
the first fire of the new day.
- mce
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 7:04 AM UTC
Like teenagers in a bedroom
We giggle
As the record player
Spins
Ashes to ashes
Felicity lies sprawled
On the couch
In her pinkest bra
And *******
Funk to funky
One black stiletto
Is on the floor
The other freely
Swings from her toes
We know Major Tom’s..
She exhales the smoke
I drain the bottle
In my head, once more
The colours explode
A ******
The room holds
The unmistakeable sweet smell
Of ***
Two days of ***
Strung out in heaven’s…
Her eyes glaze over
I hate pink and yellow
She spits
Oh, and light blue
..High
I hate you, I lie
Then we ****
With anger, savage
As she has mocked the colours
Hitting an all-time..
The record player sticks
Stilettos and bottles
Litter the floor
Slowly I withdraw
..Low
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
There is a wound that sits behind the eye
Triad tonality, a fearsome sigh
Plucks a ****** chord
Lyric’d by the word “why?”
Acid fingers grin in lust
Anticipating another ****** into the belly
Of time gone by
Hot skin taut and merely waiting
For suicides to release their hands
In the chain their concert makes
Eternities in some hellish waste lived in only seconds.
How strong the forces are!
So steep a severing blow!
Still fresh a carrion scar, festering miles still to go
To beset the pinkest eves
This blade of regret
Within a greater narrative,
Tiny little vignettes
Armed in fashion of drunken odes
Those promises sworn to keep
Accompanied by such pathos woes
Accoutered, finally, in weep.
Brandished when it’s not so fresh:
This minor paring of my flesh
Gleaming in the summer laughs
To caterwaul my gaff, or plural if you like
The humor undercuts enormity
Or screams on shafts in biting breezes
This lived-in clime
I, this prey, displeases.
Unsheathed, the memories, in jovial acts of war
Besiege, beleaguer, the since-immured
True blood and guts long-since obscured
By friendliness, camaraderie
Intentions jester-pure
Trick suppressing-shields raised, jaundiced wills will not deflect
No blade or arrow of regret.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
i want to shave my legs, i want to be a girl again
i want to be like you, i want to be feminine
i want to be pretty, i want to wear pink
i want to pluck my eyebrows, i want to wear a dress
i want to paint my nails, i want to wear lipstick
i want to have the softest skin, i want to wear the pinkest blush
i want to write queer poetry, i want to write love songs
i want to be gay, i want to be a lesbian
i want to write about your *****
i want to write about my lack of a *****
i want to wear cute glasses — i have cute glasses
i want my hair to fall down to my lower back
i want to tuck it behind my ears
i want to put it in pigtails, i want to wear it in a scrunchie
i want to be a feminist
i want to be an intersectional feminist
i want to be an angry feminist
i don’t want to suffer under patriarchy
i don’t want to be told to be quiet a man is talking
i don’t want to be told to smile
i don’t want to be stared at with beady eyes
i don’t want to be *****
i don’t want to feel unsafe
i want to feel free, i want to be me
i want to be published
i want to win poetry prizes
i want to show trans girls that we can do anything
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 7:31 AM UTC
Youre imperfectly perfect
the words that you speak feel like a summer breeze that melts the ice around my heart
From the start or maybe towards the end
I'm not quite sure, all the words I couldn't fully comprehend
But I did understand the joy that it brought you
Your face lighting up like Hyde park on the 5th of November
Truly a sight to behold something I'll always remember.
It feels like Cupid himself was responsible for that serendipitous moment
Invisible hands turning my gaze towards you and you stole my attention
Altering my perception of what is truly beautiful in the world
Not diamonds, nor pearls nor the pinkest spinel
Simply your smile,
the unadulterated happiness radiating from your face is like the warmest of lights
Guiding me from the sea of despair past the rocks of confusion into the safety of your arms
An embrace that is reassuring for the mind, loving to the body and substance for the soul.
Turning my heart into the loudest of percussive instruments that reprises my dreams as they come into fruition
Starting the ignition of a flame that can never be doused as long as you're near
Forever remembering the place, the time and the space when I gazed upon your imperfect perfection
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 3:45 PM UTC
i can taste the lasting linger
of my final pennies worth
and i can feel the blank desire
my tastebuds spin inside my head
there is morning dew on dangling leaves
and beads of that,
hang on webs of busy widows.
the grass is green but, not for long
and the pinkest flowers are in full bloom;
but only until their pedals fall.
there is an evening light
reserved for days like this,
held and used to mark the end of
more than just a day.
there is a seasoned silence,
we hold in high regard,
but i can't stand or sit
with what that silence is
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 5:33 PM UTC
My whole life I had scoffed at boys gifting girls flowers
The expensive ones, the kind they saved up for
I thought it was incredibly immature to pay for pretty dead things
When the world is in the process of destruction
And the economy is constantly in inflation
It could’ve paid for a lot of things—
A nice meal or even AirPods
It was until I got a girl of my own
Smiling like she’s the sun
Walking around and tugging me along
I suddenly had the urge to get her a 50-dollar bouquet
Or those fancy ones in a box shipped from Dubai
Or a giant teddy bear—Yes!
A giant teddy bear to fill a corner of her room on top of her pile of trash
Suddenly she deserves pretty dead things
Hold onto them as they slowly wilt
I want her to walk around owning a piece of Earth
It could’ve been an animal or a plant
Shiny gems or a worm
But she deserves the brightest crop among the weeds
The purplest shade nature can make
The pinkest rose
The yellowest sunflower
I’m not even one to write a poem either
But somehow I now belong in the stupid group of hopeless romantics
plucking pretty things from Earth
Despite inflation and pragmatism
I guess it says a lot about us humans
Sentimental *****
Feb 18, 2020
Feb 18, 2020 at 4:05 AM UTC