"pinkness" poems
There is something about the beauty of a woman,
it shines in the whites of her eyes,
and the pearls of her teeth,
it is in the melanin of her skin,
and the black of her hair,
it is in the warm browns,
midnight blacks,
and the pinkness of her hidden flesh,
it is in the smell of her skin,
and the natural pheromone scents,
There is something about the beauty of a black woman,
that keeps pulling me in...
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC
she was like
a wilting flower
drained of all things
that kept the others upright
he was like
a rushing brook
who saw her crumpled and tired,
crowded by overgrown weeds,
and wanted nothing more
than to clear the earth around her
and see her bloom again
so he took all he had
and poured it into her
and when finally the pinkness
had returned to her cheeks
she looked back at him
and saw that
he was now like
a withering shrub
frail and planted in dry clay
and despite the deep conviction
she had in her heart to restore him
like he had restored her
all of her best efforts
left her with with exposed roots
and dirt beneath her fingernails
he wouldn’t let her stay
to continue to try
to quench his thirst
so she left him with a watering can
and promised he’d soon find relief
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
of this wilting wall the colour drub
souring sunbeams,of a foetal fragrance
to rickety unclosed blinds inslants
peregrinate,a cigar-stub
disintegrates,above,underdrawers club
the faintly sweating air with pinkness,
one pale dog behind a slopcaked shrub
painstakingly utters a slippery mess,
a star sleepily,feebly,scratches the sore
of morning. But i am interested more
intricately in the delicate scorn
with which in a putrid window every day
almost leans a lady whose still-born
smile involves the comedy of decay,
6.3k
Will it last? he says.
Is it a masterpiece?
Will generation after generation
Turn with reverence to the page?
Birdseye scholar of the frozen fish,
What would he make of the sole, clean, clear
Leap of the salmon that has disappeared?
To be, yes!—whether they like it or not!
But not to last when leap and water are forgotten,
A plank of standard pinkness in the dish.
They also live
Who swerve and vanish in the river.
4.6k
Half calf with a twist
As the line stands
Thinking she is a superimposed *****
Foregoing on
Barista
Waist like an elastic band
Hair waving hello in it’s pinkness
Homeless man coming in
Screaming
Obscenities
Something about Romans and Euripides
As if in a round about
Circle the store like a hovered cloud
Then out again
The rocker dude sipping his tea
The older man in the corner
Who constantly leaves
Wandering where one can’t see
Trailing behind his laptop and keys
Somewhere in this madness loop
Latte’s and Macchiato's brew
And I
With a child's flair
Take it all in, while I throw back my hair
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 11:28 PM UTC
Our trajectory is unknowable, you tell me: the planet
corkscrews around the Sun, sure,
but the Sun corkscrews around a black hole at
the heart of the Milky Way,
and our whole galaxy travels on some mysterious,
incalculable vector. But sister, I saw a photograph
in which two whale sharks were brought to
heel by men in simple reed boats just
off the coast of the Philippines. All that they had
to do was often feed
the sharks many gallons of grocery-store frozen
shrimp, poured from plastic garbage bags into
their yawning six-foot maws to portside.
Gargantuan, sure, but still
as obedient and eager for food as backyard
squirrels. I remembered a grainy
internet video—I saw it probably seven or
eight years back—in which
a captured whale shark was winched
ashore in Madagascar, or
maybe it was the Philippines again—no matter—
the thing still had life left
in it and struggled to breathe while a crowd of
people gathered around—there were
women carrying babies, girls holding baskets atop
their heads—and then the
men came with a long slender blade and sliced clean
through the whale’s spine, vivisected it
right there on the dock, and the onlookers stood there quite
unfazed—I remember
being shocked at the effortlessness of the cut,
the pinkness of the whale’s blood,
and the boredom in the onlookers’ eyes. Our father
took us down to San Antonio
on one of his business trips there when we were five
or six—I think
you were probably too young to
remember it—
it was when you and I saw the ocean for the first
time. We drove down to the Gulf
of Mexico, and we saw waves breaking
out near the horizon in pale
sunlight. I kept scanning for a dorsal
fin off beyond
the breakers, thinking that I might spot one—
sandy brown, mottled with
cream spots and glistening—so that I might be able to
say to you, pointing, “look,
sister, there is a whale shark!” Years
later we would learn
that he traveled down to San Antonio so
frequently because he was a philanderer. As
a child I believed that whale sharks
crisscrossed the ocean following
paths that we couldn’t fathom, that
their concerns were somehow
beyond our comprehension, but then
Keppler pinned down
the shape of the Earth’s orbit over four
hundred years ago,
and the lives of ancient sea
titans are sundered
effortlessly
by men with indifferent faces.
Sep 22, 2023
Sep 22, 2023 at 2:27 AM UTC
To everyone else who used it to seal a present,
It was nothing more than
A color to choose
A length to measure
A string to knot
It was something that held together a treasure
But to her, a ribbon was so much more
The triangular slit
She herself had cut at the edge
Of the soft pink ribbon,
Ended in corners,
The way her smile did
Everytime she'd
Loop and pull
Loop and pull
The bows she'd craft
Were more to her
Than just bunny ears and tails.
They were trinkets of triumph
Hints of hope
Possessions of passion
They reminded her of spring
Not the season
But spring
Of the trampoline
In her first gymnastics competition.
The ribbon hugged her ponytail
Delicate and dainty
The ribbon lay around her neck holding
Gold
Silver
Bronze
Ribbon nonetheless
They reminded her of balloons
Not the hot air type.
Balloons at carnivals
That floated
Miles away
Heights astray
If there was not ribbon
To secure it tight
On her fragile wrist
They reminded her of father.
Not that he wore ribbons or anything.
But that he left her with one
Wrapped around
A freshly picked
Bundle of flowers
Bundle of happiness
Bundle of unspoken words of affirmation
But flowers die
And so did father
When they did,
She was left with nothing but the ribbon
Loose and dirtied.
But the pinkness
Unlike flowers and father,
Barely faded away
And for the first time in a long time,
She saw life
In something that didn't have any.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
Come to me...
I want you" I whisper breathlessly in your ear
I crave you under my skin,
Between my thighs
With every inch that pulses...
Come to me... stroke my body
With your wet desires,
Taste me as I bring myself to your lips,
I want to sink my silken need,
Wrap around your aching sinew;
G
l
i
d
i
n
g
My hip motion,
In rhythmic beats...
Listen,
As my song liquefy's,
Drowns you,
In the swallowing gush;
Midnight
My decadent addiction
Drips velvet...
Melting
The shudder, of a russet kiss
Devoured
Slathered in October's earthy scent,
The gem faceted light reveals
My softness... in your hands;
Sliding your desire
Coating me...
Deepest silken magenta
Drinks poignant yearn
Laced lips...
Wrap around
Groans that echo
Spoon feeding enchantment upon
A sinful swallow...
Unashamed, shadows smile
Where a tongue teases
Pulse beat moments...
Your skin scent,
A rush in torrid blues
Tethered,
Stitched into silken crevices;
Where flesh consumes itself against
Your burning,
Red in my veins...
Stroke my petals with a moist lick of tongue,
Watch me
As I bloom and open wider,
Enter the swelling pinkness
Wander ever deeper into my fragrance;
"You make me burn"
I whisper into your mouth...
Touch my flesh in breaths
Bend me, fold me, lick my sighs
Move me from within.
Let your fingers caress my open thighs
Hold me deeply
Throb in my grip...
Kiss the place where ***** peaks taste your tongue...
~Breathless~
higher
~Faster~
higher
~Deeper~
higher
Come
To
Me..............
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
This night I shall dream
of your bedazzling Puple hair and Lion-eyes.
Wrapped in the echoes of your eyes-music,
I long to sip from your peachful lips.
In my dreams, I soar on your plush pinkness --
skimming vast continents with hands and lips.
The depths of all the oceans of the universe
shall never separate our entwined bodies.
Brilliant as enthralling lust,
the seas greet us from afar.
In the twilight we feast on chocolate-covered
strawberries and tender lovehearts
Adorned in white silk, we pluck
our raining love chimes from our thighs.
I press the heart that you wear around your neck
against my hands so that our hearts melt into one.
You will always be my little Aphrodite,
the Lion of my own eyes of love.
Mar 6, 2011
Mar 6, 2011 at 5:55 AM UTC
*We find our heroes
(as is so common)
in the throes of agony.
pacing.*
Describe a room
any room
fill it with ***** let it
leak brown and bitter
from the open windows.
don't mind the curtains
set your face in the upper left corner
pan across to them, naked and fuming
zoom.
straight to her powerful collarbones
*(stay above the *******
just a hint of cleavage)*
his wrinkled jawline,
the quarter-inch neck stubble.
keep the shoulders in frame
how they tense, how they painfully
shrug and anticipate the next
verbal battalion.
watch their hands wave away
the demons of past nights (read: last night)
give us the soft stomp of bare feet
on beaten carpet keep the stains.
their teeth reach out from
under the cover of wet pinkness.
take a second (slow-motion)
to appreciate the strands
of abandoned spit reaching from
one lip to the next
like suspension bridges.
the sounds are invisible,
but the pain is not
*and the bruises
won't be either*
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
The golden tinge of the shy sun
Peeked onto her pinkness
The youthful night was full of fun
Leaving residues on her face!
Whole night the storm blew
That no cover could protect
Denser the darkness grew
Hankering for a ****** perfect!
It’s still there the bed sheet
Spotless without a stain on it
Gone is the storm with its rage
Pinkness stolen, she has come of age!
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
Take me, Miss Pinkie says,
take me. A plump bundle
of pinkness, dyed hair, grey
at the roots, the blue eyes
whiskey soaked, the mouth
open, the naked skin, the full
moon flowing in. All aboard
who are coming aboard, she
says to the room, and he beside
her says, are you sure? now
of all times? yes, she says, lift
the anchor, set sail, take note
of the rough seas, the rise and
fall of the waves, and he looking
back sees moonlight on his naked
**** the sound of Mahler’s 6th
echoing from the other room,
and he sensing the high seas
and moving surf, climbs aboard,
set eyes to the horizon of bed
board and cool blue walls, and
hears the sirens sing, hears the
creak of bed and bones as he and
Miss Pinkie, on the love ship, hold
tight and smile, as it rises and falls.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 3:17 AM UTC
I do not have it in me to be the kind of empty and full that you need
I carry secrets and liquid sad feelings in my stomach like an antique hot water bottle
They are the colours of mashed up autumn leaves and ***** puddle water and decaying petals floating on some pretend witches potion
Crimson rust lines the edges of my eyes, I use black eyeliner to patch the pinprick holes, where I have previously sewn, trying to forget
These are the remnants of my rock heart which has been eroded away
The powder sits regretfully in my veins
When my heart beats I feel it scrape and catch the pink surfaces
It aches too much
My insides are losing their pinkness
Your presence is abrasive
Use a higher grade sandpaper and be done
Take off the old circus ride paint layers, my nail beds are already saturated with chips of red yellow and blue
Reach something clear and peaceful
Cut lengths of my hair, and separate them into small twists, tethered with small satin ribbons to be used for some happier embroidery
Or to be stored in tin lockets
Or to be disposed of in rivers like those Georgian keepsakes that mothers leave at hospitals
Let other people write with it
Pass the used up glass needle like straws through calico or linen
Felt tip the colour over
Cut out my heart and let the elements sit.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
When He asks, quietly, if I still think of You
even when I’m here,
I say
"always."
why?
because snow falls just as softly here as it
did
during our first kiss,
when it melted on your flushed
cheeks
in the mountain light of our childhood.
I think of your face as it was,
like the neighbor’s cornfield,
fogged but bright through the windows of your car
as you raced me home in the pastoral dawn
to beat my parents' alarm clock.
now when I look at you,
I see the ruins of the storm:
the once-grand Victorians of our town,
sunken and foul,
the spray painted x’s, signaling “condemned,”
barely masked by the slush.
this new color in the landscape of your countenance,
is
a translucent grey
—
I think it is called indifference.
They told us
“distance extinguishes small flames,
and fuels great fires.”
my breath burns cold and sharp,
like the icicles that hung outside your mother’s store,
when You told me that it was easy to hurt me,
and You didn’t know why.
those words froze me solid
like citrus trees killed in a late frost.
He says that He still see the pinkness in my own cheeks,
when I talk of You.
I sigh
and say that I will try harder
to stop loving You,
but
the chairlift rocks and shifts the spears in my chest and
I wince,
because I know I will for all my life.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
a little raw beautiful you are the way.
and ,ti evol I
the mouth that soft(that cruel) of teeth
and lips
is like it. thorn'd
and prim and
ringed in pinkness
of petals parting
on a pistil between.
such smoothness that rushes,
such skinness that prickles exactly
at the right arch
of its rising hips.
to meet with the riding
heartness of my surging taste:
blood and just
that tiny tang
of left behind from.
(can i begin?)'(
and to fold you;
into my hands–as fists–
that unfold–inside you.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
My body is a bee hive
and my brain is the queen,
fertile and made fat from
the little bugs inside of her.
My ears are stuffed
with soft cotton *****
and my skin is made with
the flesh from an apple.
And I am pure like the moon,
homesick for the pinkness
that lives inside you.
I am ripe and flowering.
As I rot, you swallow my remains.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 2:42 PM UTC
I stuck my hand in the pocket
Of one of your ancient wool coats.
Unworn for many years, too small for me,
It had obviously fit a much younger, trimmer you.
Inside I found a single well-handled pink tissue,
Very fragile, but still in one piece.
I held it up, in awe of its age.
It was then I saw the glimmer
Of infinitesimal crystals;
****** secretions from the distant past.
At once I imagined you outside,
Nose running freely in the cold air,
Furtively brushing your nose now and again
With the tissue, before reburying it
In the satin-lined pocket.
As I held it up in the dim light of the bedroom,
A furtive breeze, aided by the shaking
Of my hand, unlocked the tiny prisms
From the weave of pinkness,
And they dispersed into the air invisibly,
Like the popping of silent bubbles.
A delicate part of you had been returned,
Freed, into the constantly moving stream of life,
Now released from a silken *******
I bowed my head in wonder at it;
That you were gone from me now,
And yet here was this most human statement left behind,
An outpouring from your once vibrant body.
And I had just touched you again,
And could feel you floating all around me,
Finer in the air, than ashes from a cremation,
Was this dust of ashes
From a long lost Winter day
And then, I breathed you into me
Just for a few minutes, and watched
As the boundaries of time and space were suspended.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 5:33 PM UTC
1 word coiled warmly
your nape about swarms
it exactly spoken from
mouths strangely perfect
ly unclosed and jointed
(your body
sort of is a
crumbling feverish
hot sound
(
ocean your body sort of is an
depthless puddling skin right
down into i swim courageously
fleshy pinkness strutting gorgeously
your thighs do thatness charmingly
scrambling against my cheeks
(and your nails are sharpness
beautifully grinding lovely
in my scalp trenches) O' you are pain
deliciously,
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 4:32 PM UTC
i'm sitting i can hear the ocean way out over the moon hangs deftly round in all the fitness of chaste and cool darkness my hands are at my waist i'm sure they are and where are my hands i wonder at the split milken and tenderly dripping sea it whispers my heart is in it deeper than a seagirl their ******* are like cherries popping sweetly with just a crisp flens if pinkness at their tips at their **** i'm feckless staring harder than and harder then a star leaps wholly the blouse of night one unsharp button of her quickly tousled hem i'm tearing to by bit by into her tear and a boy is sitting on his door step he looks thinking one day he will make a boy in a girl spilling her full of him
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
In the valley of no ambition to possess,
Gather a conference of noblesse.
Couples there to embrace their once in a life permanence,
Atop the reflective mirror,
Thousands of creatures, jealous, are deprived the chance,
In this waterless land hides Venus’s lake.
On one leg and bended neck eminence,
Flamingo courtship:an elegant finesse.
Ballerinas dancing coupled pirouettes,
Partnered together beyond death,
Angels clad in mango pinkness, the epitome of grace.
PFL
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 3:53 AM UTC
The Butterfly Wallows
Black petals of goodbyes embellished the ground
The pinkness goes away as the sun is setting
light begins to disappear as it is drowned
The tides show no chance of forgetting
When you flew away beyond where I can be
The heat of the cold appeared
As the darkness washes over the blue sea
Every speck of existence has been cleared
Longing for the light to be spared
But the Fates have cut the thread
The flowing streams show who cared
Now there is a heavy heart of lead
Nostalgia for the past settles in
When reality begins to show
The sun burnt out before all could begin
And now my precious gem doesn’t glow
A symbol of love hides in the trees
Bringing the longing for the drums beat
But what still exists are the memories
Back when the bitter world was sweet
In the two blue seas it is easy to get lost
And the warmth steals all five senses
The music melted all the frost
Never anything ever tenses
Frolicing in the vibrantly colored meadows
All alone surrounded in undying love
Where benign words of eternity echoes
As a gentle touch is all that was thought of
The butterflies dance with the sun shining down
With fading light a passionate rendezvous takes place
Bringing the wistfulness where she is to drown
Getting lost in the stars of the alluring face
Together the symbol of love is embedded in the tree
The symbol of infinity following
Unknowing of what the ending would be
The butterfly wouldn’t be saved from wallowing
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 12:20 AM UTC
You are so tiny but so large.
Many oceans you carry in your bloodstream.
More than I can ever hope to witness.
Even the tears forming on the very edges
of the pinkness of my eyelids cannot touch them.
And you've always been so gifted. So much so
that knowing you becomes gift in itself. So much so
that even the tears forming on the very edges of the
pinkness, the once grey pinkness of my eyelids
speak now, with rain-drops. Pattering metaphorically
into your heart. I can't even bring myself to read
the whole of your goodbye message before rain-drops
become floods.
Congratulations, you did the one thing that
not a single one of my adolescent girlfriends could ever do:
You turned me into a cloud on the very edge
of turning playgrounds into cemeteries.
And still those will not be oceans, Little Girl.
Even when you say goodbye to me-
I have nothing of my own to wade in as you
drift, drift, drift,
and never sink
in the mad richness of your effervescent soul.
Little Girl, you remind me of how I used to be
and I am not even an old man yet.
You remind me that there's hope in this big, big world,
Little Girl.
And you thought you didn't matter.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
summer candy fast
on the back of a motorcycle in a sun dress
ignites a pale shaft
between divinity
draws deeply
opaque unlife
into pinkness
(smiles
like sugar
sprinkled on a razor)
Exh
a
l
e
s
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
Chasing camels knowing nothing
Faded, crossing the grass!
Dollar signs in my hair, nothing nothing, despair
Something sweeps along!
Pirates (become) cool again, kingdoms crossing dens
I wonder what keeps you afloat!
In the end however
You shall ought to ought discover
You better pay attention
Cause those wallabies won’t be merciful today
An hundred ***** dozen
The earth’s cosmic crap
Don’t worry about a thing
Let it all hang out loose
The floating desert above my window
Seeing cacti from miles around
That melty feeling in the floor
Buddy, buddy, buddy, buddy
Cortisone, Caroline, chlamydia
Ryan Reynolds’ ***** fat old swine
Never letting go of this once-ward prime
Purple moles with drills on their heads
Green dotty daughters of pinkness concoction
Creation of the nullness of the black thing-a-mah-bob
Relapse and relax, do your slam thing.
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 8:02 AM UTC
The light was dim and caramel and each step down the hallway pulled pieces of me towards the floor with something more than gravity until the room was marked with objects stained with me. Jellyfish bloomed up in my stomach with an intricate urgency. I could still taste the steam and soap on your neck. Our bodies were improvisational ossilation. I lost my mouth in your tongue and didn't find it again until you pulled it out of the air. I traced your body with my body in an artistic study of the interaction of line and curve and color. There wasn't enough oxygen and the couch suffocated, we just held our breath and shared contaminated atmosphere. Now I think of you and your hands past tense. Daydreams bend time and space, no longer here, but then-when you wished I wore a dress and I did too and your body was heavy and pink and exposed and I was out of breath with the weight of your heaviness and warm with the proximity or your pinkness.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC