"purfume" poems
Art is opinion masquerading as truth.
When I draw a city, I am drawing the city of my dreams, just as the city that is does not exist.
Putting policy into words in the hopes of having yourself heard is not the point of the philosopher,
and should not be the end of the penman.
When I attempt to make the world see, I manufacture my enemy. We should seek instead to illuminate gracefully, to speak the words beyond the void of flesh, and to touch emotions that swim with depth
It will get us nowhere to make art political, of which it is propaganda and employed many an artist in the past;
whose dreams of good deeds became hung in a museum for all the wrong reasons, leaving a remnant of an unforseen circumstance hanging dry on an empty tour-guide phonecall
Descriptive yet lies
Argue the dialectic of truth than the present purfume of lies that is fumigated from the salivary discharge of a cetaceous yearning of ********** of thought, that leftover dream of God
That all things should be the same, that all minds should think that way-- if they were, we'd be done with the experiment.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
Months have passed since I last seen your face,
Touched your skin, the scent of your lovely purfume,
Oh my, how I have longed for my lips to meet your once more...
But I pinky promise myself No More,
The aches and pains seem to supress day by day as I take leaps forward,
Staying occupied and savoring the moments in My life,
which seems to be the antibiotics to this so called "Heart Break,"
I made new friends and new potential lovers and you see me.
You contact me to make conversation to keep me at arms length once more,
But burn me once shame on you, burn me twice shame on me,
You will not deceive me again, to leave me broken hearted once more,
Medusa, I see through your stone cold eyes,
I have worked to hard and made a promise I tend to keep,
I tell you everything is fine, which it is since I have learned to live again without you.
The love I had for you once upon a time is no more,
But I will say this I Will keep the wisdom you have given me,
I thank you for pushing me towards being a stronger person and lover,
I just hope that what you did was worth it to you,
As I give you words of advice I tell you,
"Dont treat your next as your last,
Or you will have no problem repeating the past,"
I see tears running from your eyes,
As I can see the regret in them,
As our eyes meet our lips meet once more,
and you smile,
The last words you heard from me as you watched my back this time around was,
"I'm sorry, please take care of yourself but, No More."
{RP}
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
i want you to come home.
i sit,
drunk and drinking,
******* the last hit off of cigs you smoked
days ago...
i want you to come home.
but you are miles away,
flashing that grin
at the girls who were always
conisdered your type.
painted bubbly bright blond
rays of sunshine that just can't wait to
tell you of their highschool cheerleading years...
i want you to come home.
but your out
buying drinks and promising to save a dance
or two.
and it's ok with me cause i have
books that need reading
and games that need playing...
you say not to worry cause in the end
you always come home.
i try and ignore the purfume thats not mine
and the numbers you kept for a laugh.
i should have known better
loving you as hard as i do...
how could i last?
i was on the yearbook staff in highschool.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
Tis but a dream!
Flowing wildly,
Intae tha memories
Tha goals, tha desires,
Delving intae tha deepths
Touching tha he'rt,
Romancing tha soul
Exciting tha senses,
Pulling at tha emotions.
Tis but a dream!
Aye sae true,
Yet e'er sae real
an' yin begins tae act,
within its wonnerous play
Rememmering,
such nichts
Her purfume, her form,
An all else fades
Save for her touch,
Her smile, her love.
For she tis but a phantom,
A ghost O lang ago
That haunts nue my e'er dream.
Tis but a dream?
Aye ,tis but a dream!
Tis but a dream!
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 7:22 AM UTC
Yor lips
As soft
Like a drop
Of dew
Flows
Off a leaf
During the morning haze.
So soft
Yet so chemicaled?
Your hair
The color of a wheat field
Shines so brightly
Yet so dim.
Your voice so soft and sensual
Brings me to newer heights with each day that passes
But when you come home and your voice is dry and raspy
Could this be
Because...
You building hallways are so filthy
The dust particles come from with in you?
Your skin..mmm
Your skin my dear,
So fresh and scented as the ***** water
Which flows from the ***** pipes of your building?
Your hair teases me from the scent
Of the ***** city air
And the dust particles
From the enviromental planetary
Sludge.
It entangles the sences of my nose!
Oh how sweet your purfume!
Your hands so soft
With dense lines on your nails..
Why is this so?
Could it be?
Could it be dear love?
You work too much
With your delicate dainty hands?
Or?
Is it the cheap chemicals
That must be!
Or just malnutrition?
Maybe
Maybe its just me.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
Theres an old cabin at the edge of the ocean, where salt and the summer sun are trapped in it's aging wood. Small peices of the past still linger within it's walls. Like ripples leading us through worm holes, and back into thier arms. The scent of purfume softly misted within the passing breeze, will feel like its stopped the world around you.
As you close your eyes in the moment, you could still feel the sensation of their warm lips grazing yours. The unforgettable feeling of thier body heat dancing around you. The oils from the fingertips, pressed firmly against your jaw line.
Thier essence slowly fading, but never quite gone.
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 1:32 AM UTC
i've been sleeping with skeletons again lately
and drenching myself in purfume
so no one can smell my dead passion or the inspiration i always seem to lose
i keep hearing what you said and
i'm hearing dead poems being recited in my head again and i know my words will outlive me like they outlived you and that keeps me company
i've been writing things that don't make sense and sitting outside burning books again
*i've been sleeping with skeletons
again
they tell me not to write these things down again*
(cjw)
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
Preparing for a no
Before asking
Is like digging up seeds
Before there are signs of weeds
But which is worse?
The possibility of some tormenting weeds
Or
Not ever having a garden in the first place
My flowers could grow tall and bright and strong
They could be my purfume smell
They could be my smiles
Well i know
weeds do grow
And can **** my lovely flowers
I'll just plant some more
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
Air.
Earth.
Home.
Laundry soap.
Thin aura of cleaning supplies.
Faint stench of the fancy life.
Of a higher power.
Of a higher division in the levels of Society.
Distant expenses of cologne and purfume.
But mostly the aura of cleaning supplies.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:21 AM UTC
you're in the movie
in a car
the top is down
you're strumming on your guitar
everyone knows the words
they're singing out your tune
she's up front
can smell her sweet purfume
Next scene you're walking
in the rain
she's right beside
as you stroll on down the lane
the skys open up
a signal to the sky
you stop and stare
the quiet amplified
hello world.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
I wear your scent like purfume
When i sweat i sweat you
I basque in your energy
Its all i am and want to be
I breathed you in to last an eternity
Although alone phycically
I see me through your eyes
Vivatious and whole
Such beauty to unfold but your scared to death of me.
Now that Ive seen magic I can never go back..
Our hearts beat as one.. spirits meet in the stars. Its more then chemisry. Way bigger than you and me.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 11:15 PM UTC