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"ricardo" poems
Gusto ko ng panibagong balat. Iyong maputi at makinis. Mala porselana, Na halos kuminang tuwing masisinagan ng araw. Kabisado ko ang bilang ng araw, Na ginugugol sa ilalim ng araw kakabanat. Ngunit, Ang panibagong balat, Hindi nito ako kayang protektahan, alam ko. Lilimitahan lamang nito ang mga nalalaman ko. Ngunit, Sa panibagong balat, nais ko magsimula. Kilalanin at kalimutan ng halos magkasabay, Ang imahe ng nakakadiri kong balat. Bilang ang peklat. Sukat ko kung gaano kalalim ito, Noong sugat pa lamang. Kaya ko gusto ng bagong balat para pagtakpan ito. Baka sakaling iwasto ng bago kong balat, Ang mga naimali ko. Makikilala kaya ako ng ibang tao, Sa bagong balat na suot ko? Marahil hindi, sana hindi, panigurado hindi. Nais kong magtago, Sa paraan kung paano ako lulutang ng hubo't hubad. Nang hindi ko na itatakip, Ang aking palad sa aking dibdib, Dahon sa ibaba ng puson. Isisigaw ko ang salitang "PUTA!" ng napakalakas, Halos magsisilabas Ang mga putang mismong makakarinig, At yayakapin ko sila. Dahil bago ang balat ko, ito'y mainit. Kumpara sa nahamugan kong balat kagabi. Malinis, Kumpara sa balat kong may dampi ng mabahong laway. Mabango, Kumpara sa mumurahing aficionado na nahaluan Ng pawis ni Ricardo kagabi. Bagong balat. Ibebenta ko ang luma kong balat, Sa gabing ito. Bilhin mo ang aking balat. May panibago bukas, Pag-asa, hamon, Mantikilya sa loob ng pandesal. Gamit ang luma kong balat, Makakabili pa ba ako ng bago? Magkaiba ang bagong uri sa bagong palit. Ang balat ko, nalaspag na. Tulad ng puti kong damit, Hindi na ito puti. Marumi ang titig ko. Marumihin ang aking naisuot. Ang balat ko ay puno ng mantsa, Ngunit bago ang aking suot ngayon, bagamat, Iisa parin ng uri. Balat na nakalaan para ulitin ang pagrumi at Yurak sa puti kong suot. Bagong balat, kulay puti. Wala na akong maisuot. Hubad na ang aking puri. Hindi ko masuot ang salapi. Magkano pera mo? Tara? Nais mo bang makita ang aking balat?
0
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 10:01 AM UTC
nielism
Mahabang Sigarilyo, Mahabang Gabi ni Maria.
Gusto ko ng panibagong balat. Iyong maputi at makinis. Mala porselana, Na halos kuminang tuwing masisinagan ng araw. Kabisado ko ang bilang ng araw, Na ginugugol sa ilalim ng araw kakabanat. Ngunit, Ang panibagong balat, Hindi nito ako kayang protektahan, alam ko. Lilimitahan lamang nito ang mga nalalaman ko. Ngunit, Sa panibagong balat, nais ko magsimula. Kilalanin at kalimutan ng halos magkasabay, Ang imahe ng nakakadiri kong balat. Bilang ang peklat. Sukat ko kung gaano kalalim ito, Noong sugat pa lamang. Kaya ko gusto ng bagong balat para pagtakpan ito. Baka sakaling iwasto ng bago kong balat, Ang mga naimali ko. Makikilala kaya ako ng ibang tao, Sa bagong balat na suot ko? Marahil hindi, sana hindi, panigurado hindi. Nais kong magtago, Sa paraan kung paano ako lulutang ng hubo't hubad. Nang hindi ko na itatakip, Ang aking palad sa aking dibdib, Dahon sa ibaba ng puson. Isisigaw ko ang salitang "PUTA!" ng napakalakas, Halos magsisilabas Ang mga putang mismong makakarinig, At yayakapin ko sila. Dahil bago ang balat ko, ito'y mainit. Kumpara sa nahamugan kong balat kagabi. Malinis, Kumpara sa balat kong may dampi ng mabahong laway. Mabango, Kumpara sa mumurahing aficionado na nahaluan Ng pawis ni Ricardo kagabi. Bagong balat. Ibebenta ko ang luma kong balat, Sa gabing ito. Bilhin mo ang aking balat. May panibago bukas, Pag-asa, hamon, Mantikilya sa loob ng pandesal. Gamit ang luma kong balat, Makakabili pa ba ako ng bago? Magkaiba ang bagong uri sa bagong palit. Ang balat ko, nalaspag na. Tulad ng puti kong damit, Hindi na ito puti. Marumi ang titig ko. Marumihin ang aking naisuot. Ang balat ko ay puno ng mantsa, Ngunit bago ang aking suot ngayon, bagamat, Iisa parin ng uri. Balat na nakalaan para ulitin ang pagrumi at Yurak sa puti kong suot. Bagong balat, kulay puti. Wala na akong maisuot. Hubad na ang aking puri. Hindi ko masuot ang salapi. Magkano pera mo? Tara? Nais mo bang makita ang aking balat?
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67
Strange as it seems, November schemes, For Isi bears the moonlight gleam. For as I saw This fluffy awe Ricardo, memes, on me bestow! She melts my heart, This kitten-tart Propels me from the very start! Yet, fill my soul! And make me whole Till I have reached the final goal. You moonshine light, That fills the night, With lunar gleam and kitten blight. And dear sweet cat, I'll tell you that, I'm fond of you, from sole to hat. Of ears and tail, I shall not fail To feel your floof beyond the pale. And they shall love This morning dove That's you, who's sent from up above. Ah! Isi dear, You make me steer Towards your sight, your kitten-gear. This kitten-gear! So sweet and sheer Shibari-knots dispel my fear. Shibari-knots And dazzling Goths Victorian air, I breath a lot! Sing high, my soul, From pole to pole, That you, my cat-girl, make me whole!
0
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 8:17 AM UTC
dr_giallio
On Isibella de Karnstein, without putting on her makeup.
Strange as it seems, November schemes, For Isi bears the moonlight gleam. For as I saw This fluffy awe Ricardo, memes, on me bestow! She melts my heart, This kitten-tart Propels me from the very start! Yet, fill my soul! And make me whole Till I have reached the final goal. You moonshine light, That fills the night, With lunar gleam and kitten blight. And dear sweet cat, I'll tell you that, I'm fond of you, from sole to hat. Of ears and tail, I shall not fail To feel your floof beyond the pale. And they shall love This morning dove That's you, who's sent from up above. Ah! Isi dear, You make me steer Towards your sight, your kitten-gear. This kitten-gear! So sweet and sheer Shibari-knots dispel my fear. Shibari-knots And dazzling Goths Victorian air, I breath a lot! Sing high, my soul, From pole to pole, That you, my cat-girl, make me whole!
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36
Ricardo KAKA is not just a soccer player. He is the sun shinning on the soccer field. When he smiles it fills everyone up with an enormous sense of joy. When he gets benched, it's like an avalanche after an earthquake just destroyed every building. But when he scores even the opponents' stadium has to clap. When he plays is the conducter of the syphany. Some say "Bend it like Beckam." but I say "Ball up like Kaka."
0
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
steven-resteman
Ricardo Kaka
Ricardo KAKA is not just a soccer player. He is the sun shinning on the soccer field. When he smiles it fills everyone up with an enormous sense of joy. When he gets benched, it's like an avalanche after an earthquake just destroyed every building. But when he scores even the opponents' stadium has to clap. When he plays is the conducter of the syphany. Some say "Bend it like Beckam." but I say "Ball up like Kaka."
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1
5th Ave. was shoulder to shoulder with hungry lunch-seeking business men and women. Ricardo unpacked his horn nervously and a foot cymbal. Spring, early street season, too cold for most musicians but he needed money. His lips kissed the cold metal mouthpiece. Carrying the saw and the pulaski. Cutting brush for a fire line high up, where raptors and ravens fly. No sound but wind if you could subtract the crew working and ***** joking during lunch. A good year it had been sitting in the soil feeling Ricardo's body on the mountainside. Mountains moving as good a feeling. Alone in his town, most neighbors at work, housecleaning done, Ricardo settled down with pen to write and ate lunch. People = chickadees. Clutch size, substrate, territory, gestation period. Mating rituals. Use of alcohol and hallucinogens. Forms of cancer, heart disease. Burial rites, memories. Creation myths, beliefs for which there is no evidence. Range: tundra to tropics.
0
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
robert-ronnow
Ricardo's Lunch
5th Ave. was shoulder to shoulder with hungry lunch-seeking business men and women. Ricardo unpacked his horn nervously and a foot cymbal. Spring, early street season, too cold for most musicians but he needed money. His lips kissed the cold metal mouthpiece. Carrying the saw and the pulaski. Cutting brush for a fire line high up, where raptors and ravens fly. No sound but wind if you could subtract the crew working and ***** joking during lunch. A good year it had been sitting in the soil feeling Ricardo's body on the mountainside. Mountains moving as good a feeling. Alone in his town, most neighbors at work, housecleaning done, Ricardo settled down with pen to write and ate lunch. People = chickadees. Clutch size, substrate, territory, gestation period. Mating rituals. Use of alcohol and hallucinogens. Forms of cancer, heart disease. Burial rites, memories. Creation myths, beliefs for which there is no evidence. Range: tundra to tropics.
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24
on sunday, i sat in our kitchen with my dad as the pale april sunlight streamed in and we watched as the brasilian government held the vote over whether or not to impeach the president dilma rousseff. my brother’s at college, my mom was at work; it was just me and my dad. a family friend told me once that my dad loves his country more than anybody they'd ever met. i remember, we ate apple slices as we watched the government vote on the fate of the country. i am 17 and my dad still slices my apples, cuts my grilled cheese sandwiches into triangles, calls me querida. my dad gestures at the TV, we both talk with our hands a little too much, and tells me that you can tell which way the politicians are voting based of the color they’re wearing. the worker’s party, partido dos trabalhadores, called the PT is wearing red. they're the ones that vote against impeachment, eu voto não. my father marched for that party in the 70s, 80s. they were born of the opposition to the military dictatorship of his childhood. he glares at the TV screen, now, like he’s angry for the promises they broke. the TV in the kitchen is practically a relic, a boxy fourteen inches, older than me. we have a satellite dish in the backyard so we can get globo, the biggest television network in brasil. neighbor kids accidentally chuck their ***** into it, hitting the dish and scrambling over the fence to collect their toys. on the TV, ricardo barros walks up the microphone. he’s a congressman from my family’s home state of paraná. my dad says, “hey, i went to college with him!” they both majored in civil engineering, went to university in maringá. i remember i laughed. my dad knows so many people that he can find acquaintances on the TV. i asked my dad if they were friends. he laughs a little, too, says it depends on how ricardo voted. ricardo voted yes. my father was 7 years old in 1964 when the military took over brasil’s government in a coup. sometimes i wonder if for him this whole thing feels sort of like de ja vu, history repeating with a new face. i don’t ask.
0
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
daniela-elena
ordem e progresso
on sunday, i sat in our kitchen with my dad as the pale april sunlight streamed in and we watched as the brasilian government held the vote over whether or not to impeach the president dilma rousseff. my brother’s at college, my mom was at work; it was just me and my dad. a family friend told me once that my dad loves his country more than anybody they'd ever met. i remember, we ate apple slices as we watched the government vote on the fate of the country. i am 17 and my dad still slices my apples, cuts my grilled cheese sandwiches into triangles, calls me querida. my dad gestures at the TV, we both talk with our hands a little too much, and tells me that you can tell which way the politicians are voting based of the color they’re wearing. the worker’s party, partido dos trabalhadores, called the PT is wearing red. they're the ones that vote against impeachment, eu voto não. my father marched for that party in the 70s, 80s. they were born of the opposition to the military dictatorship of his childhood. he glares at the TV screen, now, like he’s angry for the promises they broke. the TV in the kitchen is practically a relic, a boxy fourteen inches, older than me. we have a satellite dish in the backyard so we can get globo, the biggest television network in brasil. neighbor kids accidentally chuck their ***** into it, hitting the dish and scrambling over the fence to collect their toys. on the TV, ricardo barros walks up the microphone. he’s a congressman from my family’s home state of paraná. my dad says, “hey, i went to college with him!” they both majored in civil engineering, went to university in maringá. i remember i laughed. my dad knows so many people that he can find acquaintances on the TV. i asked my dad if they were friends. he laughs a little, too, says it depends on how ricardo voted. ricardo voted yes. my father was 7 years old in 1964 when the military took over brasil’s government in a coup. sometimes i wonder if for him this whole thing feels sort of like de ja vu, history repeating with a new face. i don’t ask.
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14
¡Oh sombra vaga, oh sombra de mi primera novia! Era como el convólvulo -la flor de los crepúsculos-, y era como las teresitas: azul crepuscular. Nuestro amor semejaba paloma de la aldea, grato a todos los ojos y a todos familiar. En aquel pueblo, olían las brisas a azahar. Aún bañan, como a lampos, mi recuerdo: su cabellera rubia en el balcón, su linda hermana Julia, mi melodía incierta... y un lirio que me dio... y una noche de lágrimas... y una noche de estrellas fulgiendo en esas lágrimas en que moría yo... Francisco, hermano de ellas, Juan-de-Dios y Ricardo amaban con mi amor las músicas del río; las noches blancas, ceñidas de luceros; las noches negras, negras, ardidas de cocuyos; el son de las guitarras, y, entre quimeras blondas, el azahar volando... Todos teníamos novia y un lucero en el alba diáfana de las ideas. La Muerte horrible -¡un tajo silencioso!- tronchó la espiga en que granaba mi alegría: ¡murió mi madre!... La cabellera rubia de Teresa me iluminaba el llanto. Después... la vida... el tiempo... el mundo, ¡y al fin, mi amor desfalleció como un convólvulo! No ha mucho, una mañana, trajéronme una carta. ¡Era de Juan-de-Dios! Un poco acerba, ingenua, virilmente resignada: refería querellas del pueblo, de mi casa, de un amigo: «Se casó; ya está viejo y con seis hijos... La vida es triste y dura; sin embargo, se va viviendo... Ha muerto mucha gente: Don David... don Gregorio... Hay un colegio y hay toda una generación nueva. Como cuando te fuiste, hace veinte años, en este pueblo aún huelen las brisas a azahar...» ¡Oh Amor! Tu emblema sea el convólvulo, la flor de los crepúsculos!
0
753
Porfirio Barba Jacob
Elegía de un azul imposible
¡Oh sombra vaga, oh sombra de mi primera novia! Era como el convólvulo -la flor de los crepúsculos-, y era como las teresitas: azul crepuscular. Nuestro amor semejaba paloma de la aldea, grato a todos los ojos y a todos familiar. En aquel pueblo, olían las brisas a azahar. Aún bañan, como a lampos, mi recuerdo: su cabellera rubia en el balcón, su linda hermana Julia, mi melodía incierta... y un lirio que me dio... y una noche de lágrimas... y una noche de estrellas fulgiendo en esas lágrimas en que moría yo... Francisco, hermano de ellas, Juan-de-Dios y Ricardo amaban con mi amor las músicas del río; las noches blancas, ceñidas de luceros; las noches negras, negras, ardidas de cocuyos; el son de las guitarras, y, entre quimeras blondas, el azahar volando... Todos teníamos novia y un lucero en el alba diáfana de las ideas. La Muerte horrible -¡un tajo silencioso!- tronchó la espiga en que granaba mi alegría: ¡murió mi madre!... La cabellera rubia de Teresa me iluminaba el llanto. Después... la vida... el tiempo... el mundo, ¡y al fin, mi amor desfalleció como un convólvulo! No ha mucho, una mañana, trajéronme una carta. ¡Era de Juan-de-Dios! Un poco acerba, ingenua, virilmente resignada: refería querellas del pueblo, de mi casa, de un amigo: «Se casó; ya está viejo y con seis hijos... La vida es triste y dura; sin embargo, se va viviendo... Ha muerto mucha gente: Don David... don Gregorio... Hay un colegio y hay toda una generación nueva. Como cuando te fuiste, hace veinte años, en este pueblo aún huelen las brisas a azahar...» ¡Oh Amor! Tu emblema sea el convólvulo, la flor de los crepúsculos!
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41
*I look deeply at you. I look at you deeply. I touch the comet tails. I witness Arided, Asmidiske And the blessed Sun of Joshua. I peel the galaxy off of stars. I hear the lyric and the moon. I feel the musings of your heart. I light the crescents on your chest. I harbor wolves from the snow. I write like Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto. And I become distant, a sigh, a spirit. I look at you deeply. I look deeply at you.* © 2015 J.S.P.
0
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
jspua
Startled
*I look deeply at you. I look at you deeply. I touch the comet tails. I witness Arided, Asmidiske And the blessed Sun of Joshua. I peel the galaxy off of stars. I hear the lyric and the moon. I feel the musings of your heart. I light the crescents on your chest. I harbor wolves from the snow. I write like Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto. And I become distant, a sigh, a spirit. I look at you deeply. I look deeply at you.* © 2015 J.S.P.
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15
I woke this morning feeling good & ready to start my day Washed up, got dressed, then got on my knees to pray Asked God to look after everyone I love, to keep em safe And to make today a great beautiful day As I proceed with my daily activities, I start getting this bad feeling Like something was about to occur, either a tragedy or another senseless killing But as soon as I’m enjoying myself as always, something tells me to check my phone I open Instagram only to see the saddest news, another King knocked from the throne Jahseh Dwayne Ricardo Onfroy has been pronounced dead, gunned down in his car As soon as I’m healed from depression, here comes another unexpected scar A guidance to many, hated by many, but his message recognized by a large few And the same ones who hated were now the ones showing love, what’s new? Trapped in this cold world, you were the light that overshadowed the darkness This world needed a new direction of guidance & you were the one to spark it Lost your life in a senseless way but your music & message will live eternally Only thing is that your bright side will now shine over the madness Still an empty place in the hearts of the family that your music was the answer to their sadness Long live a King on a mission to save himself as well as those who’ve followed his lead Rest in Paradise & thank you for giving those such as myself the faith to believe ☆ Poetic Venxm ☆
0
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 9:40 PM UTC
KingDrePencasso
Long Live X: Dedicated to XXXTentacion
I woke this morning feeling good & ready to start my day Washed up, got dressed, then got on my knees to pray Asked God to look after everyone I love, to keep em safe And to make today a great beautiful day As I proceed with my daily activities, I start getting this bad feeling Like something was about to occur, either a tragedy or another senseless killing But as soon as I’m enjoying myself as always, something tells me to check my phone I open Instagram only to see the saddest news, another King knocked from the throne Jahseh Dwayne Ricardo Onfroy has been pronounced dead, gunned down in his car As soon as I’m healed from depression, here comes another unexpected scar A guidance to many, hated by many, but his message recognized by a large few And the same ones who hated were now the ones showing love, what’s new? Trapped in this cold world, you were the light that overshadowed the darkness This world needed a new direction of guidance & you were the one to spark it Lost your life in a senseless way but your music & message will live eternally Only thing is that your bright side will now shine over the madness Still an empty place in the hearts of the family that your music was the answer to their sadness Long live a King on a mission to save himself as well as those who’ve followed his lead Rest in Paradise & thank you for giving those such as myself the faith to believe ☆ Poetic Venxm ☆
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20
Miss you when the sun shows up Miss you when it's time to sup Miss you when I take a walk Miss you when I want to talk Miss you all around the clock Miss you when it's time to rock! Miss your body in my bed Miss you ******** with my head Why is it, I keep asking . . . Why? It's so dam hard to say good bye . . . Even just for 10 short days Of missing movies, meals and plays . . . Then The answer rings out clear It's Christmas time; a time for cheer! A time to sing; to share a beer, A time to draw your loved one near. And therein lies my problem dear The answer ringing loud and clear You're far away; at least a day I wish you'd come; I wish you'd stay But wishing isn't my forte Cuz dreams are dreams That cut the air With tears and fears That see their share Of wanting things That are not there
0
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 12:56 PM UTC
donna-sheppard
Searching for Ricardo
Miss you when the sun shows up Miss you when it's time to sup Miss you when I take a walk Miss you when I want to talk Miss you all around the clock Miss you when it's time to rock! Miss your body in my bed Miss you ******** with my head Why is it, I keep asking . . . Why? It's so dam hard to say good bye . . . Even just for 10 short days Of missing movies, meals and plays . . . Then The answer rings out clear It's Christmas time; a time for cheer! A time to sing; to share a beer, A time to draw your loved one near. And therein lies my problem dear The answer ringing loud and clear You're far away; at least a day I wish you'd come; I wish you'd stay But wishing isn't my forte Cuz dreams are dreams That cut the air With tears and fears That see their share Of wanting things That are not there
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27
your pre laughter and pre *** unsheathing you in skin and light: quirky eternal animated hair and kind eyes the love died quietly and confidently in a past life and was reborn with you
0
Dec 24, 2021
Dec 24, 2021 at 10:27 PM UTC
azaria
ricardo pt.3 (more life)
your pre laughter and pre *** unsheathing you in skin and light: quirky eternal animated hair and kind eyes the love died quietly and confidently in a past life and was reborn with you
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13
Feeling Extra Beautiful Ricardo Ur Appeal although you Repudiated me request to become a item Y ?
0
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
vanessa-gatley
F.e.b.r.u.a.r.y of 2016
Feeling Extra Beautiful Ricardo Ur Appeal although you Repudiated me request to become a item Y ?
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8
the sky submerged in the perfect shade of canton pink i rush home to plug into you you give me sunlight and cheek kisses sleeping in sync and waking up in character a compilation of all your states i crave you like long weekends and leo season
0
Jul 1, 2022
Jul 1, 2022 at 3:31 AM UTC
azaria
ricardo pt.6 (summertime)
the sky submerged in the perfect shade of canton pink i rush home to plug into you you give me sunlight and cheek kisses sleeping in sync and waking up in character a compilation of all your states i crave you like long weekends and leo season
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14
DOn't call my name Don't call my name DOn't hurt me ABuse me ... No DOn't confuse me ... STab me... Ricardo Dont bring me down no non no no no no Why you'd change ?
0
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
vanessa-gatley
Ricardo...
DOn't call my name Don't call my name DOn't hurt me ABuse me ... No DOn't confuse me ... STab me... Ricardo Dont bring me down no non no no no no Why you'd change ?
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10
odor remover and soaked carpet the memories are harder to exstinguish clinging to songs and scents i loved you more last night when i realized that we grieve the same way it’s nice to know it’s not just me
0
Jun 14, 2022
Jun 14, 2022 at 10:38 PM UTC
azaria
ricardo pt.5 (pineapple fanta)
odor remover and soaked carpet the memories are harder to exstinguish clinging to songs and scents i loved you more last night when i realized that we grieve the same way it’s nice to know it’s not just me
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14
Es compañero Ricardo tu novela campesina tan nuestra, tan argentinas como el ombú, como el cardo. Epico aliento del bardo resopla en ella profundo nos ha descubierto un nundo ahí no más, que nos asombra. ¡Que para segundo sombra no haya de sombra un segundo!
0
396
Baldomero Fernández Moreno
A ricardo güiraldes
Es compañero Ricardo tu novela campesina tan nuestra, tan argentinas como el ombú, como el cardo. Epico aliento del bardo resopla en ella profundo nos ha descubierto un nundo ahí no más, que nos asombra. ¡Que para segundo sombra no haya de sombra un segundo!
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10
neath the cradle of downy feathers Princess Marie found the love poem written by Prince Ricardo
0
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
ElizabethSquires
Love Poem
neath the cradle of downy feathers Princess Marie found the love poem written by Prince Ricardo
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3
you came on the lord’s day gave birth to peace with your hands and infectious pre-laughter i’m sorry that i underestimated the nuiance of subtlety   i have grown used to dark storms and uncertainty you sleep as peacefully as you exist i want the weight of your head on mine on short days and even longer nights
0
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 1:45 PM UTC
azaria
ricardo
you came on the lord’s day gave birth to peace with your hands and infectious pre-laughter i’m sorry that i underestimated the nuiance of subtlety   i have grown used to dark storms and uncertainty you sleep as peacefully as you exist i want the weight of your head on mine on short days and even longer nights
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15
you have loved me in thick chunks, gauzy ***** and broken pieces cauterizing my inevitable chaos and bleeding heart // on the cusp of laughter the zietgiest of your wet exuberance and tranquility settles the loud parts you’re all the good that is lost on me
0
Jul 1, 2022
Jul 1, 2022 at 3:31 AM UTC
azaria
ricardo pt.7 (a farewell to arms/no war & just peace)
you have loved me in thick chunks, gauzy ***** and broken pieces cauterizing my inevitable chaos and bleeding heart // on the cusp of laughter the zietgiest of your wet exuberance and tranquility settles the loud parts you’re all the good that is lost on me
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16
distinct and syrupy we have been sleeping on clouds and reveling in the perfect storm you say that shaping my fro feels ****** spiritual like after sunday dinner *** and loving forms of me quietly and raw like chicken i crave you admist the chaos that is me forever searching i long for you like the end of growing pains and a missing member in the cat band
0
Dec 24, 2021
Dec 24, 2021 at 10:27 PM UTC
azaria
ricardo pt.2(honeymooners)
distinct and syrupy we have been sleeping on clouds and reveling in the perfect storm you say that shaping my fro feels ****** spiritual like after sunday dinner *** and loving forms of me quietly and raw like chicken i crave you admist the chaos that is me forever searching i long for you like the end of growing pains and a missing member in the cat band
Continue reading...
22