"snuggler" poems
You were all the chemicals I crave
A cocktail of all the elements
I couldn't refuse
Tall, dark, and nerdy
That's how I described you
To my best friend and she laughed
Those eyes
And a penchant for swearing
And American Spirits
A bad boy
A light-weight
And a snuggler
Co-existent in a Starcraft lover
Creating covalent bonds
At the bar over whisky
Losing ourselves in time loops
And infinity
I corrected your grammar
And you grinned
And I fell
Knowing that the Force was strong with this one
Too strong to resist
And I swallowed my heart
Like Ms. Pac-Man
The first time that we kissed
Go figure that a Jedi
Would fall so hard
For a Sith
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
a e i o u and opposing thumbs
my woman, she's a
snuggler and spooner.
burying herself on my,
no, in my
double barreled chest,
her blonde hair,
my field of gold.^
she landscapes my life,
paralyzing me with the
simplest of gestures.
she sleeps holding my thumbs.
locks me up.
locks me down.
so I cannot transcribe
the lines of poetry mindful,
landlines shut,
land-mines of verse
unexploded,
till these now,
hours later.
a few notes ago,
a few days ago,
heard an octet,
eight voices singing of
five letters, five vowels,
a e i o u.
you can hear what I heard too.
after you listen,
better understand
vowels are the butter of language.
the anointing oil of connectivity.
more than a line of code,
they are the keys to the code,
that make words and life musical.
I suppose we could mange without them if we had to.
spsz v cd mng wthot thm ff v hd t.
but not so well.
I suppose we could manage
without opposing thumbs.
learn to type with my nose,
paint with my toes.
but not so well.
here is how it comes all together.
a e i o u and opposing thumbs,
never give them more than a
never thought, passing over, assumed.
oh yeah, on some tv show,
you can buy a vowel.
these glues are the things that
give me the chance to tell this:
this poem it is a bit about me.
this poem it is a bit about her.
this poem is really about you.
I could live without
a e i o u and opposing thumbs.
but I could not live
without her landscaping my chest.
but
when I share this knowledge
with you friend, it becomes a
verified, realized, acknowledged truth.
So you see this poem is about
a e i o u and opposing thumbs,
but really about you.
In fact, I am thinking,
that if I did not love the title
a e i o u and opposing thumbs
so much,
would entitle it instead,
a wholesome democracy of love.
you, a registered voter,
vote then with both all the
a e i o u and opposing thumbs
at your disposal.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
The fuzzy hug that never loosens its grasp
Clutching as a barbed wire hugs and puppies cuddle and love,
whiskers and noses nuzzling, the straitjacket loves your mind,
wishes it could just squeeze the nightmares out and streaming as juices from an orange,
but its might only pressurizes, the more you fight the more you hurt,
bruising our precious straitjacket heart, he’s here to help us
take the tasks of fettering hands
just to hug and coil about us
Learn to love them, the society blanket,
the crazy snuggler, the bunny constrictor
Crazy’s not useful and our little straitjacket cures our woes
strangling us within linen cotton folds
simmer our fires
breaking our bronc
hushing our tantrum cry
It’s the mother we Learn to love
Kin that keeps us in heavenly grip
The Straitjacket’s here for all our insanists
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:29 AM UTC
I
Thirsty now; mouth dry like
A desert wanderer's,
Single man in solitude
Swiping right and
Not even caring
Too much.
Just looking for trouble;
Microwave-romance, softness;
A face that fits my hand.
Guitars gathering dust, begging
St. Gibson for inspiration
To shake their owner into
Lust fuelled
Songwriting; string breaking, pick
Melting, voice straining.
For now, the last of five litres of
Italian red is floating bellywards;
Bloodwards; headwards;
Heartwards, and the drinker writes
Text message poetry with drops of
Wine hiding in barley beard too
Full for an old mother's appreciation.
I owe her a grandchild.
She says poems don't count.
II
Thirsty now; heart dry like one
Not recalling love, not remembering
A woman's hungry hands on
The back of one's
Warm, wet head, pulling, nails
Digging,
Teeth biting beard.
Skin kissing skin.
Soul seeing soul and
Celebrating.
Sweet illusion of love.
I create a bed-sharer on canvas.
I compose a breakfast-eater at my table.
A listener to my songs,
Sunset-watcher, Netflix-snuggler,
Rainstorm-listener.
I owe for her to be flesh and blood, not merely
My neurons dancing. Ears to hear
My compliments. Hair to brush
Away from between
Our lips mid-kiss.
I finish my wine.
Could have made nearly painful
Love to her
For ages and
Aeons, but I
Create her temporarily;
Fleeting image of a speaking doll.
*Hold me like tears on something
Golden. Hold me like an acid
Trip fading into reality.*
She says poems don't count.
She says
Poems
Don't really
Count.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC
you’re a snuggler
a tangler
a logistical link of limbs
that end up intertwining with mine
you kick me over some of the duvet
in the gentlest of gestures
and fester in the filth of your little sister’s linen
as the full moon sheds shame on our backsides.
but as the sun scowls through the window
that frames the four post
you wrap yourself in the sheets
like a sushi roll of biscuited bitterness
you natter to the bedbugs
the only ones who’ll listen to your curses
whilst me?
I’m basking in the warmth of a Sunday scandal.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
Her hand gently grazes mine
As she leans her head close
And she looks at me
Our eyes meet
Its okay
I already know what you're going to say
I love you too
I read it
On her lips
Before she smiles
And lays her head
On my chest
This is where I belong.
Jul 29, 2023
Jul 29, 2023 at 4:28 PM UTC
Dog Daze
by Michael R. Burch
Sweet Oz is a soulful snuggler;
he really is one of the best.
Sometimes in bed
he snuggles my head,
though mostly he plops on my chest.
I think Oz was made to love
from the first ray of light to the dark,
but his great love for me
is exceeded (oh gee!)
by his Truly Great Passion: to Bark.
Keywords/Tags: dog, soul, soulful, snuggle, snuggles, love, bark, barks, barking, passion
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 6:21 AM UTC
Pat pitter pat
They call you the kitty cat
Pur pur pur
I pet your glorious soft fur
Meow moww meow
I dont know what I would do with out my best pal around
GUR GROWL GUR
My wonderfully evil little snuggler
Wait what was that
Oh yes
My favorite kitty cat
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC