He whispered “I’ll miss you”

“Why would anyone want to be missed?”
She turned and smiled at him.
“People don’t want to miss each other,
they just do.
It’s not a decision we make,
it just happens” he replied.
She smiled and touched his cheek.
“Ok then, I won’t ask you to miss me,
And since we don’t have a choice, you can kiss me like this.”
”Please...” he cried.

With that she kissed his lips.

And that was it.

That night he left his dreams at the doorstep of her eyes. His heart at the footsteps of her mercy.
The next morning he went chasing the memory of the night before.
He rang the bell twice and the echoe answered the door.
She had left a message with the breeze but the wind had swept away the fragments of the kiss.

Don’t hurt me like this.
People don’t make a decision to miss each other. We just do. Strange how we’re by nature prone to hurt each other like this, without intent.

Poetic Surgery, Copyright © 2018,  All rights reserved.
Wanderlust Jun 30
You looked at her.
You talked to her.
You flirted with her.
You hugged her.
You kissed her.
You wanted her.
You touched her.
You felt her.
You undressed her.
You pleasured her.
You had sex with her.
You woke up with her.
You told her not to tell.

You did all that to her...
When all you had to do was be LOYAL TO ME
I’m falling apart. Why was that whore worth it?
Alyson Lie Oct 2015
The way a devoted fan
refuses to wash the hand
touched by the one they admire,

I recoil at the thought
of thoughts that may interfere
with our most recent talk,

close my eyes so no new images hide
the sight of your smile, your lips
pursed in thought, your thin fingers
brushing the wind-blown hair
from your face, your leopard print
sneakers, your hands in mine....
Or was it mine in yours?

This is the dreaded foretaste
of suffering. We both know
what harm can come
from holding on too tightly.
We have learned by now
that all things are impermanent.
Nothing, not even this,
should be clung to.

We have wisdom
on our side, you and I,
and this is why we
will survive this unsettling
flood of love we feel.
s Sep 2017
Exhausted at four am
from in-flight sleep
You kiss me goodnight
with a passion tongue-deep;
I'm burping rhythmically
from all that antacid;
It's unfair to make me feel sexy
at my most unflattering.

You make me beautiful
in the way that some music does;
In a place within my bones,
that only a few songs have touched.

There's a calming security,
in the surrender of your kiss.
The uninhibited generosity
of your love,
I sometimes reminisce.

The patience with which you untangle my knots,
unafraid to encounter my darker menacing thoughts.
With an unwavering presence, you listen to my soul
it's almost poetic, the way you make me feel whole.
Peter Simon Jul 2016
Yesterday, she touched my lips with her fingers.

I wasn't so dizzy but I laid my head on her thighs.

I kissed her on her cheeks, I hugged her so tight.

We talked about our petty little secrets.

We stood on the rooftop taking all the night lights in.

She leaned her head on my shoulders.

Her face complemented the night sky.

I stared at her and I swear she's the most beautiful creature I've ever been so close to.

And I knew in those moments we were just playing some pretending games.

I thought I was contented. I thought.

Now, I know we should stop playing this game.

I'm losing all my cards.

I'm afraid that maybe after we're done playing inside our own storm, I'll be left alone engulfed in the sea of darkness. Scathed by the memories of her. And no matter how hard I try to keep swimming to the shore, I won't be able to find my way out.
© Peter Simon
2016
A short life in a hot field
Spat out the moment i touched her lips
An even shorter life of saddness
Who knew love came by someone tapping your picture twice,
on a small screen
While scrolling down a wall full of other pictures

Look at all these likes and comments
So many compliments

30 likes makes you mediocre
2,000+ likes makes you a star
Instant gratification
Instant modeling
Instant attention
Instant satisfaction
But you end up with an ego full of empty compliments
And a heart that has never been touched
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