"unzipping" poems
after a bout of giggling,
we quietly discarded
whatever we wore
and at the other
bookend of the act
the tent unzipping
a luxury of clouds
drifting to a *****
moon full ripe heavy
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:55 AM UTC
...
new moon
"just let me sleep,"
moon eaten
my absence upsets all.
Look at me, really look at me,
stare up at the belly of a loved sky,
watch fingers dipping into bowls of blood holding hope,
feeling around for a sliver,
of sweet milk,
of relief,
of anything;
new moon whispers
on the dead bodies left behind,
god sighs---
he knows;
"I am not the same"
waxing crescent
map out my wreckage,
my skeleton of poetry;
in the spines of books loved by mankind,
bury me there in a pages of flowers---
in the altitude of words;
read me with a hunger you have never known before,
over and over;
whenever it seems fit~
like the light of the moon is a cigarette.
smoking,
he's always smoking now.
god takes another drag;
he describes to me:
*"You could be my bible,
you book of blood"*
I can't stand smoke...
"I have no business in being your holy snakeskin."
first quarter
I've been searching for
solid ground, solid shadows,
a solid compromise;
I wanted a little more
than ordinary love from him so I
asked him where the static began,
for me it's below my bottom left rib
and found that it was also where the spiders started too.
Time, that quiet thing
obeys god, only
because it waits for no one
it loves
unzipping the law of alchemy,
cause ink flowered in my blood again;
I should thank time
it was this saving kind of grace;
always has been
god stroked my hair this time
and said quietly:
*"You see,
the saddest thing is realizing
that there's nothing more they can do for you"*
waxing gibbous
Oh, where's my love?
Is it in the fever I call happiness,
is it in the sword my mama raised me to be
Is it in the way
the moon tiptoes closer
when he says my name
in that beautiful way he does
or breaks my name
over his teeth like it's just
glass apples
God doesn't even look at me
he doesn't have to;
"Do you believe in angels?"
the wreckage answers him
"not lately"
full moon
And it begins again
I watch as he just looks away
and says it's fine
it hurts
god narrows his eyes but shrugs
"Pain had other plans for you."
I breathe out raggedly;
***"I guess,
if there's no key
then I'll just swallow the whole door."***
...
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
The land flooded,
the sky was dark and wet.
I had reached the bottom of my jar
and there was no glory.
It was all drained away and swallowed up by careless mouths.
A pool had formed
in the flooded land
and in it sat two boys;
young like adolescences
yet humble and mature with knowledge.
I felt like I should know them,
but their faces were masked by their black hoodies.
And their voices matched everyone's
and they matched no one's.
One beckoned me to swim to them.
They were familiar
in a welcoming stranger way.
So I submerged into the comforting warm water,
and I slowly swam next to the boy.
The one who beckoned asked me,
"What is your story?"
and
just as easily as unzipping a jacket,
I spilled out my worries
he soaked up my loneliness and aches,
and I found myself
curled up in his arms.
He took my empty jar
and filled it with a glowing light.
The land surrounding
was still cold and dark
but the light inside was the one thing that brought me
warmth and renewal
and undying hope and joy.
He was the holy man.
Who welcomes everyone
and forgives everyone.
He is equal.
He is greater.
He is the one who sat in the flooded land
and waited for me
so that he could give me
a wholesome warmth
that I've never felt until now.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
I want to ****** you with my blue eyes
take you in for a little while
then walk away into another room
then come back and take you in a little while longer
until you come over and speak to me
then I want to listen to your every word
nod, smile, laugh, touch your arm
touch your thigh
look into your eyes
telling you
I want to kiss you
secretly in some kind of visual code,
that I want to lick your neck a little bit
and nibble on your ear
make you go crazy
make you tingle and pull away from
feeling too overwhelmed
then coming back to receive more,
and after that happens,
I want to crawl my fingers up your shirt
feel your warm stomach skin
ribs
chest
shoulders
pulling it over your head and throwing it on the floor
caressing your torso
hand prints against your back
pulling you closer toward me
pressing my pelvis up against yours
taking initiative
on my tippytoes
letting you take initiative
bending your back to my height
and it’s all muscle memory from there on;
breaking away from your lips and pressing my own
up against your collar bone
your shoulders
your chest
your treasure trail
your hip bones
undoing your belt
taking quite some time at this task because I find that
every man’s belt is very confusing to undo -
finally, success
pulling it through the belt loops
popping the button out of the hole
unzipping the zipper
clasping onto each side and pulling down
pushing down
they’re around your ankles and you step out
and then you’re in your briefs
just your briefs
all else is skin and devilish looks
then, pushing me onto the bed
on top of me with a hard on pressing up against
the space between my open legs
that wrap around your hips
kissing my neck
biting my neck
licking my neck
my earlobes
my shoulders
my collar bone
tongue swirls around the aroused tips of my chest
arousing me more
wanting me more
wanting you more
then you’ll take off my underwear and I’ll be fully naked
for you
on this bed that I want to **** you on
biting my lip
leaning forward to pull down your briefs
and you are fully naked
for me
you pop out freely
hard
stiff
pink
eager
your two fingers linger low and decide I am ready
in goes the stiff
out goes a moan
out pulls the stiff
in it goes again
I cannot describe what it is like
when you look me in the eyes when we make love
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 9:49 AM UTC
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were opening one's lips so gorgeous and so creamy
greasing me stamen on the unfucked bonk
while the bangers let it rip in the alley
Those were the diseased minds and that was Newfangled York
we were squirting for the wads and the meatballs
and that was gobbled snog for the creamers inside Gloria
centrifugally stiff is thus those of White House Nazis
Ah but you copulated telescopic didn't you basket case
you just acidified your jockstrap on the shoulders of the scrum
you copulated telescopic I never once heard you use sign language
I input you, I don't intake you
I input you, I don't intake you
and all of that balling hard on
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were gorilla—like your ****** *********** was absolute epic
you leaked me again you frocked slap—up old salt
but for me you would **** an unzipping
And shaving your tongue because the creatures lust after us
who are barked at by the Daleks of *** appeal
you Rohypnolled yourself you emitted jet so what?
we are radioactive salvo we shoot full of holes the stride piano
*** one fine morning you copulated telescopic didn't you cocker
you just blunted your extremity on the cattle
you copulated telescopic I never once smelled you emit
I intake you, I don't input you
I intake you, I don't input you
and all of that balling hard on
I don't mean to insinuate that I slobbered over you peanuts
I can't withhold *********** of each crouched ****
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
that's oodles I don't even kick—start you that thick and fast
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 3:36 PM UTC
Sophomore year.
Spring break.
Crying.
Why can’t I stop?
Just stop it, god **** it!
You’re being pathetic.
Ding Ding
It’s a text.
“Hey! You free tonight?”
I didn’t think he’d text me.
I can’t.
It’d be wrong.
“Totally. What’d you have in mind?”
Oh no.
What’d I just do?
“I could pick you up around 10 and maybe just chill?”
10?
Pm?
Why so late?
“Yeah. Can’t wait!”
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
9pm:
What do I wear?
What do I wear?
9:45pm:
Put on eyeliner.
Put on mascara.
Put on lipstick.
10pm:
Okay.
10:05pm:
Where is he?
10:10pm:
Just wait.
10:15pm:
Should be here anytime now.
10:20pm:
Just a couple more minutes.
10:25pm:
Give him some more time.
I can’t expect him to be here right away.
10:30pm:
Is he coming?
10:35pm:
Did he forget?
10:45pm:
It was a joke.
Funny.
10:50pm:
Ding Ding
It’s a text.
“Hey, I’m here.”
Open my window.
Crawl out.
Ouch!
A nail was sticking out.
Blood.
Blood is dripping down my leg.
It's okay.
He's here.
He's here.
What am I doing?
"Hey, you look nice."
He thinks I look nice.
"Thanks."
We drive.
And drive.
And drive.
Where are we?
It’s dark.
So dark.
I hear crickets.
And his breathing.
His breathing.
His breathing.
His breathing.
What is this?
A shed.
Abandoned.
“Sit down.”
Where do I sit?
It’s so dark.
I can’t see.
Where are we?
Where am I?
Where am I?
His hand is on my thigh.
What’s he doing?
“You’re so beautiful.”
He can’t see me.
I can’t see him.
It’s so dark.
“Thanks.”
His hand is higher now.
I should’ve worn pants.
He’s taking off my underwear
My package bought *******
What’s he doing?
What’s he doing?
What’s he doing!
Do I like it?
Is he happy?
I want him to be happy.
Just let him do it.
His breathing.
His breathing.
My breathing.
It’s gone.
My underwear.
Oh my god.
Just sit here.
It’s okay.
He’s here.
He’s not going to hurt me.
He can’t.
He won’t.
It’s okay.
He’s unzipping.
What’s he unzipping?
I can’t see.
His hands on my *******
I don’t know what to feel.
What do I feel?
What should I feel?
What does he feel?
His hands on my bare legs.
I flinch.
“It’s okay.”
It’s okay.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
Stop please.
Please stop.
I can’t take it.
I can’t take it.
Stop.
I want to be happy.
I just want to be happy.
I want him to be happy.
Just be happy.
Be happy.
Happy.
Is he happy?
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC
The sound of the sea behind us
the sand dune protected us
from a slight evening breeze
some Arab guy was playing a guitar
up at base camp
laughter from others
singing on the wind carried
and Miriam said
you want to make out Benny?
here?
I said
sure why not?
she said
won't they miss us?
I said
they wouldn't miss the moon
they're so ****** on
the Arab wine junk
they've been passing around
in that big jar thing
Miriam said
we were close in the sand dune
clumps of grass
and sand warm
my hand on her thigh
other hand about her neck
is it safe?
I said
safe for what?
she said
I haven't got no pox
have you?
no just wondering about
in case you know?
I said
got the pill
no worries there
now kiss me
she said
so I did
lips to lips kind of thing
her hand unzipping my jeans
her other hand around me
want to?
she said
the guitar was still being plucked
voices still sang
laughter on the wind
she had my pecker
between fingers and thumb
and talking to it
I was seeing the moon
over her shoulder
stars blinking
come on come
she said
then someone fired
a rifle in the air
silence followed
then chatter
we were well away
so it didn't matter.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
There's a threaded zipper on your pants
made of little stitches of red
which grasp the zipper's brass teeth,
which match the enamel tools
which grow from my pink gums
which pull at that handle.
As it slides down, the teeth of brass
pull apart
(skin from a peach).
Little coquette,
I can see the smirk of giddy shame
as the denim drops
and you are bare.
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 6:18 PM UTC
The strokes,
of my brush,
against the Canvas,
depict the features,
forming the image,
of you,
my Romeo.
Hazel eyes mesmerize me,
revealing the key,
to your soul.
An alluring smile,
intrigues my interest,
dreaming of your lips,
caressing my own.
The view of your form,
exposes your body,
embellished in ******
similar to the gods,
of Greek and Roman antiquity,
intoxicates me.
As I finish,
my masterpiece,
temptation persuades me,
to move towards,
you,
my male model,
to render,
my artistic expression.
You gaze into my eyes,
yearning to taste,
my lips as passion emanates,
from our kiss.
You come closer to me,
removing my blouse,
with your firm hands,
brushing against my torso.
You lower yourself down,
to your knees,
unzipping my paint-splattered jeans,
with your teeth.
After the removal,
of my garments,
you carry me,
into the bedroom,
gently placing,
me upon your bed.
Your breath warms,
my skin,
as you strike,
my exterior,
with the blade of lust,
fiercely thrusting,
in the heat,
of the night.
Our bodies unite,
interweaving our souls,
igniting an intimate explosion,
between ourselves,
consuming our spirits.
A safe haven,
becomes my reality,
as I lay into your arms,
whispering sweet nothings,
to enchant your ears.
I drift into slumber,
resting my head,
upon your chest,
holding your hand,
as my world,
is at peace.
I awake before you,
leaving to create works of art,
write sensual poetry,
reflecting on my thoughts,
of you,
to reveal my admiration,
for you,
my soul-mate,
brought to me,
by the hands of Venus.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
You…
Good for nothing, light weighted
Changes direction according to the wind
It does not have a mind of its own
But I trusted it
To shelter and protect me
But alas…
I live in a windy city,
And it tends to be greedy
Gathering things that lie in its path,
Just like a colonizer
blowing across from one country
to another.
I pin together the sides
Of my fly away kameez/ dress
With nervous, embarrassed fingers
Pressing down, as if to close
a window or a swinging door
left unlocked on a windy day
letting black cats and dusty winds make their way.
Incontrollable weightless
It rises, it flashes
Waving like a red flag in front of a blind bull
Eyes on the Prize - You’re such a tease
I fumble carelessly
My hands desperately try
To hold down my dignity
Before it flies away,
Like a feather from a bird
That slowly descends to the floor
It is so light and so delicate.
It can be easily ripped off
and plucked away like a shriveled
dead fly away hair
I become a nervous wreck, picking at my scalp
One by one, wrapping it around my finger,
running my fingers through my hair
only to find bare skin, lying under dead hair.
Vulnerably the naked scalp peeks
through thin strands of hair
like a sheer curtain that hangs in my room
too afraid to draw it,
because I will have to put faces to the silhouettes,
And I rather know the world
as shadows and black outlines
At least that way
I won’t have to see the eyes
that pierce through me,
Unzipping my skin.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
A serene cottage upon a dreary hillside
Where my mind's listless galaxy of neurons
Synapse in the absolute darkness,
Is painted in Victorian hues, cold and haunting.
Dejection rains down from the leeward sky
With nothing harkened save for the ocean's
Stormy roar and a desolate lighthouse,
Beckoning through the fog and memoirs of the past.
The deeper my soul is carved out with sorrow,
The deeper the hollow can be filled with joy.
But alas, I feel nothing of joy but only a void
Left by the dagger of yesterday's darkening tragedies.
I feel the rain soothe my skin and kiss my cheek
Like the sweetest lover on midnight's embrace,
Yet my moth-eaten quilt of memories only seems
Enough to shelter our legs but ne'er our feet.
My heart feels the warmth of an autumn fire,
Kindling in the crisp rain, bleeding beneath
A rose where we burn in the endless torture
Of our own despondence.
I can feel the blood in my veins turning to fire
As I imagine her fingertips unzipping my spine
As though it were full of secrets and mysteries
Unbeknowst to myself...
I can feel the inferno that rages within my aortic arch
Every moment I imagine losing myself within her
Eyes, glimmering like an eclipse over a midnight
Sea...the Sleepless Coventry.
She unlocks my secrets and weaves them in the bouquet
Of tendrils in her hair like ribbons of crimson and light,
Waving in the vehement northerlies with numbing scents
Of argan and spice.
Her body is but a canvas wrapped neatly around a
Paper mache skeleton, the most beautifully tragic
Foundation known to humanity...
She arrives right on the equinox to set fire to my sorrow,
Intoxicating me with her kiss and infecting me with her smile.
And so enters the conflagration of my soul,
An annihilation of light, blackening my coronary
Artery whilst shooting smoke through my cinnamon
Whiskey tainted veins.
'Tis hard to look through such a misconstrued lens
As such, the Vena Cava Kaleidoscope...
Where the flames burn through the galaxy of neurons
Expending the harrowing memories as its fuel.
I can see the magnetic alloy of her Cobalt eyes reflecting
The fire that consumes me from the inside out.
She pulls on me like the moon pulls upon the tide
As she whispers with her soft, enamored sigh.
I burn in my silent knowing, my liquid mind
Awakening in fervor and strange euphoria.
I burn for the Aurora Infinite.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
Have you ever felt fear
So strong
It made you
stop
&
Turn
&
Run?
You’re running and hear
The heat
Whispering against your neck
Bleeding
Into your cheeks and the tips of your ears
Cherry stained
Anxiety
Cherries, red and fat and sickly sweet
Force themselves up your throat
You’re running in shoes
That aren’t meant for running
Down the sidewalk past the midnight hour
You make a biker stop and stare
He asks you something
But you’re too busy unzipping the air and
Flying
Through it
Trail of cherries behind you.
You’re running
Across the street
And you feel your hands fall off
And then come your toes
You lose an arm
And then it’s twin
Your whole torso
And hips
Left on the double yellow line
You’re just a head and legs
Cherries spilling like rubies
From your lips
You’re running
And running
and running
Until you only feel cherry seeds
On your tongue
Only seeds between your teeth
No more cherries
Your legs become red silk ribbon and you pick a tree as tall as heaven to
Collapse under.
You stopped running.
You wring the cherry juice out of your sweater
Lick it off your fingers,
Wipe it out of your eyes.
Your legs grow back into legs
And you collect your
pieces and parts
on the walk back.
Follow the trail of smushed squished cherries
You pick one up
put it in your mouth
Sour as battery acid
You swallow it whole
And go back to your essay
On rhetoric.
-spring sprung a leak, and there’s no stopping her
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
The people regrettably frown
on Congress men with their pants down.
Poor ****** was caught in a lie
concerning unzipping his fly.
Despite having just wed his bride
****** wanted some on the side.
Now both sides of the aisle are atwitter
that his twee-tie was a babysitter.
He gave poor Ms Pelosi a fright
when she saw that he hangs to the right.
He looks in your eyes when he lies
but I doubt anyone is surprised
He was known as a distinguished member
now a registered ****** offender
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 6:10 PM UTC
I like to think about her pleasing you
the sloppy drunken kisses planted
her fingers hastily unzipping your pants
hands groping your naked hips
that she would kneel before you
as if pleging her allegiance to you
working her hardest to draw out
sunflowers in fauvist orange
her tongue spiraling around
edges of your handsome sweetness
I only wish you could've enjoyed it
felt easy enough to love others back
there is not enough of it in this world
let her take you in if you'd like
your pleasure and happiness comes first
all I love deserves to be shared and seen
there is no point to hidden artwork
or unheard music, no matter how gorgeous
love, too, ought to be shared
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
Drawing attention to oneself is the best illustration to show that you aren't present.
That you may not be transfigured into a rabid popsicle stick.
One day, I may not there for you
to catch all of your raindrops from this clouded season you call truth.
My bones aren't as strong as they used to be,
I'm far from what I once used to be,
and the world carries me around like I'm on its backpack,
unzipping it only to when it's told to do, because in these times,
It's easy to get your backpack stolen if you don't have a key to lock it with.
This world is cruel.
The American dream comes with a reality check made in China.
We hold flowers and bricks on our dying hands,
because as humble and enlightened beings that we are,
Death will not knock on my doorstep
with his scythe hooked across the inside of my gums
without me bashing its skull and stabbing him with his crossbones
Theodore Dreiser never had to walk through the skins of black children
whose lungs had been eaten by politically justified stray bullets,
so unless Sister Carrie is codename for pleasurable manners,
then this little song-and-dance **** list we call USA has gone AWOL.
The doors have risen from the ashes of media grave sites,
and have opened its pathway to those influenced by it.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
what have you done to me.
i let you undress me with your eyes,
slowly and reassuringly.
and then aggressively with your hands,
undoing the buttons on my shirt
and unzipping my jeans
nearly ripping the fabric right from under me.
pulling me across the bed
breathing heavily into my ear,
i'm remembering why
i ever called you mine in the first place.
we decorated these walls with our fingerprints
and they remain as memories of every time we've touched.
now why you?
is it your scent, is it your skin?
the way the marks you leave on my stomach
feel like you every time i touch them?
its you that i want, its you that keeps me here
when i should be with whom i claim to love.
when you were mine,
it was a perfect dream,
we ran through the war with not a scratch
not a dent in our skin.
we got out of the mess,
accompanying each other through the storm.
I should have let you sit in the driveway,
I should have never let you walk through the front door.
Why couldn't you have left me alone in this room
without your taunting glares
begging for the affection i crave so much.
I swore i wouldn't do this.
I swore i wouldn't kiss your neck again,
i swore i wouldn't make you want me.
but I gave in.
so here you are
once again.
you're lying on my bed,
and i'm on top of you.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
The mid noon sky bleeds out; it bruises in flames.
Arsonists hold their gassers to my face.
In their grisly field of vision, I am a delectable
vapor, born to flit away.
Regard not the orange cones, nor the caution tapes:
these gates hold little significance to them.
(Then the other 'a-word' comes to mind: anarchists)
Prior to this, they had presented themselves
as chess pieces to fall in love with—little do they know,
I've an animus for them. As stupid as I may appear,
I know it's a game!
Unzipping out of incognito mode, they have unleashed
their razor blade. They whizz their wings.
Here they come, coming for me.
Here I go again: counting sheep,
blinking for one whole eternity.
Oh doctor! I'm in dire need of your vampiric syringe.
Swill my peaking adrenaline— at this rate, I'll go mad.
I shall never recuperate.
Mollify my entirety.
Teach me to rollick like angels do. I beg you.
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 5:30 PM UTC
She always held herself with the dignity of having a thousand masterpieces hanging from her lips but She never let me stand close enough to hear them
She was good at speaking from a safe distance like that
And as I stood with my toes curled over the edge of loving, she peered down the cliff and asked me if the fall was worth the raging waters
She tried to teach me the difference between love affair and romance, unzipping each word telling me how some lies are still worth believing, when the truth is still to bitter to swallow whole.
She told me how the windchill can steal all the warmth right out of you, how it even leaves your mouth shivering and empty
I have written enough about it now to know you can see it in someones hands
I have written enough about it now to know you can taste it on someones words
And we stood there on that cliff until the whisper of dusk finally left our lips and my fingers began to turn blue
On the nights I woke up empty, she told me that the darkness swallows up light without even asking its name so don't you dare expect a roll call now. There is no welcome mat outside of 3am but we laid outside the door anyways and she let the sky paint me pictures
On the nights I woke up cold, she reminded me that hands are only as good as what you choose to hold on to, she always said there was some kind of art into weaving your hands into somebody else's. It was the one thing we agreed on.
She said I had a shimmer she couldnt trust just yet but on the night I couldn't read poetry she let me sit next her, she told me that the thing about people and metaphors is that we all need at little editing
and we could all use a little bit more work.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
Light shades,
Dark shades,
What am i to wear?
Lipstick, mascara,
Base and nail polish,
Mom in the back ground says, ' You're going to college.'
**** !
I need a new bag,
Also a liner by Mac.
Maybelline polishes,
All stacked,
So many colours,
But not black.
I need to apply Revlon,
As much as i can put on,
Making my lashes prominant.
5th Avenue, Still and Elizebeth Arden,
I want to wear them all,
' Oh no, i don't ' says my conscience,
But then again they're scents and my heart wants them.
Unzipping my wallet,
' No ', i have not much.
Making the puppy dog face,
' Mom ! Can i get money to buy a base ? '
She nodded.
' Also i want perfume, liner, mascara and a nail polish. '
She gives me a look.
' Go get your money and spend them on it.'
But i have no money,
I say,
She says,' Get a job and buy all of it.'
Like a baby i sob.
She ignores,
Looking all bored,
So she knows,
I'm acting emotional then why not scold
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
I love the way you kiss me,
As your frigid hands caress my *******
I yearn for your nakedness to be closely nestled.
Your voice is raspy and deep, yet calming and smooth;
"Let your guard down, I want to see all of you."
Honestly, I felt weak in my knees, hearing the truth.
The delicacy of your lips pressed against my body,
Makes me able to barely whisper, "I'm ready, baby."
Unzipping my jeans,
I hear them drop to the floor.
I can feel my airways grow tight,
While I'm spread open.
I need you to stay overnight.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
She sends me snippets of her body in photographs. If I was meant to forget her then why would she torture me so? Her hands and her hair. Her eyes and neck and lips. So vivid in a glimpse, I can taste her. Not so innocent when she's unzipping her top in this shot. Not so sweet as she sends me her bare hips.
Photographs.
Are such.
A tease.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
palms sifting over
the slick curves
of your timepiece,
infinite kickbeat
tipped the hourglass twice,
time slides down you
away from me,
sandy monument dissolving
into memory,
hazy beach heat wavers between
all twenty fingers searching
pressing
feathering up swans from skin,
bare-lipped unzipping
wanders from ear
to chin,
to whispering grins on thighs
grinding stone to sighs,
silently rising
sharp rush
of breath
pinched
release, just stay
with
me
in
me
meaning, meet me in the middle
reach the runny yolk of it all, spilling silk, rushing out all over you
all over me.
we hum into each other -
ecstasy.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 12:06 AM UTC
The day's works doing have been done;
the midnight caught in the eaves
the eve of morning is lingering in your breath:
Against my ears eyes flutter and there is no undoing,
there is no unbuttoning or unzipping of clothes.
The day is working doing and done;
there is a shaking in the leaves
as leave you move a lingering in your step:
And my heart lungs whisper soft lullabies like yesterdays,
there is no forgetting, or letting, or knotting.
There! fingers break and unravel and
Yet! still sitting on the patio she is having her think
fighting pigeons with stale bread;
stepping on fallen branches you snap like a twig.
To think! to behold! to fall!;
she is your tea leaves, she is your hollow tree;
she is your empty cup and broken knee;
she is your hello to strangers and your goodbye to friends;
she is, she is,...!
She is!
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
I never wanted to see you hurt,
never crying, never unzipping your skin.
And I've only seen one of the two.
I said I loved you the month after we met and I meant it.
Because when you fall in love you do it hard.
And I wanted to have that feeling,
Never underestimating the feeling in your gut,
And I was okay with hurting you. For I didnt intentionally.
The night you fell in love with her you told me you never wanted to touch her,
But you also never wanted to loose her.
The night you lost her you cried to the heavens praying she'd come back...
And I still see you do it from time to time.
When you fell in love again, she said she wanted to **** you, and that you could be on top, and my god did that ruin everything.
She unzipped her skin in the shape of a y exposing herself to you, but not in the way she wanted.
You did not pray for anything this time.
I said I loved you in my room, when I was blackening my insides, when I heard you say I love you too.
You wrote your first poem about the girl you liked yesterday, and I screamed at you.
For it wasnt about me.
But I saw you pray for the first time in months,
And I never seond guessed who it was about.
It wasnt about me,
or her
It was for you.
Because your getting weaker and I can see it. Because whenever you speak you speak in thorns, your voice doesnt perk up with laughter and baby giggles as it did before.
And I saw you do unzip your skin for the final time.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC