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LexiSully Jan 2018
My vagabond heart skipped with every step taken,
As if the wind whipping around the trees whispered, “Go find your ‘Great Perhaps.’”
MeganW Nov 2014
I do not desire to fix you.
I cannot fix you so please do not think my love is like a magic pill.
I do though have an extreme wanderlust.
Adventures are one of life's greatest pleasures and the most grand trip I will ever get to partake in is that of your body and mind.
Your body is like a map that I want to get lost on.
Your eyes are forests that I desire to explore.
Your hands are the steering wheel to my trip.
Take me to the darkest corners of your heart and mind.
I'll bring a flashlight and give you my hand in case you get scared.
I want to know the highest mountain and the deepest valley of you.
I cannot fix or save you, that is something you are doing everyday,
But every crack and crevice I find I will fill with my love
I will bring light into your most black abyss
While you save yourself I will hold your hand
To my love
Shang Dec 2013
beneath the star-struck, eternal vast,
    painted black, blue-grey black -
voices blister of the past.

haven't felt this way in quite some time.
    the restless nights. this cold, empty bed.
unrhythmic breaths flood my chest
    as I watch my mother die
                         for the second time.

it's moments like these you never forget.
    find yourself waking in a cold, hot sweat.
mind tracing every syllable, every breath;
    remembering every word you should have said.

with eyes like a beating heart;
   smells of daisy wanderlust.
soul-fire like passion's spark;
   worn-out smiles like last night's luck.
Preston Jul 2014
How I tire of only going on planes
      To travel to places where all I do
Is follow the directions of a sickly sweet travel book
       Picked up from a bookstore that has never been anywhere.

How my eyes hunger for new places
    My feet to be numb from too much walking
My lips and tongue ache to speak with new people
     And my being longs for new experiences in a strange land.

Were that the butterflies in my stomach
       Could grow teeth so that they could break free
I would rein them in with rope woven from my hopes and dreams
       And follow the horizon until I find the right place.

Somewhere adventure is out there
        Waiting for me.
Short poem from Creative Writing
Bunhead17 Dec 2015
Falen:
As you move through this life and this world
you change things slightly
you leave marks behind
However small & in return
Life and travel leaves marks on you
most of the time, those marks - on your body
or your heart - are beautiful
Often though, they hurt
                            Wolf:
We always seem to leave impressions
picking up our scars and beauty marks
along the way, hoping to do more good than
wrong, and maybe find love on our paths
the world is a vampire.....bleeding us
but also an oyster..feeding our souls
                      Falen:
In order to be, you must do.
All great things start from that one adventure, that one dream, that one idea, that one step.
To adventure is to find yourself whole, to have a story at the end of this all.
The places you see, the things you make, the people you meet will fuel you forever.
Choose to see beauty where others see none and strive for greatness
                                  Wolf:
Have the courage to follow your dreams
and to follow your heart
choose wisdom over folly, but never forget
how to enjoy yourself..and to respect and love others
be assertive while unobtrusive....
and learn all you can
life is a journey. we must always keep moving forward
remembering the past, but leaving it where it belongs
live each day as if it were your last
one day you will be right
                      Falen:
Not all wanders are lost.
We lust after traveling the world
we just want to find a beautiful place and get lost in it,
we want to discover something new
we want to feel & be free
                 Wolf:
It's the gypsy spirit in us all
keeping us on the road
and unfettered to hermitage
ensuring that we live and breathe
with awe and wonder
                    Falen:
I've got wanderlust in my veins
I was born to  live and I live to regret nothing
I'm in love with cities i've never been to
and i'm in love with people i've never meet
                   Wolf:
Gypsy blooded to the end
You're in love with something bigger than love,
you believe in something stronger than trust
***Wanderlust***
Liana Garcia Apr 2014
I crawled into your back pocket quietly and folded myself up small, like the smoke from the cigarettes you always lit but never smoked.
I bumped into your last name everywhere because I may have managed to escape the slum but we all crawl back to where our hearts first beat.
You escaped with a lens in your fist and roads I will never drive down, buried deep in your feet.
I sat on your shoulders and kept quiet. I watched every girl you fell in love with and I felt burns on my hands every time one pushed your hair back out from your eyes.
The girl from Missouri with the long brown hair counted 49 freckles but I knew about the 2 that were kept hidden under your knees and I scolded every girl who thought they loved you like I did.
I sleep with bones who cry out for my touch but sometimes they whisper for a girl whose name is different from my own. Her name tastes like sewage in the back of my throat.
I know love because I curled his hair around my finger. And I know that someday my children with have a head full of it.
But when you taught me love it was filled with new beginnings. But you went too far and I waved you off and sat back in the dust I had come from and told myself I was better off and you were crazy.
You traveled through towns I may never know and shook hands with people I will never see. Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if we kept holding hands. Mine got sweaty and your long legs moved too fast. My heart became heavy and held me down. You
Sometimes I sleep across your room on the old blue chair with my back towards you. Sometimes I hear you whisper my name and I know you still feel my hands slipping up your shirt and drawing constellations of how our future should have mapped out between freckles and old acne scars.
Violet Blue May 2015
Let's go on an adventure
Just you and I
Some place new
Where we've never been
Before
I wouldn't mind
Getting lost
With you
Riq Schwartz Apr 2012
We are lost in the tide
just a few feet from shore.
We are swamped by the size of the sky.
We are fickle and frail
and I've never felt more
like it won't matter how much we try.

I am lonely and loved
and exhaustedly glad
for a few simple minutes of rest,
so I looked to you with
what small fervor I had,
while I stood with my conscience undressed.

You were so full of hope
that we might get away,
but as time passes, so do our dreams.
There I saw in your eyes
all the fear and dismay,
with your heart torn apart at the seams.

It was so cold that day,
sitting still in our home.
It was early as midnight could be.
But the wanderlust shrieks
as the memories roam,
with the mind drifting out to the sea.

I was swept with the tide
washing out from the land,
and it carried me into the deep.
When I got there, I found
there was nowhere to stand,
so I laid down and drifted to sleep.

You were lost in the stars
looking down at the world
with the moon passing by overhead.
You were ground to a halt
as the whole planet twirled,
and you missed everything that I said.
Suhaib Tariq Nov 2013
Horizons empty.
Oh how has the sun been squandered !
My lust for the simple,
has left me to wander.

Times and places
that no man has faced yet.
Bountiful fruits of fortune,
seem all but tasteless.

Hurricanes tore away
the sheath of love.
Helpless and lost
my eyes seek the way above.

Cold and resolute,
the weather akin to this demeanor.
Heaven would bare witness,
had I seen a temptation more cleaner.

Lands of my forefathers,
abandoned for new direction.
Mind beginning to question
all that was hidden under the fold of discretion.

Mountains and moors,
miles and miles of terrain.
Roads that I'd never take
now bear my own name.

Mind breeding wanderlust;
Heart seeking answers such,
question to which never exist
a will to ask always does.
Sam Ciel Nov 2015
Two brown stars alight with fire fill my heart
with wanderlust. I'm aching to explore
the cosmos she creates within her art,
Galaxies expanding evermore.

Autumnal tones reside upon her pate
And winter's temperance somewhere in her gaze
With summer's passion lurking in her gait,
Spring's abundance in her creative ways.

The seasons below join the stars above:
A marriage of both mortal and divine.
Exploring and chronicling new love
Amidst these cartographic words of mine.

And if, by grace, my journey isn't  bare
The borders of my heart shan't keep her there.
The expression head over heels doesn't quite do it. Odds are she won't find this and if she does, well, she already knows I'm a romantic.
Tommy Johnson Mar 2014
This is turning out to be a sundry thing
Oddball bowties and impurities
Fruits of our labor no, vegetables of lethargy

We are always one of a kind
Listen to our veracious lies
Once in a blue we let them out

Nobody can know, everybody will know our name
Why do I always feel bad? I know I shouldn’t feel bad
I should be grateful for the rain

It’s all upside down, but I’ll be fine
I’ll take my time, I can find a way someday
It’s all right side up, I’ve had enough
Life is rough, what can I say?

Is it weird to desire change?
The sudden urge to rearrange
To color outside the laid down lines

I’m not saying to start all over
Or to tear down and build a new
I just need something different to do

Nothing to run from, there’s nothing to run from here
I must of imagined, guess I just imagined
Apologies my darling dear

We’re all glistening, with our sweat
Let’s make a bet, the stakes are set, soaring
They’re all listening, but you’re not yet
You’re in my bed, snoring


The world will always spin, so just tell me where and when
Play it cool and lay low, give me the coordinates then we’ll go
Kirsten Lovely Aug 2013
From the golden streets of ancient Greece
To the cobblestone in Italy
These crumbling walls are breaking down
And open to set me free.
I want to leave this decrepit town
These weak and feeble streets
Escape the horror of my ways
Running too fast for my feet.
Maybe visit the Grand Canyon
Get back to New Orleans
For my cousin and her new baby
Drink in all these sights to see.
Michigan's pretty, but Flint's getting old
This ****** and crime needs to stop
Among all the violence and tragedy,
I've been clawing my way for the top.
But it's hard in a place so sad and angry
Where nobody seems to care
That's why I'll leave when I get the chance
So I can say I won't be returning there.
Please put the address on my box
And label it 'away'
That's the only place to go
Here I cannot stay.
I'd be leaving precious memories
Goodbye to summer, too
Maybe I'll find a better one
Or find a different you.
See ya to the teachers
That put me on the way
And adios to the people
That didn't tell me to stay.
I'll come back and visit
One day when I've been far
I'll have stories for you
Via planes and trains and cars.
I'll come see a football game
With the band I used to be
Reminisce on falls together
And call you up to see.
Because maybe you have left here too
You have the same old dreams
We were so alike, you know,
Wanderlust lovers, it seems.
I'll finish up what I have here
For now my dreams will wait
Get out and see the world with me
It's a chance I have to take.
AJ Mar 2014
I. When I was 5, I thought recess was probably the best thing ever invented. Until the first autumn rainfall, when the sky opened up and unleashed it's sorrow unto the earth. The children were kept inside that day. As the storm thundered on around us, we ran to play on the other side of the classroom. The boys charged to the shelf with legos and blocks, while the girls lined up at the miniature kitchen. I followed them to the tiny toy oven, even though, secretly, I thought those lincoln logs looked really fun.

II. When I was 6, I thought my first grade teacher was the sweetest woman to ever have lived. Then, one day she lined us to to go outside, calling out, "Boys on one side, girls on the other" reminding of us of a divide between genders that we did not understand. Marking off differences on a checklist that none of us had read yet.

III. When I was 7, like most little girls I daydreamed of the perfect wedding. The part I played over and over in my head was my brother walking me down the aisle, "giving me away". Because even in the second grade, some part of me knew that I belonged to the men in my life.

IV. When I was 8, I learned that the praise I'd receive from the boys I called my brothers would always be conditional. No matter what award I received, how fast I ran, how tough I fought, how smart I was, I'd always be "pretty good for a girl". And that is never a compliment.

V. When I was 9, the YMCA told me I had to stop playing the sport I'd loved for 5 years because I was a girl. I took my first feminist stand by quitting, because I don't care what they say, softball and baseball are not the same thing.

VI. When I was 10, my brother informed me that the day I brought home a boyfriend was the day he bought a gun. Because that's how you protect your property.

VII. When I was 11, a boy ran up to me on the playground and told me I was cute. For a moment, I felt confident, a feeling that was foreign to me. Until the boy and his friend started laughing uncontrollably, as if they couldn't believe that I'd ever think that was true. I cried a lot that day because I hadn't yet realized that my self worth wasn't directly proportional to how many boys found me attractive.

VIII. When I was 12, my aunt gave me my first make up kit for my birthday. When my grandmother tried to force me to wear it, I refused, yelling, "It's my face!" She proceeded to tell me that I'd never get a boyfriend with that attitude. After all, who was I to want to be in control of my own body?

IX. When I was 13, I thought gym was a subject invented by sadistic hell fiends created just to torture teenage girls. It was the hottest day of the year, and I'd just ran a mile, so I opted not to change out of my tank top before continuing on to my next class. A teacher cornered me at my locker, advising me to put on a jacket before I became a distraction to the boys.

X. When I was 14, I confessed to my mother the wanderlust inside of me. Exclaiming about travelling to new places, having new experiences. That's when she looked me dead in the eye and told me to always take someone with me. Preferably, a man. I couldn't bring myself to be angry. We both knew what happened to women alone on the streets, and I felt bad for the way I made her eyes shine with worry each time I left the house without her.

XI. I am 15, and I walk with my fists clenched and my head down. I am always conscious of what clothes I wear and whether or not they could attract "the wrong kind of attention". I attempt to shield myself from the world, but I can feel my barriers cracking with each terrifying statistic, each late night news story, each girl that was never given justice. The world is a war zone, and every woman must put her armor on before walking outside. My life has been one battle after the next. I am a 15 year old war veteran, and have the scars to prove it. I've learned from my experiences and am left with just one question:

At what age does the war end?
Tanay Jul 2018
I wish I would have been a nomad,
I would have travelled to the places no one had.
I wish I was a voracious reader,
Books would have helped me to forget her.
If life would not have been such a mystery,
It would have been easy to forget my history.
I wish I was another wanderlust
In a world which seems to forget so fast.
I never wanted to be like me.
I wish I was not me!








Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved.
Another simple poem from this small and simple person. I hope you enjoy reading it. Cheers!
Poetry Fanatic Jun 2016
We all have wanderlust souls.
The want to travel,
Move on,
Leave,
And discover.
Travel to new heights.
Move on from the pain.
Leave the insecurity.
And discover our fullest potential.
But we can't do that.
No,
Not until we truly appreciate beauty.
How can we do that?
Our society has diminished it,
Beyond recognition.

The definition of beauty is:
a combination of qualities, such as shape, color, or form, that please.

Beauty is so much more than that,
It's feelings,
Hopes,
Dreams,
Purpose.
We close our eyes when we
Kiss,
Pray,
Cry,
And dream. But why?
Because the most beautiful things in life are not seen,
But felt and experienced.

Our soulsite feel dead because beauty is absent.
But my friends I'm here to tell you,
Find beauty, and you'll find life.
Rapunzoll Aug 2015
He's the dagger
twisted in my gut,
all the pretty words
dolled up with a
smile that is anything
but pure or true.

He's a spicy treat,
when all I'm looking for
is something sweet.

Perhaps it's wrong of
me, to search for love
in eyes that wander so
far I have to make
maps of their journey.

He has me falling
from the tallest crevices
with promises to catch
me with arms that are
already holding another.

He's a lost cause,
a candle blown out,
the stolen kiss that
was never returned.

But I'd bet all my
money on him within
a heartbeat if he said
he felt even a mere
shadow of what I did.
© copyright
Flo Jul 2018
German is a harsh language
An opinion that prevails
A strong rolled “R”
Noises, making you think
Something is stuck down your throat
Talking, in everlasting anger

Let me tell you something
Let me introduce you
To the beauty of the German language
To the words of “Wanderlust”, “Weltschmerz” or “Geborgenheit”
Many words so unique

Their meaning poetic
Using them yet so difficult
Listen to us closely and you will find out
German is not German
It comes in many forms
It varies by the region, state, country

Every form has its own character
Every accent has its own thrill
Determinable in the way it’s spoken
And sometimes hard to understand
Differences so great,
Yet compromised in a single tongue

Reconsider,
German is not as harsh as you think
No anger lies in our tone
Nothing is stuck down our throat
And spoken by the right person
It can be quite melodic
Trying to overcome the stereotypes...
Montana Feb 2013
You run your fingers across maps
Like you are caressing the cheek
of your dying lover
for the last time
Katelyn Billat Nov 2017
I have this dream
In my mind,
That I will leave
This town with the one.

We will head west,
We will stop everywhere
And anywhere.
Take our time.

Live.

We will spend hours
In endless flower beds
In mossy forests
In crystal clear waters

We will drive and
Listen to every type
Of song,
New and known.

Yes, there will be arguments.
Nothing is perfection,
But I believe we will come close.

As the wind rushes
through our hair
We will be free,
And full of forgiveness.

We will visit new towns,
Make legendary memories.
Watch the lights of skyscrapers
As one by one, they go out.

Visit vintage diners
On the side of the road,
Learn everything
about each other.

For wanderlust has filled me,
And I dream
That we will be nomads
One day.
K Balachandran Nov 2011
The moment night opened her treasure chest
I stood astounded, at her riches immense
felt rich myself, beyond the material sense.

days dazzle with the jewel in the sky
what else we need, it is pure joy indeed
if you look at life with appreciating eyes.

love is all I seek to make me complete
and forget the transience of human existence
the moment you press me to your palpitating heart
ends my wanderlust,  love would celebrate  it's triumph
Kelly Sep 2013
a good 5 minutes staring at nature

can make your day that much better

no wifi guaranteed in a forest

but definitely a better connection

-kl
Elsbeth Poe Nov 2013
Wanderlust
The song of my blood running through these veins

Please say there's someone else
Who is this antsy too
Who never can stay still
There's just too much to do

People to meet
Languages to speak
Sunsets to see
Food to eat
Mountains to climb
Stories to hear
Laughter to share

Will I ever stop to stay still
The honest truth
I would not dare

E.Poe
*Nov 2013
Budhino Oct 2014
I was as free and brave as a dragon when the sun rose

I was as dark as the starless night when the wind blew

I was consumed by wanderlust

Now it is only emptiness

Blurred patches, sunless ways, gloomy days

Everything is out of my league

Everything is invincible
Nat Lipstadt May 2019
the spring mantra arrives with distinctive citified sparkles

a family of ducklings splash, mimicking young children,
shaking, spraying, squeaking, babies bath bathing,
jumping in and out of a fountain pool
of a tall-storied Manhattan apartment building,
the mother-leader attends them well for she recalls
the untimely end of the babies of last year,
lost to wanderlust on York Avenue,
cars and taxis as instruments of mass murdering,
but new spring is the season of new birth

the Cercis Siliquastrum tree trunk (!) oddly sprouts
unusual pink flowers
well before it’s branches grow up into a fully blossoming tree,
a signed spring time ritual, but since it is a/k/a, the Judas Tree,
we wonder if spring hints of Cerci Lannister’s fate betrayed,
in this, her final May dance, oh, which Judas brother/lover
will bring us a winter fin finale

the temperature control dial busted, the variability too wide,
the youngers are skipping the interregnum season,
going direct to elect shorts and T-shirt, while those who no longer bloom in the semi-warm, recall the wet chill of past evenings,
voting to dress defensively, wearing their aging skepticism
aware that all changes are exact crossing line-defined, wrapped in
medium weight coats, concealing embarrassing gloves in pocket,
decorative silk scarfs for non-decorative purposed,
all betting the under/over the spring is here all-in not yet sighted

the streets are busy, the momentary pleasantries
of warm sky and sun push the apartment dwellers out,
a magnetic force pulls us to the outside to exhale, in order to inhale,
guises manufactured excuses appear, a loaf of bread, a latte necessity,
the children desert happily their wintery confinement,
by pushing their own carriages, containing in their stead,
their lilting accented nannies, excited by their version of spring break

Me? toy shopping for this month brings rashers of birthdays,
more May galorey, singing come Dancer and Prancer, Ian and Isabel, Alex and not-a-baby anymore Wendy, and because the weather so pleasant, cautions ignored, the credit card swiped repeatedly, frequently and joyously, xmas reimagined, another May time ritual, rooted in the September month of *******, of staying warm, staving off winter *******, and winter planting for spring harvesting

children score grand-multiplicities for god made in his place
grand parental substitutes, each with two hands each equal,
so both must be filled with maypole ribbon, brightly colored
toy bags, presents wrapped in paper unicorns and all manner of
sporting *****, as we turn 2 and 6, 7 and who ate 8?

all that my eyes did see when we surfed strolled the streets,
vignettes fell like the spring rains, they, now, from daytime banished,
to after-midnight to do their breast feeding of tulips and weeds,
letting little children grow up snuggling in still over-heated rooms,
naked legs kicking off winter blankety snow remnants while dreaming of springing onwards and forward
into the party of life by inhaling nature’s

nature.
5-3-19  606pm
Kelley A Vinal Jul 2015
Greenland's fjords
Native tongues
Thai curries
Tundra calls

answer

Let me answer
Earth, all of this

great

I'm grateful
To be here
Warm showers
Nashville towers
But all of this
All of this
Earth

calls
leigh walker Apr 2015
Sometimes it's nice
to let your toes
sink into the mud
beneath you
Watch the dimly
lit sky above you
permeated by clouds
Just like your mind
clouded by deep
thoughts of
Wanderlust.
Death you are seen so repugnant.
Death you are sensed so vile.
Death you are deemed so untimely.
“Death can’t you wait for a while?”
But Death, aren’t you Life’s true redeemer?
Making everyone think well of the dead.
Death aren’t you Life’s other half?
Death don’t you tuck us to bed?
When our wanderlust has faded,
your embrace remains unjaded.

Death you are humble in your infamy;
Life the glory claims.
Yet sickness, accidents and war
are all Life’s macabre games.
That which kills you comes from Life.
Life will push to make that sale;
living organs mere currency.
Cannibalistic Life - advertising as a fairy tale.
Death you are left to clear the carnage.
Death – the coloseum’s sand –
innocently soaked in the blood of Life’s cruel hand.

Death you are Life’s psychologist;
motivating each step, each trial.
Making us get up every morning
to make each moment worthwhile.
Death you employ Time’s creation
to set a deadline to Life.
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring
Death you are a scalpel; Life a butcher’s knife.
Famine, plague, disease, beast,
Without glorious survival, why feast?

Death your work with Time is inspired,
for we created it to understand your course.
With Time we can learn Life’s seasons
and record it’s length before it’s divorce
from our fragile clay.
Death you make us frugal with our Time,
yet generous with our Love.
For to each heartbeat’s rhythm and rhyme,
we fervently dance to give.
To make another grief-stricken Death.

For if Life is filled with meaning,
it is Death’s boon to us all.
Life becomes exhilarating –
A race before the fall!
Death remains a wallflower to the very close.
Death only wants to meet us;
a gentle lover with a rose.

Encouraging, yet terrifying.
But if we fear the Darkness, it is Life we fear not Death.
How often has a blinding Light been reported on a final breath?
I slept that night.
To feel the glowing breeze,
the blowing air.
driftwood.
truly calm and comftorable.
beyond water we walked,
mountains.
i looked,
trees, sky and attempt to fly.
heavy snows were beneath us,
that have ventured too far.
spring storms and cold
free flowing,
wailing in the air.
change is in the air.
the sun did not move
imagine
dawn of peace
rise and shine
Alysha L Scott Oct 2014
Bright as the menace, Man
brings gallant shadows
for the golden idol.

We give a wicked turn for the fire,
and jonquils for the Essenes,
pillories for nay-sayers,
squawking and gawking, bronze
bottoms for the whip:

perched piety, an angel
and a demon,
I forget their names
as they whisper petty
prayers into my ears.

Countless and listless are
the eyes that beam, Heaven-
sent and Heaven-forward,
the wanderlust leaving
Paradise in shambles.

Bright as Venus, acid rain
beckons all the saints
left dim, a shadow
bursting in the stratum.

We give wicked lies to the worrier:
One night, near to waking, he tore
the Devil's wings
and traded them for daylight,
bright as the
gallant  menace.

and the God laughed,
and then he cried.

Sometimes I wonder if jealousy
will lay with empathy, equal
halves to the other.

And I forget my name.

Forgetting piety, forgetting blame,
leaving the vagabond,
the lowlier child,
to weep alone
in his nakedness.

Countless and listless are
the prayers of children,
caught by the reign
of night, gleaming silently,
lonely
and together in the stratum.
The Black Raven Mar 2015
Cosmic hearts
with moonshine eyes,
wandering toes
through nights dark disguise.
Gnarled root nails, behind
white cotton clouds
dusted, warn boots
thump through thick cattle crowds.
Silhouette sunsets
that glow like the heat,
planes like a painting
a marvellous treat.
Huge starry skies
as far as one can see,
stand small on the ledge
feel the rush of the free!
Feel that wind softly blowing
a wondrous, soulful gust,
one word for this feeling,
-wanderlust.
her mind wandered
as she sat
silent
mind wandering
as her body
should be
thinking of
what she shouldn't
her body was
unoccupied
she had
what they call
wanderlust
if her body
wasn't moving
then her mind
must
Amitav Radiance May 2015
The heart’s not homebound
Wanderlust soul seeks to travel
Through the enormous universe
Feel the harmony of cosmic energy
This heart wants to travel beyond
Like an unburdened soul, with valor
Veer away from the usual path
Prepare for the eternal travel
Multiple destinations and one purpose
To enter the wormhole of space
Traveler always and enjoy the cosmic circle
Whirlwind of a tour of the vast eternity
The heart’s not homebound
Brianna Apr 2015
I want to spend my mornings drinking tea in the early English fog.
Spend my afternoon at the foot of the Eiffel Tower being touristy drinking dark red wine.
I want to drink beer in Germany and head on over to Ireland for dinner.
I want to get sunburns from sunsets in Italy.
Talk to the deadliest animals alive in Australia and swim in the blue ocean near New Zealand.
I want to pic flowers in Thailand and eat sushi in China.

My heart will never stop wandering.
My heart will never be still.
I need to travel again.
Lora Lee May 2016
I remember you
in shades of pseudo
toughness but really
inside sweet
a conglomeration
of rebel-quiet-luscious
flutter of Nordic
New York city eyelash
that fixed stare
strict leather
jacket flare
I loved your brashness
brazen statements
shooting from the hip
as you took your provocative
attitude stance
pouting fullness of lip
we listened to Patti Smyth
and Salem 66
"Wanderlust" curving
up my spine
tension building
in your room
as you stared at me
looked away
each subtly
heated time
your eyes found me
my pulse quickened
in shy leaps
I did not understand
my own feelings
only when
you finally kissed me
did my world spin on its axis
and I understood
that love goes far beyond
what  they say
it should
curve of waist
and gentle ***** of breast
under men's shirts
revealed
only then did I understand
who I am
and how that
fresh snap
of breaking boundaries
feels
For J. S., still my friend today
you married a woman, I a man
but will never forget you
Salem 66 Wanderlust
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F7tbRca0CUk

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