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Thick, warm, fuzzy air
Radiates against your skin, making you want to doze off
You sit on the front of a low red car that looks another era, leaning on the glossy hood.
I want to put your lips on mine
The world feels yellow, and orange.
It's as if clear smoke has filled the air
My eyes are dimmed through thick sunglasses, my body absorbing the warmth through jeans and a small black shirt
I'm in a lucid daze
Looking at you through a curtain of straight black hair, not bothered to move it from my face.
You're eyes the crisp refreshing blue in a world tinted amber
Like fresh water, so cooling as I gaze in them.
Like a spray of water on your back
After hours of sunbathing
We sit there
We say nothing
We take in the sun
   We don't need anything else
She is so spectacular,
This girl I haven't met yet,
Not in dreams,
nor my head,
Is she something I comprehend.

I've heard,
She's out of this world,
but believes in the things that happily end,

Oh to be in love,
with an imaginary friend.
Another older poem I Just remembered from my long lost phone. May it rest in peace, and return as much content as I can muster, in time.
Chris Neilson Sep 2016
Stopping to write words is my impulsive habit
as hopping grey squirrels cross paths with a wild rabbit

Hedge and tree sparrows creating their fun
tweeting feathered friends under a rising sun

Goats and rowing boats resting by a shady tree
donkey rides advertised that don't come for free

Mother feeding baby upon a tartan rug
a passing loved up couple sharing a hug

Ear flicking deer romping up then down
full leafed green trees turning to brown

For who knows a bell tolls at midday
not for a slight slumbering pony anyway

Passing a multicultural horticultural area
spotting an alpaca who's growing hairier

A soaking Labrador emerges from a small lake
brushing my bare lower leg in its wake

Sitting on a bench dedicated to a lost loved one
taking in the views he loved before he was gone

A picture may paint a thousand words long
but poetry captures succinctly September birdsong
It's my fortune to live close to one of the largest municipal parks in Europe (Heaton Park), this is my account of a stroll through there this unseasonably warm September day.
Amy Irby Jul 2012
My
heart
feels 
warmer
when you are around.    
Not quite a fire,
more like the gentle warmth    
of the spring sun    
melting into my skin.    
pleasant and peaceful,    
I close my lids and could believe    
for a moment, there is    
no enmity in the world.    
    
Your
movements
are
strange;    
fluttering hands and slow,    
nearly stomping strides.    
And sometimes, you sprint    
in parking lots.    
It's dire to get somewhere!  
But you usually get about    
six feet then stop.    
    
    
Your presence 
is 
mighty.    
    
So mighty that many times I can    
Know your feelings    
when words fail you.    
But your words are not always easy to read.    
When you're in a closet,    
a scream only tells me where    
you are, not how to get to you.    
    
Small children, tucked in beds a bunk.    
The clouds' tears would patter on the windows    
and angrily bang pots and pans.    
But the clouds did not wake me.    
I woke to the feeling of small,    
cold hands and feet, wriggling their    
way under my blanket in the top bunk.    
I'd meet the gaze of little tear filled    
eyes, then watch them close waiting    
for them to dream again.    
      
    
You have my blood, my eyes, my promise to be present.    
And without doubt, you lovingly robbed my heart.    
Any stranger could see you smile,    
and hear you chuckle, and you    
would steal theirs too.    
No, they would give it to you.    
How could you not give your heart    
to the source of its warmth.
- this was for my younger brother

Thanks so much for reading friend
Sunlight on my grinning face
Follows me from place to place
But it won’t do
Don’t know how long I can wait
Wandering this empty space
Searching for you

Up and down the barren coast
Listen as the riptide rolls
With so much to say
Probably what hurts the most
Is knowing that you’re so **** close
And still so far away

Once per while I catch a glimpse
Of unintended fleeting hints
To call out your name
Won’t make much a difference
Words don’t carry far upwind
It’s always the same

In the breeze
I see it’s just the wind
It’s a tease
To be at the shoreline again

Shepherd, call the sheep back home
Be thankful that you’re not alone
Round em up one more time
My, how much the herd has grown
With wool to warm your gentle soul
Leave no soul behind
Song form lyrics for a country tune
sophia Jun 2017
i felt my hands, warm and safe.

he wasn't there to hold them but he didn't need to, he did it all to my heart.
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