Tag: lust

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Form

She sways and she fades

Condensing as we name her audacious

Sometimes I shout it too

With her I had no clue

.

My love comes in all forms

She’s cold and lukewarm

When she melts I melt with her

I have faith in her rigid lorn

.

Chant and sing these warnings

She is everything

She is nothing within

On the mountain where I placed her

She was my only friend

.

I was free to scrutinize her

She was decay and serpent

Offered me to experience life freely

She wouldn’t dare come with me

I’d repent to see her nearly

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Still

The window is broken but you open it still

Creating mass and spaces to sit on

To worry about; challenge freedom in

You help me speak and understand nothing

There is no right or wrong with you

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Pink

Cotton pink undertones
Close by with gentle age
She was creamy, so soft
My eyes sparkled as we met
Pixie baby looking all confused
Going for a ride with mine
I sit silent
I study her magic
The way her skin rainbows
The concern in her delicate sweet face when I leave

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Tiny glass

My lover was passive

He was made of glass and

We didn’t appear full enough

Tried making eye contact in summer trees

Seeing we weren’t meant to become lucid bees

Just tiny things playing make believe

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Reason

I always come back to sadness

Maybe it’s a shape shifting anger

Maybe we’ve hung her; together

But it’s all I ever knew, it’s whom I make true intricate love to

I inflicted upon me paired with hesitations and soon to be’s

cause well maybe I’m human

I sink through all your deadly seas

I sort through my pieces of wool and used flannels and cloth

And I touch the human in every passerby knowing it’s never enough

I touch the heart that aches with stone burning parallels

I touch the mouths through mountains of victims as the dead sings farwells

I vow to be untouched

It’s not enough to breathe in and exhale my stomach, my liver; my heart

It’s hard enough to wake alert and dress up the rest with the earth’s hardened dirt

Soul tied to a suit and some layers that aren’t mine

But to most it’s fine, some say quite divine

I couldn’t harm a fly; I wish to kill a billion

And so

I harm the self that promises to let things go (let things sow)

Burdened by the death of each solitary season

Hands pressed in pulses pleading to be granted the sights of a hermits reason