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Cold at FourIs there a technical term for a harp maker?
If there isn't, it's you, as a body, that canine
Your name doesn't
ring right but it's what you do with it that counts:
I tumbled around it and never said it at the correct second, like the
cuboid-skulled choirgirl a note behind, loud and disgusting. A faulty
The banal usurping of my bookish tongue
came on quick.
I'm very sorry.
Everything scratched backwards and now my spine streams
from my throat, cursive handwriting.
Scored in your scalp:
the clicking of toes, falling asleep in the hands of metal men,
forgotten criminality, barbed wire telephones -.
you look like so many faces -
for all I know you don't exist except in broken chairs.
The Maritodespotic PathI am naked beneath my coat of armour.
I woke and thought it was the sickness
I'd had before - my lips had never burned
The ghost of your dog came to me
last night, while I dreamed;
it burst into grey dust and
told me my bulimic piano solos were beautiful.
Dancing under the pregnant sky,
a waning gibbous belly crowned
with violet cloth,
I converse with the moon -
deep, dark French.
I love to speak
to hunted rabbits
and unlit trees.
WitchMy belletrist, little hunched cardigan-drenched
finch, he says, Mess, blooded with French shores and burned cakes,
don't you come to my hand anymore,
crying poppies from sallow ducts, my tiny soil-saviour?
- he touches his own ass-ears with his spiked teeth
and pets me 'til I'm salmon, sunset -
Sleep in my bed, stocky moth,
cease your painting, beetle queen, queenly slut,
turned frizzy in the process of sharpening the sea,
mouth your watercolours and hose down the wall
- I am ill of him, his eating
makes me a murderer -
Newborn kettle-coffee throws a kiss
and our son climbs my sullen thighs;
I doubt we will fall out of love,
the spiders we are.
The WoodsThey were shaped like humans, humans with rat-tail hair or weeping willow spines or long hungry feet, and they danced around her, carried on her fearful imagination. She could taste their wicked delight and she cried, paralysed as they fed upon the chilled currents of winter walks. The little wolves spun up her ankles and took on her thighs; nothing left unexplored for them or her, a vicious loving in the trees. She met the thick loam with her knees and stayed upright, her hollowed body becoming the only memory anyone might ever have of her.
These are the woods where the children come to die. These are the shadows where grey-faced sleep waits, never speaking, never turning. The children fall into the grim peace and no one can follow their red toes into the shroud.
Vulva SongThe curtains are never drawn in the spare room.
Why aren't you coming, why aren't you sitting on the edge of the bath keeping watch right through me?
I feel the carpet and soak up every silent look, store them under my toenails, and I miss you. You exploded,
the bees in the lavender bush are all that's left of you.
Articulated PointsOne year after I met you -
Ill, stricken, your chocolate orange lies
castling across my joints,
I break concave dandelion, seeds
splashing under my gambling shoes.
One year, one month -
They may lay their hides over your favourite
city garden walks, might leave hopeful lip prints
on the glass in your sturdy museum holidays, spit
love-letter typefaces down their ankles or hum in the grey
cold to stay awake for surgery,
and I will coagulate with my dresses,
I, Adam Dawson Do not Believe in FateA total stranger
impacted by one lie
the lie she wasn't good enough.
The dark shadows that masked her eyes,
and the way my approach
had startled her so suddenly.
They say some souls are meant to reach,
whether through force,
or just fate.
I personally don't believe in fate.
Yes, I Adam Dawson
do not believe in fate.
Your Seductive Bedroom EyesYour seductive bedroom eyes
Always gets my attention;
I often find it hard to resist
Your sensuous feminine charms,
But then again, what man
Would be foolish enough to?
When you press your sweet
Silky body onto me,
You ignite a flame that no other could;
I feel the palms of my hands
Start to sweat & my body
Quiver all over.
The way you kiss my lips
& caress my body with your
They spark up new feelings
Long since then locked away,
Till I met you.
But it's those seductive
That get me so hypnotized,
Unable to walk away,
Unable to resist you.
You tease me with your
"Come hither" glances
The way you sexually curl your lips
Into a mischievous smile,
Filled with lust.
You are my bedroom angel
Never afraid to go the distance,
When love becomes hot.
As the flames grows hotter
So does your passion;
Refusing to let go,
Making love in any fashion.
Whatever the occasion
Of the evening hours;
Your bedroom eyes,
Display a sensual passion
That's forever ours.
Pull me back
from this white
cloud, a viscid realm
that thirsts my senses
paint my sky
with the most violent scarlet
your imagination can incarnate
through your hands
when the skin throbs
in the venter, in the mouth,
when we become abstract
becoming a ramification of veins,
desires, elusive emotions
din acest alb
nor, lume vascoasa
ce-mi exacerbeaza setea
cu violenta rosului
pe care doar imaginatia ta
il poate reincarna prin mainile tale,
cand pielea paseste sacadat
in vintre, in gura, cand ne abstractizam
si devenim doar o ramificatie de vene,
pulsiuni, emotii evazive
nailsSpeak in Tongues
against my teeth and
write your story on these broken molars.
Bridge the gap with
fluids best left unsaid
(you disgust me)
and maybe we can cum to an understanding.
I'll carve my lies into your skin
while you burn the truth from my eyes
Maybe we're broken but
I like it that way.
Anointed in as your sins.I am the embodiment of your sins.
I am your greed, gold in color and always asking for more.
I am your lust, swirling in amber with a slip of my tongue upon your flesh.
I am your wrath, rolling in a fit of redden anger.
I am your sloth, lounged in white, sleeping in between your sheets.
I am your gluttony, always craving more, more, more...
I am your pride, held purple in my state of royalty.
I am your envy, green with what never, can fully be mine.
I am your sins. Full bodied. Anointed.
La hermana de Mangel (Rubius y tu)Holaa, soy la hermana de Mangel, ______ tengo 20 años, viví toda mi vida en L.A, y decidí mudarme a Madrid con Mangel, luego lo conocí a él y todo cambio...
CAPÍTULO 1: La llegada
Estaba todo listo para que me vaya, no había dejado casi ropa en casa de mis padres, no me preocupe por mi habitación porque Mangel tenía un cuarto solo para mí, era casi una imitación del original.
Mama: Lista hija?-.
______: Claro ya salgo mama-.
Salí de mi habitación con valijas y un bolso, ese día me puse una remera blanca por encima del ombligo que decía 'Kiss me' en letras negras, un short color rosa, los colores iban en degradación de rosa a blanco y unas botitas vans negras, mi cabello lo cambio cada época o cada mes mejor dicho, ahora estaba rosa y morado, me puse una diadema de flores rosas y blancas.
Mis padres me llevaron hasta el aeropuerto y esperaron que el avión despegara, estaba nerviosa, el avión d
Persuasion? Compilation of guilt,
is maybe the only right
Something meant to be,
should be let past.
Hesitation can prevent,
but nothing can separate:
will change that desire.
Lustfully giving in
to the temptation:
it just looked so good.
How could I keep saying no?
I'm not easily persuaded,
so you better feel
I could seriously do that
and that look.
just one little taste;
So it is;
entering the world
of the sexually explicit.
Randomocity Verbalized Convoluted mind set,
loveless lustful desires,
and ridiculous intriguement;
all to something that is mine,
but I can't have.
by the same voices telling me
to commit these deeds.
I'll verbalize something
out of character
to the scheme I've built;
but it reveals my true desire:
and different territory.
What can I say:
my heart and body know
that you're irresistible.
Drenched with passion,
overwhelmed with fear,
yet empowered with a desire
for actions to take place.
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
to crumble up
the remnant pieces
of my love for you
and throw them in the trash
but I'm such a bad shot.
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