through the ocean
i wade through waves
creating a tide
it follows
through my being
i feel it pulsate
the blood in my arms
the warm of my legs
the passion
i used to hold
beyond my weight
i slip on my tounge
he fell in love
with a whisk of my brain
a devotion you can’t name
simple words you only dream
People love the facade of a perfect relationship because perfection seems alluring. What they don’t realize is perfection is terrifying.
depression is your fingers
touching your lips
without a single breath
when your hands
are aside your hips
but your tongue is pulled
in directions which could never exist
it’s like walking on anxiety
when anxiety is your legs
you move with a pace
your hips transcend
into black
into dull
into things people don’t think of
and we work in a travesty of our emotions
becoming sensitive to colors
the neutrals we dream of
we’re skilled to the slope
the dreary hill
with a melconholy feeling
which no one can seem to fix
You want to know what I loved about him? Everything. From a freckle on his ass down to his undying selfish need to always be right.
i miss the moon
outside my window
your hands in my grasp
the rough in your neck
we sway
under the light
the darkness shines
i hold you tight
we succumb
rolling in our past
loving the black
feeling the ground
i take your pulse
your lovely
crush it with my palms
we spin
i feel you tingle
from your toes to your fingers
i hold you
without touch
a simple emotion
we lust
i hide
in your shout
leaving a sour taste
in your mouth
he was a child
with life
running wild
through his hands
his mind
we sat on the sun
living in rays
wondering if a single hey
was meant to be
if words mean something
we touched our ears
sang our fears
and wondered if things
were meant to be
if we were meant to see
i slip
on my tongue
words fall short
it was simple
it was him
too strong
yet subtle and smooth
i loved his touch
a devotion
you can’t keep track of
wondering where it goes
how it moves you
so
I write in seconds. I don’t stop. I don’t think. I simply write and when it comes, it flows and it makes sense because it’s genuine. I don’t understand thought-out poetry. It doesn’t seem real to me.
i sip my wine
touch my leg
feel him there
against my body
loving my crazy
licking my lips
taking me there
