English major ~ Spanish and anthropology minor ~ Photography lover ~ Aspiring writer ~ instagram: rose_dud
Once upon a time there was a creature with the air of girlhood. She looked opaque, solid. She seemed so full of life and validity. That was what people liked about her. She was shining and brimming with substance vague enough for onlookers to see what they wanted to see. Then one day, a boy chose to love her. He, too, fell victim to her ambiguous iridescence. Meaning well, he endeavored to pry her open and see the vitality inside like a pearl within a clam. Little did he know she was but a wisp of delicate elements. When he touched her with his gentle caress, she erupted into non-existence, leaving him only with the soapy water that once encased her and a soft puff of smoke rising to the sky. She was only a transparent, thin shell, and it broke his heart.
Starbucks, smoking and a slow on-the-nose kiss,
these are the little things that I am going to miss
when off to the drum corps camp, you go!
And for two long months following, I will only want to know
if a Racine Scout will leave his horn to come and see me!
Oh, well, you know, maybe I am…
I really love the ending.
This was a place of imagination
Where cherub-faced children,
Covered in grime,
Ruled with small, mighty fists
They bellowed the call of innocence
Their cries rising out
In a shrill brevity
The warm sun
Brightened their cheeks
The hard dirt
Toughened their bones
Bruised and cut,
They feared no mortality.
Carried for miles on soft, pudgy legs,
Their jovial shouts rang out
To the ears of the vast unknown.
All valiant in the eyes of their masters.
For in the days of perpetual sunlight,
Staunched only by short, starry skies,
This was a place of imagination.
The place where dreams go to die.
Paint me a picture
With your words
Write our story
With lilting chords
Show me a vision
With your lips
Jot sweet poetry
With finger tips
See my love
With blinded eyes
Erase it all
With coarse revise
Pierce my heart
With stabbing pen
Love me and love me not
Again, and again, and again
If my hands could reach
Across the Appalachians,
Over rivers and roads
To touch the soft rose blooms of your cheek,
I would stretch like a cat in early morning,
No hesitation in my extended fingers,
Uncoiled tendrils of warmth,
Born simply to compliment your jaw line.
I would trace the contours of your face
Like rings on a weathered tree stump,
Counting each concentric circle,
Reading you like a coveted book.
I would stroke the hair at your temple
And ponder what winsome wonders lay beneath the cumbersome locks.
I would crave a glimpse at your unmatched splendor
But quickly smother the wish
In lieu of what fortune I am allowed.
For a caress is a miracle in itself.
I was playing with the idea of opposing senses. Here’s a silly, dirty little poem I wrote for a ten minute prompt:
He was sour
I was sweet
But when the softness
Of our lips meet
Explorations if content betwixt the sheet
Like sweet and salty
Flesh on hot flesh
Voices hushed in exalt
Taste the anger
In smiling lips
Feel the stillness
In swaying hips
He was sour
I was sweet
It with the likness
Of lips and meat
Explosion of contempt betwixt the sheet