A love poem about someone who got away
maybe more
maybe less.
You walk like something less probable drives you,
like it's only a slight chance you might find what you seek.
Grays fleck your hair with that queasy smile you make
trying to hide your laugh. You make it for me often;
I like that.
You seem easy - Are you?
Or is that just my bias shining through,
just my generalization for your age and lust?
And I think to myself how I do not do this.
I lie.
Truth does not pour from my mouth; only conveniences
I work semantics like my slave, chained to my tongue for eternity.
But with you- I can not find it in me to fashion anything more creative or less elusive.
And along side the sticky road, and in the corner of a shy memory,
you scooped me up into your arms. Cradled. Level.
And with that, I felt the light that I die to be,
I felt eased into a status of secret euphoria.
Wondering what it would be like to have your hands wrapped 'round my bare back,
my heart screaming, would my ribs shine through my skin? Would you mind it if I made them?
And I think aloud sometimes, alone on my dirty, unfitted sheet,
that you are somewhat perfect,
in all the ways
I hope to be loved.
Poetry by Cassidy
Read 476 times
Written on 2009-12-02 at 20:30
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Ash
For reasons I'll never learn,maybe more
maybe less.
You walk like something less probable drives you,
like it's only a slight chance you might find what you seek.
Grays fleck your hair with that queasy smile you make
trying to hide your laugh. You make it for me often;
I like that.
You seem easy - Are you?
Or is that just my bias shining through,
just my generalization for your age and lust?
And I think to myself how I do not do this.
I lie.
Truth does not pour from my mouth; only conveniences
I work semantics like my slave, chained to my tongue for eternity.
But with you- I can not find it in me to fashion anything more creative or less elusive.
And along side the sticky road, and in the corner of a shy memory,
you scooped me up into your arms. Cradled. Level.
And with that, I felt the light that I die to be,
I felt eased into a status of secret euphoria.
Wondering what it would be like to have your hands wrapped 'round my bare back,
my heart screaming, would my ribs shine through my skin? Would you mind it if I made them?
And I think aloud sometimes, alone on my dirty, unfitted sheet,
that you are somewhat perfect,
in all the ways
I hope to be loved.
Poetry by Cassidy
Read 476 times
Written on 2009-12-02 at 20:30
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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