She burns like the sun and I can't look away
-----
It's been a while little ones...
-Lily
-----


NovaFingertip to fingertip;Nova
Within the lull of black sky and city silence,
We watched stars collapse and created constellations in their wake.


Imperfectink scribbles across your skin,Imperfect
flawed.
-----
old scars and imperfection,
next to
and under
my words.
-----
i wrapped my hunger around you, blind to smudged lines and white lies.
In A Haze

Shades of Summerwe sat on the veranda steps in almost-silence. whitewashed wood tinted deep amber by a summer sun bloodied by late afternoon.Shades of Summer
we moved less than we spoke for fear of melting into organic puddles sizzled by the sweltering concrete
a step away from our feet.
we ate persimmons that day, you and i. our chins flecked with sticky-cool juice, we smiled at the occasional passerby
and the tawny-haired girl from across the street.
little children ran through the sprinklers on their parents sunburned lawn. their shorts in coral, tangerine and


I Found It or A Night DancingI’m wearing a suit You’re all dolled up, pink cheeks Beneath that black dress Capture elegance, creamI Found It or A Night Dancing
Dancing I never said I had the money or the decency to take you out dancing so beneath the street lamps with the prostitutes and the dealers in front of the old run down Motel 8 We waltz your ebony hair cascading upon the both of us and what you wash it with, yellow birds, that’s the main ingredient I smell it sometimes stronger when you get out of the shower funny, you wouldn’t think tha


Years Ago Age is an item. Perhaps not one we can touch or hold or see or taste. It is an item- an object that produces jealousy, an object that creates ranking among human beings. Age and time. Things we have been given and we have earned. My twin sister Elizabeth was given seniority over me by eight minutes and forty three seconds. To hole up in a flesh bunker for nine entire months, mashed in with my fetile sibling, only to see sunlight nearly nine minutes later. Why exactly was she first? She was always more pushy than me- perhaps this was imbedded in her beforYears Ago


Dreaming of Innocence Sometimes I think of her before I go to bed. Her ebony framed face clear, her skin pale and unblemished, so very perfect. An aspect of beauty in the most simple and elegant sense… to think she was my sister. I think of her still being alive, of knowing who she would be and what she would do. I wonder about her personality often. She was strong when we were children, strong willed with a beauty that could destroy a thousand buildings. She could have dictated the world with her beauty. She could save all people, end all poverty… she could cause foolish menDreaming of Innocence


UntitledUntitled (For Elizabeth)Untitled
The perfect poem doesn’t come from hands or writers, poets, pens from feathers or down It comes from pillows Sheets and drunken stumbling it comes from waking up and regret from what or who you did the night before It comes from deaths of thousands and the drowning of your sister back when the two of you were six years old And you didn’t quite think you were capable of holding her under that long or putting it on paper
--
~La Belle Dame sans Merci~
...hope in but a grain of sand, is still hope.
I hold it safe within my hands;
With you, I'd like to share...
--
The apex of contradiction.
xo!
--
I am a poetry admin for *DailyLitDeviations.
interested in collaborating?
writer, photographer, painter, whatever(er) -
I'll mix with words with anything you've got.
Hey, whats going on? 23/female.. come chat with me on this website CLICK HERE
Previous Page12345...Next Page