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oceans...Let us start the night with a coarse laugh. A bubble of moon sightings and a mirage of broken sincerities. Let us fly on bikes with danger for wings, find that ripcord to pull before the morning comes.
And to think we started with plans. When the day was still high and the faces flew before us, some smiling, some wrinkling, some paling - battling bugs and heat and hunger, when they came.
Books strewn like a compost pile around the old willow tree in your backyard, fingers like seams in the sky - we lost ourselves to music which is more a harmony of thought and the excitement that comes with new knowing. Before now, neither one of us knew what it was to wake with poetry in our veins.
You eat cookies like how a dying man might eat his last supper, slow and sure, and with a sort of maddening modesty in your eyes. The watermelon you find problems with - pits and bruises and the wear of wrong seeds. The sort of way you classify people with broken-in shoes.
If there was ever a time I didn't
summer...Summer weighs heavy on a day like this. Waterless white-blue horizons bleached over by sun. The sidewalks steam on a day like this - and the easiness of it is there too. Slipping away from sheets damp and heavy from sleep, and eyes already bright - slipping away from sheets tangling legs like hair and into barely clothing - drinks fizzed over by ice cubes, and that neighbor with the never-ending rockband radio on.
Music sends alien signals off foiled air on a day like this. The easiness of it is there too.
Thinking of the coins we racked in with lemonade stands on days like this. In the morning we'd run like overlarge lobsters and tack up the signs, before the pavement burnt black our feet, and we could wrap jumbo-sized cookies for fifty cents. When cold sodas and shoulders beaten by sun were glorious.
On a day like this, the darkest house is a haven - dank stale air pelted by fans, and staring up at the ceiling, just breathing, doesn't seem like such a waste of time.
Days like this so
The VisitEach time I visit you, it gets worse,
you willow-tree vine woman
with blue-green-brown eyes
You remind me
that we probably all
carry about broken watches
over our heads
who like to grin down
evilly on us -
Your voice is
waspish, buzzingly close
and now running at a distance -
I hold the memories
like some parchment
you dipped blue once
and want to pull around yourself
and I cannot deny you
of all the things,
I cannot deny you.
The paleness of your hair
is limpid and crawling
on the pillow,
and your smile
once so dartingly familiar
that look like where
smoke has settled.
I try to
[and for a moment I deceive myself
that they are gone]
with a farewell kiss
It is like wine -
sweet and grape-like,
with an acidic
Smoking...And sitting in my car, it's raining hard. Follow the lip of that scent and it smells like sunshine drowning. These jeans are rough and these eyes have seen too many snowflakes to see the differences between them anymore. But the snow comes; but the rain comes, and the mountains out there are colder than I am. Track this blood with a heat sensor and you'll find I'm no amphibian, just tired of excuses that slip, sheathed in smiles.
Cigarette smokers are easier to understand now. The intoxication. To build the lungs into smoking cavernous parachutes, to make the mind empty and confused, block the bleeding passages up with browning spots and squinting eye sockets - how relieving it is not to have to think, but to puff, drag, inhale. How the fingers quiver and quake holding the primitive weapon shaky with ash. How simple it is to stare out at the green expanses and see them with clouded eyes instead of discerning sharpness - how fuzzy the cracks and wrinkles are. How all the leaves have a g
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More