Your touch scalds my skin
like lightning
static shocks leaping
from bone
to bone
to bone
We spark as one
pure electricity
caught between the leather
and the lacy lines of the roadmaps
on your eyelids
{I cant tell where you end
and I begin}
Belly-up beneath you
en-route to heaven or hell
I beg the sky to
burn for me! burn for me!
for this boy. 06.30.09 by meaneyed-cat, literature
Literature
for this boy. 06.30.09
maybe white isn't color but
remembrance,
including, of course, the pale
bright wonderlands of winter's depths;
but also the searing heat of
flame-cured metal,
which, like my steely spine,
melts with your breath --
and maybe white isn't color but
sensation,
including, of course, the feel
of snow and lace
but also of swan's-down, of a child's cheek,
of satin - the soft and sensuous sibilance
of a lover's sigh; the sight of a
twin star in cold black space --
maybe white isn't color but
beginning,
which breathes new strength into
a lovelorn being;
which, like a diamond, like a knife,
like a hall of mirrors,
brings ka
challenges. package deal. by meaneyed-cat, literature
Literature
challenges. package deal.
009. Drive
At two in the morning, a car door sounds like a gunshot to the head.
The car rocked beneath the weight of a duffel bag, two pillows and me, groaning at the slam of its passenger door. Just drive, I whispered. I couldnt look at you just then. I dont care where we go tonight.
You obeyed with the solemn servitude of a good man and some good beer, revving your little black car and taking to the street like a wildman. I patted the dashboard fondly, all two-hundred and thirty-some horses dancing under my hand.
We pulled into the drive-thru of a late night Wendys and asked the poor hamburger slave for fruit salads a
Maybe it was
the stark contrast of your tanned skin
under my thin, pale fingers
like endless stretches of bone
against the dusky clay earth.
Maybe it was
the dark black night
stretched out over our heads
the blank expanse of chalkboard
and the art of starry skies.
Maybe it was
the gingham dress
that found your hands caught
around my hips and
your lips tangled up
in my lips.
Maybe it was
the loneliness.
Maybe I don't know
why you drew that flower for me
on my father's chalkboard
from the restaurant he used to have.
Alright, I admit it.
It's more of an onion. Just
a bulb with a little more substance.
An embellishment he
As a child I loved
to run my noisy pink fingers
over the purple trumpet heads
of the crocuses.
To me, they represented a ubiquitous god
the crocuses were spring
rebirth
a gentle and loving Christ
whose purple heart absolved my sins.
On the thirty-first of March
I am a girl and I am a woman
I keep the crocuses with me in a glass vase,
miniature sanctuary in a dark world.
{They have died today.}
The lavender-white crocus goes without a fuss
the white has barely a petal
{three delicate snowdrops fall after}.
It is the darkest purple crocus
that I hold in my hand long after.
It has been a long three days to red
There is an upside-down world
in the corner of your eye
that I find myself lost in.
There is a soft, dark curve
a sweep of lashes
a honey-gold softness
and a single deep center
that dissolves on my tongue
when Im stretched between your skin
and the sky.
There is a drop of sweet silver
on the tip of your tongue
that drowns me deeper.
There is a hallowed hollow
in the bend of your throat
that fits my kiss
and the soft brush of my fingertips
where my cheek has come to rest
And o, what gentle river
has traced the furrow down your spine
good enough -- resubmit by meaneyed-cat, literature
Literature
good enough -- resubmit
I fell in love on a cloudy day
in September.
you stopped time
kept the seconds in your pocket-watch
for five
long
sweet
years.
I think it was a Tuesday.
I fell in love on a cloudy Tuesday in September.
you stopped my heart
kept the beats under your skin
because you thought I might be [not quite]
good enough for you.
It was in the morning, I remember,
and our teacher had blonde hair, and the name
of a thanksgiving turkey.
I fell in love on a cloudy Tuesday morning in September
in a classroom with a blonde teacher
who w
intermission -- resubmit by meaneyed-cat, literature
Literature
intermission -- resubmit
youre sturdy like a
pyramid of cards
ready to tumble
with the slightest touch.
{well thats all right but
how am I
supposed to hold you?}
I know your secret.
and this is the last poem
that I will ever write for you.
Because I've forgotten how to write I no longer keep journals by my bed for dream seeking and dream journaling. I no longer sit down on things just to see if they feel funny. I no longer touch things and try to imagine describing them with other senses. I no longer stand and look at flowers. Outside the garden is blooming. I only noticed now after so many years that on the way up to Mines View the pine trees are green green green. Then suddenly there is this tiny thin tree with gorgeous purple blossoms rioting out, saying hello.
Because I no longer write write I no longer scribble lines of poetry on Post Its or scrap paper or the precious le
Tagged by ~Enchantedbroo (https://www.deviantart.com/enchantedbroo)
1.) Post the rules
2.) Each tagged person tells 8 things about themselves.
3.) At the end tag 8 people and put their icon in your journal.
4.) Then go to their page and leave a comment saying you tagged them.
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1.) I am a movie junkie, for real. I could (and, on occasion, have) watch movies all. day. long. and not get bored. Especially if I had a certain someone to cuddle with! :heart:
2.) It doesn't matter what time I wake up, I have to have breakfast food first. HAVE to. Anything else makes me sick to my stomach.
3.) When I test my shower with my hand to see if it's hot enough (I l
as I write this, I am nineteen years old with patchily dyed flame-red hair, sitting in bed wearing a tank top rolled up above my navel and a pair of navy bikini underwear. they've got a lot more fabric than the ones I usually wear, but I don't mind that as much as I mind that they're blue with this word written all over them in capital letters: PINK. looking down, I can see the magenta stone glittering in my navel and the tattoo of the key on my right hip. on the nightstand to my right is an antique oil lantern, a remote control, a bottle of water, my cell phone, a spoon, and a lamp without a shade; the bulb glaring brightly from the top o
I am beginning to think that my boss is a spoilt, selfish woman who, when forced out of the confines of her studio, has no idea how to do anything else. I'd love to see her come down off her high horse and just be a mom for once, for god's sake.
I got into a car accident on my way to work yesterday -- minor fender bender, but it was the first accident I'd ever been in (let alone caused); thankfully no one was hurt -- and I was very upset. So I called her and her response was 'Oh, I'm so sorry! Well, don't worry; just get here when you can.' And on my arrival, she pushed the two kids at me, instructed me to make them snow cones for snack
Thanks for watching me... that sounds so sketchy... O_o ... but anyway I'm so glad that your interested in my work. I'm hoping that I can get a lot of new art up and I don't disappoint.
Haha thanks that's so sweet. Well technically it is a comic, but if I were to try a different name it could be something like... illustrative fanfiction