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Literature Text
the night flies
on stumbling butterfly wings and
our staggering conversation
half-lost in translation
and uncoordinated scribbling
still glows in my foggy mind
you’re gorgeous
when my eyes are closed enough
to see the beauty in everyone
you’re gorgeous
when your sunshined hair sticks up
when your inner poet
is allowed out to play
when you can spin sentences
like silk, to warm my cheeks
with unwarranted compliments
based on little evidence
our loose lips
sink shots, spill sorrow
we feel better for it
upon sharing, we find
a sense of belonging
there’s nothing
which forms a stronger bond
than human suffering
we are gorgeous
if only for the glory of being human
and for being strong enough
to share the pain within
for being someone
to share a friday night with
in deep discussion
i thank you
you can thank me later
for bringing you the booze
and next time
i’ll bring poetry too
on stumbling butterfly wings and
our staggering conversation
half-lost in translation
and uncoordinated scribbling
still glows in my foggy mind
you’re gorgeous
when my eyes are closed enough
to see the beauty in everyone
you’re gorgeous
when your sunshined hair sticks up
when your inner poet
is allowed out to play
when you can spin sentences
like silk, to warm my cheeks
with unwarranted compliments
based on little evidence
our loose lips
sink shots, spill sorrow
we feel better for it
upon sharing, we find
a sense of belonging
there’s nothing
which forms a stronger bond
than human suffering
we are gorgeous
if only for the glory of being human
and for being strong enough
to share the pain within
for being someone
to share a friday night with
in deep discussion
i thank you
you can thank me later
for bringing you the booze
and next time
i’ll bring poetry too
Literature
burning bodies
and we yearned for something deeper tangled between bed sheets
but our palms were always split open, spilling malice.
our bodies, always in dire separation
even in scalding proximity.
je dis beaucoup des mensonges.
i tell a lot of lies.
the following:
we curled ourselves alongside icicles to bury the flames.
my waist still feels like a graveyard.
even after all the times you tasted my bone marrow,
you still have the nerve to say i'm not bitter.
our mansion is burning from the inside out
and we force-feed the desire with
prolonged gestures and held-breaths.
our combined scar tissue lies in a heap on the floor of our shrine
and the sk
Literature
have I
heaven is not a place for
wanderers, witch-talkers,
women with words
between their teeth.
for a woman, any passion
is a sin, any determination
a grievous error.
I am not to taste of
love, that potion
beautiful, despairing
and rare
I am a bondservant only.
and so I'll not say a word
but oh, have I lived.
Literature
Chemistry
She’s an explosion.
He’s the catalyst.
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Comments2
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Aww Lovely depiction of a friendship here - I like it.