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Literature Text
I remember, quite clearly,
the feeling of rain drops that were your fingertips,
sliding down my back;
the way the droplets curled around my hips
and soaked into the top of my jeans—
that has been burned into my brain.
And I remember, like it was yesterday,
the feeling of rose petals that were your tongue,
gliding their way across the landscape of my stomach
and floating between my tan skin and the softness of the cotton
hiding me from the rest of the world.
Still, I forget, as if it weren't real,
that you love me.
I can't seem to remember
that I don't need drops of rain or the petals of roses.
I need only your fingertips and your mouth.
I need only a simple look; your eyes piercing mine.
I need only you.
--
Copyright © 2013 Flermigan
All Rights Reserved.
the feeling of rain drops that were your fingertips,
sliding down my back;
the way the droplets curled around my hips
and soaked into the top of my jeans—
that has been burned into my brain.
And I remember, like it was yesterday,
the feeling of rose petals that were your tongue,
gliding their way across the landscape of my stomach
and floating between my tan skin and the softness of the cotton
hiding me from the rest of the world.
Still, I forget, as if it weren't real,
that you love me.
I can't seem to remember
that I don't need drops of rain or the petals of roses.
I need only your fingertips and your mouth.
I need only a simple look; your eyes piercing mine.
I need only you.
--
Copyright © 2013 Flermigan
All Rights Reserved.
Literature
Everything You Borrowed
On Sunday afternoon,
after exiting the church,
you plucked the sun from the sky
and hid it in your palms
so that when I held your hands
they would no longer be cold.
When Monday night arrived
you snatched every single star
and used my tears to make
a necklace.
Tuesday's empty dawn shone
through the cracks of the door--
you stole the promise of what
could never be
and draped it around my shoulders.
After Wednesday's twilight passed,
you grabbed the clouds
and wove a tapestry of lies
that I hung on the walls
of my prison.
Thursday crept through us
on silent tiptoes,
waiting for us to take notice--
instead, we merely waited
for midnight to
Literature
Goodbye
i didn’t fall in love with you
until your skin was already grey and i
had to tell you what the weather was like
since you couldn’t leave your bed.
i didn’t mind long nights in the hospital
because making you laugh brought a warmth
to my cheeks that burnt hotter than a
forest fire, you never laughed at me for blushing
i snuck you in alcohol and forbidden foods
and pushed you around in that rusted wheel chair,
and all the nurses looked at us with
miserable eyes that said more than the doctors
would ever tell me.
naively i thought it was good news
when you said they were sending you home; but
when i saw you strewn across
Literature
Liquor is one way out an'death's the other
The art of growing up,
is to pour shots of whiskey
into your coffee in the morning
to make it through
the day.
when all you want to do
is lie in bed
instead,
but there’s nothing
beautiful
about that
either.
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This was a "collab" between the wonderful ~Flermigan and myself. The words are all hers, I only played with the formatting, so please go show her some love and support --> www.deviantart.com/art/Petrich…
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Comments9
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Sensual and lovely