ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
the sweetest kind of kiss
tastes like the tickle of
grass upon our necks
and the sun-warmed
pavement on our bare
so(u)les
it tastes like
cotton ball clouds
and candy cane planes
sunburned shoulders bearing
the brunt of our days
it's the kind where your
eyelashes flutter
and your fingers can't help
but reach for his face
when all you can think
is how the sun turns his eyes
into blue-gold oceans
and how wonderfully his palms
fit snugly onto your waist
and my god someone put
a chair beneath me before
my legs give out,
because you've never felt this before.
how you want to stay
pressed against him like
this for another few hours,
maybe
and how afterwards he'll
put his face at your neck
and just inhale, fingers tangled
wildly in your hair
it's the kind of kiss where
i open my eyes to
see yours smiling back at me
tastes like the tickle of
grass upon our necks
and the sun-warmed
pavement on our bare
so(u)les
it tastes like
cotton ball clouds
and candy cane planes
sunburned shoulders bearing
the brunt of our days
it's the kind where your
eyelashes flutter
and your fingers can't help
but reach for his face
when all you can think
is how the sun turns his eyes
into blue-gold oceans
and how wonderfully his palms
fit snugly onto your waist
and my god someone put
a chair beneath me before
my legs give out,
because you've never felt this before.
how you want to stay
pressed against him like
this for another few hours,
maybe
and how afterwards he'll
put his face at your neck
and just inhale, fingers tangled
wildly in your hair
it's the kind of kiss where
i open my eyes to
see yours smiling back at me
Literature
Hollow
Here amidst the bones bleached white,
the echoes become trapped in ribcages
like a heartbeat.
But it’s just a sound.
No blood pumps through the
marrow thick like
baby’s breath-
flowers for someone who is sick or dying or
dead.
No light shines
under the skin and muscle.
How dark it must be for the
delicate, fleshy bits underneath.
The lungs don’t know when it’s time to
go. No moon to guide them.
How do they know when to
stop?
Does the heart even know the color
of blood?
Literature
In the Syllable
...then there is a way in diswaiting.
Dust some yellow sand covers,
here uncover bare bedding.
...suffusing red planes, blushed dunes,
under incidentally quilted blanket
wet as arid curves, as sounds.
...in a persistent pavement,
in a solemn unsuited promise,
some written words erase
some letters drip and soak
unto a perfuse miracle,
a dislocated split,
a letting go of...
Literature
Angstxiety
I am work weak on Wednesday
in a heap of hangover and hesitation
with fingers on a phone haptically
actively anticipating feedback—
I need that why do I need that.
My angst and anxiety
is constant and courses
and throbs with a pulse
that demands concern
of a baby boomer crooning poetic
in the distance to call me antisocial, or you know,
you could just call me.
If being this busy in an age
of constant communication
feels like having slept
but not feeling rested,
I'd rather cancel my plans
like a responsible millennial
and go to bed.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
ok, i know. i write too many sappy love poems. i just can't help myself, alright?
is the whole pronoun usage thing strange? because originally it's me (where "you" means him), and then i change to the "general population" you, and then i go back to me? is that too confusing?
is the whole pronoun usage thing strange? because originally it's me (where "you" means him), and then i change to the "general population" you, and then i go back to me? is that too confusing?
© 2012 - 2024 forestmeetwildfire
Comments15
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
And that is one amazing kiss. Ten points!
Sappy? If you wish to call it that. Sometimes, hon, we just need sappy.
(Also, nope, not confusing at all.)
Sappy? If you wish to call it that. Sometimes, hon, we just need sappy.
(Also, nope, not confusing at all.)