pure FORESHADOWING (nifra_idril) wrote,

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It's a sickness. (More procrastinatory poetry spam.)

Some may mock, (*coughssvmadelyn*), but I'm having an amazing time doing this. Here are some more gleaned only from titles poems, for ladies who asked. *smooches all*

Fall into a life worth death.
It's all about that wire and control, my love --
another step, another dance.

We're grief shapes:
dark, heavy moments by the river, by the desk.

Please, this departure,
this good company, across the sun -- it's unsteady.
Yet another something to say,
an unromantic remnant, a cipher.

Still, it's the ordinary lesson;
vanilla, duty, blurring edges --
and tonight, the sea.

You are old news, your circle and modes.
You say your word, your apple, your four ounces of sickness.
The discovery is an outline & a box of hands in a cabin;
You & I, clasped six ways.

Luna, dismay.

You melt corruptions from honey,
beloved and bittersweet. Livid joy,
this wanton thirst grows so many monsters;

hide in me, like the sun. Come, this cup,
this strange falling -- things change.
Foolish girl, fantasies are tested.

We are six tongues, invisible and wet --
secret red thieves, used too late.
Don't stop speaking, like us.

We are morning. We are rain. Hide, Luna.

Long years run like a river, through the
grace of houses. You are rounded, and sensual;
nothing invisible at the water's edge.

No queen, but unconditional rain kisses
your ladyfingers. See that bravery is not doomed,
but grave as glass, as regret.

Time and body: such sweet things.
Listen, love, it's better to be jealous.
Be blind in spring, and be safe as bones in the water.
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