Tag: Kiss

Under Mistletoe At Christmas

How nirvana means different things to people, A nicotine high, some cannabis, A little coffee to take away the cravings,  A sugar cookie at the corner shop, A meat pie from a 7/11 store Or under a mistletoe tradition. How the best part of the day, Is looking at my wife listening to Eclectic music,

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-I Love You-

How we loved, the exhales, To the exfoliants, the chemistry, Of what was so tender, and if not, Unrushed, The little bit of daylight, between me And you. How we let our blindfolds, Strip our pupils, our peep holes. While we begin the seduction, Juxtaposition-ed fragrances, ever-closing gazes, The mouth in extenuating circumstances, Mouthing, With

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Under The Mistletoe

How beautiful to be kissing at Christmas, Just to feel the long wingspans, We possess. A moth to a flame, is like Icarus to the sun. Our soft spot for pyromania. We are weak in the face of combustion, Our lips are always looking to burn. I look at your kerosene aura, And your saintly

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A Kiss

Can there be anything More parsimonious, Than two, trying to broker A bonding interface, between the front line, Of one council of teeth, and scrimshawed Chess pieces of another? To embolden a moment of madness, When little dentine monoliths Take a back seat, while pushing forward A purse that willingly opens up to be The

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First Kiss (Rejected by Permafrost Magazine)

Time stood so still at that perfect moment. The guzzle had dripped to glug I was swallowing slush Flakes of vermillion, of lips Gone cold of waiting. I could trample, trespass or even encroach She had no aversion of any of that. She was like a jug kept inside a cupboard Searching for the ripple

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Love

Reality is just like a golden crepe Draped in cinnamon powder It needs a sense of locality to befriend something foreign.  Even that strange sensation, that something Inside of me is far bigger than myself, Like the whale inside my throat I want to let go down two mouth-worthy lips. There’s always a desperate streak

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