hollow

you packed a suitcase

slipped a flower in your hair

and turned to say ‘good bye’

without so much as a tear in your eye.

 

but I must’ve been

the most heartbroken man

you had ever seen.

 

I guess it was in that moment

when you, too, realized

that you didn’t have to be

so goddamn mean.

 

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Devlin @ Eyes+Words

 

Well, it has been roughly 2 years or so since I had any of my work [poems] published on another Online Journal. . .So I humbly thank Jacob @ Eyes+Words for accepting one of my poems.

 

And for the little Followers I have, I hope you enjoy “Lightening”!

 

Thank You, Jacob!

 

 

A Beautiful Poem

 

I watched the sun

as it rose from darkness

and slowly crept upon your sleeping face

like a stalking lover

inhibiting you in places

only a woman could phantom [on a man];

 

I cringed with envy

as I watched that same stalking lover

take flight over your chiseled body

while the vast rays of its translucence

pierced your flesh and ravaged your orifices ~

the same orifices my body

sweated upon

licked upon

kissed upon

came upon;

 

how I ached to strangle that stalking lover

with every strength of my hands

with every beat of my heart;

 

I took a step forward

with the intention

of abruptly pulling down the blinds

but the sun suddenly caught

the naked of my glory

into it’s stalking wrath;

 

I bit back my anger then froze

when my lover awoke

his eyes falling upon me

with a grin that echoed for miles:

 

‘goddamn, you’re beautiful,’

 

he flushed

I blushed

 

‘beautiful. . .like a poem.’

 

 

i, Poetry

i, Woman pic 3

he took me to the point

of no return,

tore open my skirt,

ripped the panties

from my bodice

& dragged me

into the river deep

asking through a sensual man’s whir ~

 

                                         ‘how deep is your poetry?’

 

as spools of sodden moist

violated every center of my sanity

gripping the depth of my insanity,

utopia & euphoria

settled

in the holiest temple of my doom;

& there

did I occur to me

that poetry is in the eye

of the beholder

particularly

when I saw my legs

dangling over his bare shoulders;

but it was

in the harden thrusts

of his verses,

the orgasmic taunt

in his stanzas

had I realized the depth

of my own poetry

didn’t matter ~

 

orally

     anally

          vaginally

 

 

 

for I was Poetry

in itself

 

Blue John

 

we were lovers

once

when

the raccoons came out

to play

with the sky

 

is it so bad

to possess

these liquid dreams

made of corn?

 

I miss your kisses

still, and

vapors eventually do fade,

I suppose

 

I strum one last rhythm

on the banjo

and smell

the burn

of us.