Long-Distance Affections

“Crying for a Ghost”
http://data.whicdn.com/images/27851525/sad-boy-crying-tomb-girl-ghost_large.jpg
Everywhere I go,  
I am haunted by her  
senses.  
Like apparitions  
I can’t seem to shake them,  
they drive me  
crazy with desire,  
my fire still burns.  

Oh, how I miss her.  

Two months ago,  
I smelled her  
in the gentle breeze  
blowing  
through the trees  
at Hatcher’s Run.  
I held her so close that night,  
she did not fight me,  
we succumbed,  
made love under  
the Heavens.  
The  
shooting stars  
joined us  
for our  
delicate kisses.  

A month ago,  
I tasted her at  
The Grenadier.  
It was her  
favorite eating place,  
she loved  
the Mud Pie,  
as did I.  
There,  
I swallowed my pride,  
asked her to  
join me for life,  
make her my wife.  
She declined,  
I still pine.  

Two weeks ago,  
I swore  
I saw her walking  
on Turtle Beach.  
It was her  
special tanning place,  
she hung out there.  
She would saunter  
like a willow  
to the shoreline,  
take a dip  
to cool off ,  
then float back  
to her towel.  
Oh, how I loved  
putting lotion on her,  
she was beautifully-slick.  
Sadly, the girl  
I thought was her,  
wasn’t,  
I was shaken.  

A week ago,  
I heard her  
in Lovesong,  
it was playing  
on the radio, FM 98.6.  
It was one of her  
most precious-numbers,  
she craved the Cure.  
we saw them in concert  
a dozen times,  
maybe more.  
That song  
still makes me cry.  
Now,  
I know  
I was wrong.  

Last night,  
I felt her grip  
on me.  
Her soft touch  
was warm,  
her rhythm  
was smooth,  
sensually-methodical.  
She used to  
make me feel alive  
that way,  
we would  
play for hours.  
We were starting  
to grow together.  
As I lay alone,  
I wondered  
why she had to go,  
nobody  
really knows,  
why her glow died.

I try hard
not to cry,
but,  
I cannot continue  
to hide inside,  
to live like this,  
crying for a ghost,
I loved her the most.  

Oh, how I miss her so!

To Quicken The Days


If only I could
change
the worlds position
shortening the days
then to me
you'd quicken
just one of many ways
I dream in your vision
I stare into all space
your face , my mission .


If the past
is black and white
and the now is colour
to be is a bright light
where we'll see each other
I will 'til I die
never want no other
you know we rule the skies
at full height , all over .

Orbital , beautiful
tonight it's full
love's plentiful
so many times
my mind is pulled
your blinding white
shines powerful .

Gravitation , magnetism
rainy days give  
rainbow prisms  
in many ways
I feel your presence
moonbeam rays
are just the beginning .





 

an old one.....Kindred


How is it that we do
All that we do..
It's like talking to me
but listening to you...

I am hearing the words
and the reflective intonations
I hear you being brave
in a messed up situation

It does not even matter if the words
you choose are the right ones
it's the space between the laugh-
The depth behind the wrong ones.

I love how we both-
In the midst of the absurd
burst out  laughing
at what we just heard.

I love how we both resort to old lyrics
to demonstrate a point-
And put us both in it

I love the way we laugh
to the point we can't remember
What was even funny -or who
it was that said it

I love how I can call you
just before a show-
You can tap out the F and the G
and I know which way to go...


I love all those moments
that get lost in translation
and we just get quiet
and seek explanation

I love all the words that
we have created..
the silly ones because
they better explain us


I love it when our words run in circles
but the hard ones are heard regardless of
the worthless
I love the way you stop and quietly
just breathe...
And the way you calm me down
and bring me back to me.


I love it when you're angry and
sound really demented..
I just smile and softly
encourage you to vent it

I love it when we stop..
and say something sentimental
The way you calm the storms
and your words come out so gentle

I love as much as that
how We both just fall apart
at the silly little mention
Of the Ghost of Christmas past...

I hate when you get quiet and
we have to just get past that
It hurts to let you go
when our heart's are pleading no...

The only part I never love
is hearing your sadness
and hanging up...

Lilac in Spring

Relaxing on our porch,
mind?
Not at all
but ablaze
unfolding
scents of Lavender,
wafting from the page

Sharing this
She smiled, saying
Save that for me, I wish to walk
amongst Deer and stream
Talking, as we walked
discussions upon knowledge

which are real, which are thought
 
Deck to the trails
trickling, surrender
dancing Butterflies
wings these holding hands,
sipping
Ice cooled lemon tea

We graze upon laughs

Sparkling stars,
falling out of our pockets
kicking stones out of the path
twinkling eyes, we pick them up,
cup in our hands, save the dust
all shiny and new

Kept for the nights

When things look gloom
we dance, to lights passion
we play, on the stage
When the night carries day
Woods upon acres
Lilac in the air
mountains start to move

and spring,
It
 does
     sing
Paths to the moon
          Leaves that turn green


And the season begins
Perfectly Persephone

    Dyana

Bent upon cleansing the
man who followed Her
She had dynamite strapped
to Her body, ready to light
the fuse, and run away
Pausing with thought
only to check the charges
making sure they were intact
 
He was incessant
Knowing Her every move, it seemed
But he had been warned, follow
to the very t
 
Dancing was a Love, they shared
there was always
Grace and style to this
as there is to any Art.
Hours spent practicing
days savored in learning,
There was nothing Juilliard
could teach them, street-wise
versus culture, they had
more culture than any Count
could measure anyways.
Breathing instep won awards
 
He had the schedule laid out
thinking, as sly as he was
He could best Guess Her
plans of attack, forecasting weather
 
She saw him a mile away
sticking out like a sore thumb
there was no getting past Her
She made sure of this
They made eye contact for a second in time
This was to be it She said
lit the fuse, and held Her breath
Finally, She was blowing this town

A Finely Painted Nothing

Dear woman in my view,
 
You are beautiful.  
Your voice is soft, your words are sweet,  
Your mind is clear and thoughtful.
Your heart is clean, your eyes are lustful.
You could love me, I could love you
If not for the love I've burned through.
For me and you, it can't be true.
 
I've heard the voice that cuts through the din  
And wildcat roars of the world,  
And even the sugared hums,  
So that no dread clank could distort the tone,  
No joyous sound could exist  
And not be immediately counterfeit  
In the presence of that voice.  
 
That voice is not yours.  
Those words, are not yours,  
That feel plucked from an ambrosial patch.  
That flow how i flow and how I'd like to.  
My heart has loved and broken her,  
My eyes of lust have gone dull.
 
Nothing of you compares to her;  
Its what, for you, I can't do.
 
Your body interests in an absolute way,
I've shattered real, so why not play?
Fuck and sigh and go away,
I can never really want you.
 
Have your say.  
Talk.  
Talk.
You are charming.  
You're funny and bright, very much so.  
I'd be a fool not to wonder who you are  
And what you do  
And what makes you you.  
 
But, I really don't give a shit.  
 
You're not that funny,  
You're not that bright,  
You're not that charming.  
You're a background stroke.  
You're a finely painted nothing.  
 
-DyMc

If It Isn't You


If it isn't you
Someone new
Will come along
They always do
 
Attraction has never been a want
I've always been a beguiling sort
 
She will have golden hair
That tends to cover one eye more than the other
And shimmers and sparkles in the wind
Just as the sun's rays dance and skim
Upon the surface of the ocean
Moments before it falls under the horizon
 
She'll write love letters and bake biscuits
That fill the house with the sweetest air
In the dead of winter
 
She will love me
And she will say she loves me
And I will say I love her too
And I will say I love her
And she'll know it isn't true
If it isn't you
 
She might have raven's hair
That flows over her fragile shoulders
As a spilled bottle of Ink over a sketch of perfection
 
She'll be wicked and wild with silver dangling
And a rose tattoo painted on her breast
And demons that show themselves
At the most inopportune times
 
She will love me
And she will say she loves me
And I will say I love her too
And I will say I love her
And she'll know it isn't true
If it isn't you
 
She will be beautiful
She will be brilliant
She will be warm and kind
She will be cool and cutting and dangerous
She will be the envy of all the world
She will be mine
 
She will love me
And she will say she loves me
And I will say I love her too
And I will say I love her
And she'll know it isn't true
If it isn't you
 
-DyMc

Strider said:“Crying for a Ghost”

Everywhere I go,  
I am haunted by her  
senses.  
Like apparitions  
I can’t seem to shake them,  
they drive me  
crazy with desire,  
my fire still burns.  

Oh, how I miss her.  

Two months ago,  
I smelled her  
in the gentle breeze  
blowing  
through the trees  
at Hatcher’s Run.  
I held her so close that night,  
she did not fight me,  
we succumbed,  
made love under  
the Heavens.  
The  
shooting stars  
joined us  
for our  
delicate kisses.  

A month ago,  
I tasted her at  
The Grenadier.  
It was her  
favorite eating place,  
she loved  
the Mud Pie,  
as did I.  
There,  
I swallowed my pride,  
asked her to  
join me for life,  
make her my wife.  
She declined,  
I still pine.  

Two weeks ago,  
I swore  
I saw her walking  
on Turtle Beach.  
It was her  
special tanning place,  
she hung out there.  
She would saunter  
like a willow  
to the shoreline,  
take a dip  
to cool off ,  
then float back  
to her towel.  
Oh, how I loved  
putting lotion on her,  
she was beautifully-slick.  
Sadly, the girl  
I thought was her,  
wasn’t,  
I was shaken.  

A week ago,  
I heard her  
in Lovesong,  
it was playing  
on the radio, FM 98.6.  
It was one of her  
most precious-numbers,  
she craved the Cure.  
we saw them in concert  
a dozen times,  
maybe more.  
That song  
still makes me cry.  
Now,  
I know  
I was wrong.  

Last night,  
I felt her grip  
on me.  
Her soft touch  
was warm,  
her rhythm  
was smooth,  
sensually-methodical.  
She used to  
make me feel alive  
that way,  
we would  
play for hours.  
We were starting  
to grow together.  
As I lay alone,  
I wondered  
why she had to go,  
nobody  
really knows,  
why her glow died.

I try hard
not to cry,
but,  
I cannot continue  
to hide inside,  
to live like this,  
crying for a ghost,
I loved her the most.  

Oh, how I miss her so!


Brilliant write man, so much feeling in this.

Distant Lovers

he can move her
without touch
the way
the faults
move mountains

and lift her
without force
the way
the moon
lifts the seas

and without a single
taste
he craves her
the way
the night craves
the dawn

and though
they've never met
he knows her
the way
the body
knows the soul

(This is sort of an old poem.)

Flamboyant

for one of us to blatantly say that
less is more in the place that we’re at

at least is not a complete truth.
must i go through what we do?

being a ridiculous fallacy,
on the internet, i love your flamboyancy.

yet none can compare to what we don’t have
and what it will be when it becomes, at last.

never will this be what i want it to be.
to live is not what i want, necessarily.

Photos of You


You are beautiful,
My prince, my imagined lover,
The one who has made my soul skip a beat.
Your body so inviting
As I drink you in,
Each curve, so smooth, masculine, strong.
That tortured boy
Has gone away
Grown into the gorgeous man, God would have you be.
I would kiss you wherever you have hurt
Melting away the years of pain, the scars,
Whisking your sorrows away.
I long to touch you
Beyond the glass that divides,
So that I might caress what time has created,
Becoming part of your newfound joy
Wrapped in your arms, your adoring gaze
As I return to you the same,
A kiss upon your lips, finally real.

in answer to your original question

i don't need you like you think you need me;
or thought you needed me
or imagined that i thought you needed-

no, stop.
let me start again.
you can't fuck off without any warning
and try and tell me that i let you down.

maybe you were too clever
and me too dumb
maybe you're nuts
maybe both.
god damn
i'm bona fide sapiosexual
but it's not just the brains, it's how you cook 'em.

and so what if i sit by myself
and drink and smoke
(yeah bout that...)
so what i did that anyway
doesn't make it tragic just because i'm crying
you never knew that much about me
...cared? did you care?

so what if i think of you
fucking me
it's not forever i'm thinking of
so what if i wake and stare
at a blank conversation on skype
'missed call' -outgoing -
all outgoing calls -
it's all we share now.

i was never one
for conversation.

oooops posted in wrong comp... nothing to do with this prompt...I'm sorry...

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away...