Boy RubikBoy Rubik by *Yvning
I ask him, "What twists you, Boy? What hands have taken you out of your sector, switching your colours to fit the shape and mould of something unfamiliar? You aren't at all what you appear to be, even your eyes are mismatched and pulled at different corners. Your edges, they speak of beatings, speak of a jaw set with plaster and foreign fingers. Tell me, Boy Rubik, where did you get those jagged scratches along your thighs, those hollow grooves for lips?"
He says, "I am a shadow on your upper lip, Pink Lady. When you lick at the fine hairs God placed there to set incorrectness into your Pink glory, I'm the salted whisper of a lover who promi
day12day12 by *Yvning
I've sampled your peach-shaped mouth.
There's sweetness on every surface,
a sip in a corner
a pull in another
But your mouth, open and full,
invites a tilted brow with its curiosity.
It's a new sort of fullness
inexperienced and nuanced
daisy buds cupping water
waiting to be sipped.
Writers BlockWriters Block by *Yvning
And she whispered pretty words into his skin,
like dynamite pressed into the perfect shape of the sand, all sliding
and waiting for a healer.
And he licked away her mouth-stricken imperfection
like maybe she didn't mean to pour suicide in the valley
of her breasts, maybe for once she just wanted someone to taste her.
And they swore it was the last time,
as if swearing were a new means to confess a dying man's need
for one last pull of the drawer, one last peek inside his lust for meat.
And we watched as they danced together,
Two bruised bodies wrapped in eel flesh,
Crushed as most things are crushed:
like seashells under virgin b
Memories poured through a prismWe had strange names for one another; Blue skies like silk embedded behind stars. I remember pulling my wind through stranded clouds, looking for that one thought that mattered. That feeling of bliss.Memories poured through a prism by ~Praeclaro
Solitary in a network of branches, see recollections of sunlight once wished upon. Between oaken stems the spider wove your mind, a webbed constellation which once held me up, supported me; Whispered to me in velvet shades of the delicate gems drenched in liquid white, all reflections of my true self.
Then the strings of your violin tongue snared the mists of the fae spirits. Judged harshly for its foolishness the butterfly sang to the spider,
ThawPart of me evaporatedThaw by *neonxaos
in big sky country.
Scattered in all directions,
easily startled by the naked wild.
Blue mountains sprung from rolling hills,
too far away to save it
from becoming the rain.
Past the peaks, past the desert,
sailing the vortex of trees
in which my own heartland
could so easily drown,
the bedrock smashed our bow.
We became as deadwood
on the Beaver State rapids.
You built the strangest vessels
from my creaking words, and
I tried so hard to steer them
towards the sand.
But I am no captain.
What I took for conversation
was nothing but splinters
riding glacier-back, returning
to the valley of death and r
Why Poets DrinkChrist,Why Poets Drink by *Scarlettletters
there is a reason poets drink.
Abstention feels bad -
infertile and stuffed, swollen.
It does not sell books
or win those brass
angels on ribbons.
Tonight my lover is bourbon,
distilled in some soul
south of Carolina.
It plays tricks with colors
and the sounds on my tongue.
It grows words where
none have loitered for weeks
and handfasts me to
the rest of the world.
It is ransom -
a jest of seasons
and my bone idle brain