Lines Entwined

zarithelostlegend:

We sit with our legs crossed, and neither of us is wearing anything. We have a conversation, a dull one at first, but it progressively gets better as the joint is passed from one mouth to another. The pauses are long drags of sweet drug abuse, and we begin to become a bit curious of one another. We ask each other questions about our bodies and how we react to different touches, and slowly demonstrate these exquisite sensations. Apprehensive at first, you softly caress my temple. I affirm my consent to further exploration. I inhale, holding until my eyes divert their gaze to the back of my mind. I exhale, slowly to savor every star the slips past my lips and floats to the sky. A constellation is born of this new understanding between you and I. Knowledge that years later we will smile about because no one else will have an inkling of how a galaxy just appeared overnight.

　Ellen in normal text and Zari in italics

poetinside:

so this is the
rumbling of sleep
pulling back the
covers from our
closed eyes.
i know now that
sound. it is healing.
and i have closed my
eyes time and time
again but i did not 
know rest before i lay
with you
how often we search for
respite in the dead
of night, as if the
cooling air wouldn’t
dare extinguish our
sun marked skin.
and here now on
a bed of earth, the 
slowly setting sun 
graciously gives us
her leave and we put
the shadows to good use
as the wind kisses our
cheeks and whispers
sleep well, sleep well.
the rivers overflow and
speak to us from their
banks. soft mud,
and trifling insects
trade gossip like painted
lips, smack at some sort
of permanence.
peace is this. peace is
to fall asleep hand in 
hand with the world and
awake by the river to find your
life lying beside you 

maybehales:

I remember your footsteps,
particularly when you were leaving.
Beneath the strings played loudly
from the ceiling and walls.
I can hear the stuttering percussion
of your hesitant steps.
You remember all the days
spent with my fingers
trapped inexorably in your hair.
Haven’t I always had the tendency to get caught?
Sliding nets and earnest looks
pulled the truth from behind my cigarette stained lips.
I remember your footsteps,
particularly when you were leaving.
Wonder if I’ll ever hear them again.
I used to walk with heavy steps,
intent on shaking the house - shaking you -
to the very foundation of existence.
And it never made any difference
until those footsteps were taking me
farther way than your hands (which always
knew exactly where to touch me) could reach.
Maybe I only like the rush of nicotine
on someone else’s broken smile.
You tasted so much sweeter
after I knew I’d soon be gone.
But now, I can’t take a single step
without wanting to feel the floor
littered with your longing
under my feet.

                                                             

collaboration with the ever impressive whoartgos and maybehales in italics

skysaredoorwayshome:

(i am in love - 
with a dead boy.) 

Don’t think I can’t taste him, 
I know the shape of his tongue, 
and the best notches in his 
spine for my fingers to rest. 

He is bony. 

I rest my head on his chest
in the morning, when my 
eyes are half veiled with 
sleep because I forget that 
his ribs are like a neatly 
written stanza of fossils 
adorned in ashen skin. 

(but he does not rest beneath the ground, he lives in my arms.) 

don’t think i can’t taste him, 
i know his teeth are white 
because they are made 
from frozen parchment, 
there are curved black 
letters in his gums for 
when i want to decipher 
his words with my tongue - 

(i am in love with a dead boy)

(I am in love-
with a live girl.)

And I am dead,
bony, my flesh
weary still she see’s me
as human—
with life.

she rests her head
on my chest
feeling her pulse,
reminding me 
of the heart
I once had.

(I live again through her heartbeat)
(with every loving pulse)

I’m am rotten—  
and I wish to be alive,
only then will I be
able to trace her with
my lips

I want my embrace
to give her warmth,
not the cold chill
of my touch.

I am a dead

( and I am in love with a live girl )

__________________________________________________

Matt-is-just-around-the-corner sent me this in response to a poem I wrote, It’s beyond anything I would have expected, so I thought I’d put the two together as a collaboration :) skysaredoorwayshome in italics and matt-is-just-around-the-corner in regular.

mylifeinitalics:

Venom lips curl wicked
tongue slipped across 
fueled by frantic fusion
eyes flare fiery villainy
Looks burn broadly
licking flames, sucking air
rising heated hate beneath
swift sadistic reckoning 

Hurried hands crawling
falling over frantic feet
the serpentine nature
of secretive glances
overly obvious fire
eating away your flesh
moaning deadly desire
recoiling in sudden repulsion
face contorted in frustration
deafening laughter
merciless mockery.

___________________________________
a collaboration 

mylifeinitalics in unaltered text
flemishflounder in italics 

lightningtheraintransformed:

The pedal to your mettle,
propelling you to keep going.
Vast open roads, devoid of life,
that colossal golden target on the horizon.
Gasoline coursing through these veins,
pumping the cam shafts of the heart.
Ignition, that aura, an inferno passion,
a joyride to new worlds.

Shoddy shoddy shotgun, 
riding till the days done,
nothing but the four wheels and the
lines that dart between them. 
Ghost towns, slow down, 
hope that you can see them.
Never stop in farming towns
for fear that you will be shunned. 

lightningtheraintransformed in regular.
irrelevanceisbliss in italics. 

touch
follows a physical
narrative across
skin
pricks electric,
hairs
iron filings
black
as nerves
attract feelings
magnetic
polar opposites

waves
crackle visibly
and wash across 
skin,
sings electric
sighs,
closing lungs
red
as ripened
hope hints
at
resplendent sapidity

goodmorning-spider:

I want to venture through the valleys of your spine,
Tip toe in the surging currents of your smile
Lose myself between the tidal sheets 
Of your silken lungs, as you breathe.  

There are train tracks rumbling through your wrists
That tell stories of a father’s fist
And I want to wrap my rigid railway lines 
Around your shaking fingers, and turn back time.

There is a sun that rises in your eyes
Every time you open your skies 
And I want my lips to travel to the celestial sighs
Of every plea that escapes your timid thighs

And, in darkness I traipse your astral plane,
en route to capturing your flame -
the oceans hidden behind your eyes,
the silence speaking volumes between your lies.

I want to settle at  your plateau
and feel sun-lit eyes set the night aglow,
the rumble of train tracks lost below our feet
while, in the desert’s heat, we sleep.

But, there’s a depth I’ve yet to understand,
your mountains, valleys - this mystic land
of running river veins that never seem to end
I’m diving, searching  for where you begin.

Collab between goodmorning-spider and messagestothemoon

loozerduckling:

kindhearted lord of sand
tame the wild Sphinx
within this hourglass,
speaking in circles
while saying nothing
will gain no wisdom
trying to scream
out of broken glass
our lips were sewn shut
and no one heard
the truths that fell
in drops of blood
rose petals splatter
upon the sharp debris
the world’s ancient secrets
once buried within
the beach of time
lost upon the dust
caught in the wind
only to be found
on lips of stone
no longer for the
unworthy,are those
with the words
to speak can hear
the words given,
spoken to a world
that closes its ears
never listening to the songs
sung by the stars,
never hearing the story
whispered by the sky
getting lost while
looking into the sun,
we can not begin
to live if we keep dying
every time we breathe

subtlebones:

They found each other gutter bound on city streets where the lost children take shelter in doorways on concrete stairs after running from forceful hands, cruel touches and stifled screams until they were outside staying alive on cold nights under cardboard sheets with their innocence resting peacefully in shallow graves nearby, dug with dirty nails and phantom fingers in shivers down their spines as they made up their own names for constellations to hush them into a dreamless sleep. And dreamless they were, hunted by dying torches that tracked their crooked footings engraved in cement. Stealing their breaths by hugging their ribcage ‘til no bone was left unbroken. Warmth hindered in the roots of their hair, where no cold heart could bear the stench of burnt split ends and so chills frayed beyond their footprints. The sun would breathe against brick walls, but their star crossed eyelids would falter on goose skin. Frozen to the bare bone they lied with hands inseparable, pinky crossed with pinky, next to intersecting curbs. Although heat encompassed their homeless hearts in the dark, the winters dawned upon them.

A collaboration between girlbrokendown and subtlebones