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Submitted by orgami on 14 August 2007 - 5:57pm.| Updated 25 March 2008 - 2:30am.
Style / Type:
freeform
rain hisses on the hot breath of ashphalt
collects on my smooth tanned arms
LORI written on my wrist darkens
the red heart over the “i” turns a bright crimson
the trees are singing with each new gulp
the lawns dancing with every thirsty drop
last night i dreamt of you
naked in my ams in those clean sheets
and neon room
your scars were vived blemishs on your
white opal flesh
speaking pain your eyes wept with ache
and hurt
we dove beneath the cover of addiction
waves of it crashing into us
knocking down the agonies
drowning us in bitter defeats
somewhere in the no mans land of broken
submissions we found each other again
fresh and new
the party of nights
of origings
and old beginnings
…O…
the dream so vivid still
the girl looking up still
with one arm propped on the
stale pillows
cherise lips
citrus expensive perfume
and the body candy from a good freind
let our minds zone the zone
as we place coated tablets on
our willing tongues
(1 vote)
I felt vaguely uncomfortable with this
like I was being shown a too private, too intimate place. I hope you had Lori’s consent to show this.
That said it is powerful and painfully beautiful.
cheers,
Jess
nothing to vacant
this is not about Lori
true Loris name is tatooed on my hand
and the rain was true
the rest was a dream
a slight blonde scarred woman
collected from many indivuduals and formed
into that one peculiar dream
the scars were borrowed from a tortured
young man who had burned himself many times
over He had a tremendous vocabulary and
i was always jealous of his many words
so it was just a poetic collaberation
Lori is fine
well and as normal as can be
..O..
Then you are a better poet than I already thought you were
normally other peoples dreams are as boring as house bricks. You made me believe it, you bastard.
cheers,
Jess
ghost of attempt
just wrote the whole thing over
something sharper with more meaning
distortion like sweet amplified
overfed guitars
the echo straining
but it got lost somewhere
oh well
Beautiful...
…Maestro,master of words.Lovely piece.
Lacy,
Where power corrupts,poetry cleanses.