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Literature Text
Come here my dear
Flamboyant filly,
Let my coat steal your chills.
Come here and
Don't be so giggly,
You know it over thrills.
Oh darling, I'm fine,
It's you that chills.
Keep those arms of yours nice and warm
And when we're home
I'll let my arms be filled
With your heat and with your calm.
But my dear,
It's such a cold night,
I musn't let you freeze!
You are much too generous,
But I can see you squeezing up tight
And shaking down to your knees.
But that's your favorite coat
My darling,
The one with the green fur trim,
The one you said
Looked bold and daring
And made you look very slim.
It's true my dear,
But for you
I and my coat would part.
You could tear it's threads in two
And it's still you
That holds the threads to my heart.
Flamboyant filly,
Let my coat steal your chills.
Come here and
Don't be so giggly,
You know it over thrills.
Oh darling, I'm fine,
It's you that chills.
Keep those arms of yours nice and warm
And when we're home
I'll let my arms be filled
With your heat and with your calm.
But my dear,
It's such a cold night,
I musn't let you freeze!
You are much too generous,
But I can see you squeezing up tight
And shaking down to your knees.
But that's your favorite coat
My darling,
The one with the green fur trim,
The one you said
Looked bold and daring
And made you look very slim.
It's true my dear,
But for you
I and my coat would part.
You could tear it's threads in two
And it's still you
That holds the threads to my heart.
Literature
The memiors of a poet...
A poet is no mere
artist, that incites and writes,
- but dares to
fabricate, the nothings into
- - extrasensory realities,
beyond all imagination.
Like a painter,
the poet needs oil & ink,
- to set the eyes
and mental capacity,
- - into a hypnotized state
of suggestive attention.
As a quilter,
the poet weaves
- embroidered tapestries
with spectrum;
- - that only prisms
could master -
- - - with simple imagery.
The poet revives,
the deadened, flat soul
- of sentence,
to have a personified
- - existence among our
world of third dimension.
The poet's life,
isn't just a joy
- but a pain;
to tell the world
- - from their hands
littered with
Literature
She bleeds more than red.
Calloused hands
weren't made to
touch such softness.
So, the wicked soaked her
in holy water, scrubbed
her pale skin raw, and
swore the devils dogs
had stolen her soul.
[ Chanting in a foreign tongue:
they would prey the gay away! ]
Literature
Insomnia
Strange sounds on sleepless nights
Silver bells, tolling bright
Sing me something sad and slow
Slip into the undertow
Seeing sights that are not there
Seeing sunlight everywhere
Silent sleeper, not a peep
Surely, I just need some sleep
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Traditionally it's the men that do self sacrificing acts like this for the women, but in the case of a gay couple that still does embrace some traditional values, I could see conversations like this happening. Although it's partially also the kind of playful exchange that could happen with any couple.
© 2014 - 2024 ELBlove7
Comments4
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a short, sweet poem for a sweet moment between a couple. Nice!