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With every passing day my body begs,
Consider that all drink, all food consumed
Will shorten breath, and weigh on swollen legs.
But thirst and palate are no less attuned
Though appetite has slaked as time goes by.
Instead of gluttony, I must select;
Notice what I eat and drink and why
To savor flavor to its best affect.

A poet learns their mindfulness of words
The same.  With small or no restraint at all,
They gorge themselves on overstuffed buffets,
Well-salted with their tears.  Yet, to be heard,
A simpler line cuts through the caterwaul
And quenches thirst and hunger on its way.
Shared lesson hard-learned by a reformed gourmand.  Graze lightly, thoughtfully, and well.
Lost in the desert; who knew that I would find
a place to take shelter, the most beautiful waste of time
to put me back together, to free me from an inescapable past.

Now I know better; I've learned the hard way
that perfect weather can disappear within a day,
and added pressure can make anything secure crack.

But these little lessons never seem to compare
to the sudden emptiness that comes out of no where,
to the shifts in solid ground, to the shadows that are left behind.

These distant memories never intend to replace
the deep conversations and laughs that we had face to face,
our interlaced fingers, your leg pressed next to mine,

and time.

3.23.17
 Mar 2017 Kalesh Kurup
K Coleman
What could've been is an idea
that unfortunately exists with lies.

I wonder if what could've been
is really what should've been,
just hiding in disguise.

And what if what could've been,
would've been...
that'd be quite the surprise.

But it doesn't really matter.

Because it would be a surprise,
if what would've been
could've been.

And if hiding in disguise
is what should've been,
I no longer wonder what could've been.

That's just what what could've been is,
an idea made of lies.
 Mar 2017 Kalesh Kurup
Alif Imran
Underneath this thick layer of trust,
There's an emerging lily of doubtness.

Underneath this thick layer of promises made,
There's hope, germinating.

Underneath this thick blanket of snow,
We're blooming flowers.

As it melt,
We start seeing eye to eye.
And decided
To walk away.
 Mar 2017 Kalesh Kurup
kennedy
Used
 Mar 2017 Kalesh Kurup
kennedy
I am not a landfill for
Insecurities
I am not the void to repair
Damaged masculinity
Yes, I am a woman
Comfortable with my sexuality
But, aren't I supposed to decide
When i want that kind of intimacy?
Everyone's got their demons
I'm always the dirt beneath their shoes
As the climb from the pit
I want to be more
I want to be whole
I want to be strong enough
To stop it when I say no
**** is a four letter word
I wish I didn't feel it in my bones
When the one I loved hushed my cries,
I said no
Her life was run on the oil of synchronicity
planted in the seduction of abstract hypotheses.
The moons and ebbs of tides
Swoop in like thunderclaps
on wing'ed lightning bolts,
Capturing synergy
Wiping out energy
Till she huddles in a pile of her own failure
Tucking up her toes to avoid the floods
Admiring and condemning
The rain soaked
Howling at her gate.
My bio
A whistle,
blows off the steam
heated inside the kettle.
Warmth is luscious and comforting.
The sensation that will soon puncture between your lips.
It comes to a boil,
the whistle grows greater.
Higher.
Oh that one night.
The note reaches soprano,
and continues.
Water rises to a boil.
Anger.
Only a sound that can make your ears throb.
Grasping the handle,
you pull the *** from it's key source.
Oh how you yearn to do the same.
Something this bitter,
needs a sweetener.
The warmth will exit.
Won't it need someplace to go?
Honey,
your warmth is forever welcome,
if you find yourself becoming cold on the boil.
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