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 Feb 2013 Anne M
AapkiHamesha
And then your sleepy gaze finally closed for the night,

On my beating heart, your head full of forever rested and dreamt,

I hummed you Your Song, so you can drift deeper into your paradise,

I gently combed your short hair with my fingers, I felt the prickle on my skin,

My love cannot be contained, it spilled over my slow breath with a giggle,

I hugged you closer to me with my other hand, I'll never let go.


When that sun tickled my eyelids, my cheek was on your heart,

My hair spilling over you, your hands running through it,

I look up at you, squinting, you smile and whisper,

"Don't get up, I want to hold you for a little more."

So I giggle once more, squeeze you tighter, and fall deeper into you,

Into my paradise.
 Feb 2013 Anne M
Third Eye Candy
At the sacred heart
of the profane
Utterly forsaken
in the tranquility of exile
An Unformed prisoner
emanates...
Prowling dead space
and blue skies
As if
they were
the hearts of Men ~
At the center
Of the Unmade
A Leviathan sleeps
dreaming of
Truth.

Roaming the Confines
Of Paradise
Sequestered in the throng
Of our savage lives-
Witness to our Miracles !
This One
Strides
Through the Parthenon
Of our Ruin
A Rook amid our vapid fictions -
Savoring the daily wisdoms
That Delight
In our
Surprise.

At the naked heart
Of the cloaked Soul
Utterly untarnished,
by the ashes
Of our distant fires...
The Unexpected -
Dominates Reality
Immune to our convictions
The Banished One
Is Lord.
It takes no shape imagined
and remains
Beyond the nimbus
of our Theories.

Unadorned.
 Feb 2013 Anne M
M Rose
the room so cold
and the voices so quiet
I'm trying so hard to make my heart soft
so I can finally enjoy this moving picture
but my vision's obscured by my burning eyes
my tears are the raindrops in the grey
sky in Tokyo. . . but at the end, my heart is warm,
although not promising, it's still sweet,
the notion that color can be found within the dull
 Feb 2013 Anne M
Joshua Martin
She, living in Baltimore,
had not spoken to her Mississippi
sun-burnt father in seven years.

He was a farmer,
she wanted a boutique.

There were the phone-calls,
at least in the beginning,
but then they too dried up
like clay pots cracking under a solar flare.

Her scars were still there at least,
she reckoned,
and those were enough to
disconnect any phone line.

But there is still a gnawing
at her insides, an impregnation
of her nose hairs,
a waltzing of her taste buds.

She picks up the pay-phone,
breathing heavier now,
sobbing as if the dial tone could touch her.

She knows that some fields
just can't stay fallow
forever.
 Feb 2013 Anne M
Ashe L Bennett
for those days
when hope will not help
because it is not hope that you want
but a cessation
a finality
an end

for those days
when comfort only hurts
because everything hurts, everything
is tender to the
point of
pain

for those days
when kisses feel like
dagger blades between your shoulders
and promises like empty tin cans
tied together
with string

on those days
I will be silent
I will be absent, even when
I am very near
I will hold you
without touching

and when you cry
I will catch your tears in
a vial of crystal that makes rainbows
in the sun
to hang around your windows
when you are smiling and
laughing and
joyful
and
content

to remind your tears
they are safe to fall
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