A lamp post
Flecks of paint, old
Emerald green
I lean against it as you walk away
I still shake from the memory
Of your arms holding me
Safely
Securely
Later, I dream
A room, far away but not so
Wooden walls
A desk, fashioned with love and care
I rest against the futon
Breathing in the scent of your lair
As you sit in a chair
Worn by the years and the use of a champion of his kind
I wait for you to move
I close my eyes, and suddenly
I can feel you, closer
Your warmth radiate towards me
Your flesh brushes mine, and my eyes fly open
You have leant in
I wait
I breathe
I ache to touch you
But you move away again
You tease me
And yet you will never know
The extent of my torture








--
"Here's to the creation of meaning!"
~ Lou King
You are teh r0x0r. Welcome to my DA, and please note that I would like to see more of your poems and have already favourited one... hehe.
--
"Here's to the creation of meaning!"
~ Lou King
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Jennaichu used APATHY ATTACK!
... but nothing happened.
VACANCY?
deviation....
appreciated with the fullness of my heart
xox
--
"you don't owe me to be so polite. you've done no wrong. you've done NO wrong. Get out of my sight...c'mon baby now throw me a right to the chin, just one sign that can show me that you give a sh**" - ben FOLDS
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my gallery, if you wish: [link]
#GiveUsMusic Spread the music, spread the love!
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*puts on running shoes, jumps over trashcans and druggies and hypodermics and through alleyways and squares and across a bridge and a long stretch of I-95 and another bridge and a toll booth and some more I-95 and two more bridges and a ferry*
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<3 Bob
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[Philippians 1:21]
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[Philippians 1:21]