Category: Hands
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A Poetic Thought: All The Reasons
I love you for strange reasons Its the way your eyes rest on mine Or perhaps it’s the way you hold your hands As though they’re weightless appendages Your dry sense of humor And the way you laugh at your own jokes Your cynical nature coated in sunshine But most importantly… I love you because…
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Thank God Christmas is Over
The hanging mistletoe has dried out in mid-air The pine needles of trees That once had presents under them now decorate living rooms Without a cause or reason outside of holiday inertia The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg dissipate The candy canes that reek of peppermint But fail to satiate the taste-bubs Of a sista…
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Cannot Want
I want things… I cannot want Looking for you in distant seas Wondering if you could live where I live In the time that I am living in But you want to live in a world full of nonsense Covered in a thick shield of fog and vanity Swirling into one Acting as though you’re…
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Pictures
I love you still. Silent words lie in-between us. Day dreams that faded into the background. Pictures never developed lie in camera rolls on dusty countertops in an abandoned house. Where we once held hands and made plans that never came into fruition. But my heart longs for you still. Love always, Esha <3
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Wait
Why can’t things be as simpleAs we planFragile, porcelain love slipping out of nimble handsBlood orange drinks start flowingFrom eroding dreams Differences with family, goals and values come into playHow many dates?How many credit card swipes?How many kisses and near misses?Before sex goes from a gift to a given? A missile ready to explode on…
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Bold Heart
Image by efes from Pixabay The feeling dissipates But I still remember the warmth I still crave the moment Looking for the next opportunity To be gathered up in caring arms To be told that I will be kept Safe from harm To be well thought of And loved in return My heart awaits the chance of exchanging the…
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Steel Toes
The snow falls like crumpled pieces of off white construction paper On a frigid landscape of charcoal concrete and yellow dashes At the bus stop bench sits a gray haired man In a tan, burly coat smoking a cigarette with a withered hand It has seen the passage of time Held doors open for lovers,…
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