yakksoho
Bluelighter
Did I already post this? who cares.
Love Poems
Love poems are insufficient
For you, they are meager
Portions of half-baked bread
You are something more
Than that, you are sunlight
In a baking oven, popcorn
In a radar range, you are
Fireflies dying at midnight
You are teatrays garnered
In spring
Love poems are insufficient
To tell you what I feel my
Ire heart beats like a
Crazy person against his bars
And tears at his pyjamas
Which are all that separates
Him from the apes, you are
The opposite of forbearance
You are tidal pools cascading
Over unnoticeable pebbles
You are empty crystal waters
Inflamed by a pinpoint touch
Into waves of fatal fury
At daybreak
Love poems are unbearable
To grope in my aching heart
To find the words I cannot say
And tear them out and hand
Them sugar-coated to you on
Intergalactic platters over
Cyber-waves of invisible space
To have virtual flames boil
My skin tender as your eyes
Wretch in fear at the
Regurgitated verbiage that echo
The weak, unsteady palpitation
Of my slowly bleeding heart
Each night
Love poems are old-fashioned
A démodé expression of
Unpalatable love, an antiquated
Recollection of dreams of nights
Spent with you and outpour from
My heart a flood of desperate
Resurrections, twenty-five
Golgothas, forsaken of reflection
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight
A lisp, a lie, a flame, and I
Must forget until morning
Prude thoughts of writing letters
And sealing them with lavender
Flowers locked inside at post
Each afternoon
Love poems are velveteen
As tears chafing your pale
Cheeks as I move my hand o'er
Your godforsaken eyes, and for
The first time since grade-school
I see an unique amalgamated hue
That doesn't come in crayon boxes
And I cry oceanside tears for
All those times we sat side by
Side in my fondest dream-and-
Nightmare memories and I cry
Because daffodils are too large
To fit into énvelopes and mail
To firesides in my fantasies
Of childhood
Love poems are impersonal
Because I too often forget
How many of you there are
And too often I realise
Who I'm really speaking to
In the nightmares in my head
Leaking out through ramble-
Shamble rickety lines of
White picket framework for
Poems that have no end
In paradise
23.12.01
Love Poems
Love poems are insufficient
For you, they are meager
Portions of half-baked bread
You are something more
Than that, you are sunlight
In a baking oven, popcorn
In a radar range, you are
Fireflies dying at midnight
You are teatrays garnered
In spring
Love poems are insufficient
To tell you what I feel my
Ire heart beats like a
Crazy person against his bars
And tears at his pyjamas
Which are all that separates
Him from the apes, you are
The opposite of forbearance
You are tidal pools cascading
Over unnoticeable pebbles
You are empty crystal waters
Inflamed by a pinpoint touch
Into waves of fatal fury
At daybreak
Love poems are unbearable
To grope in my aching heart
To find the words I cannot say
And tear them out and hand
Them sugar-coated to you on
Intergalactic platters over
Cyber-waves of invisible space
To have virtual flames boil
My skin tender as your eyes
Wretch in fear at the
Regurgitated verbiage that echo
The weak, unsteady palpitation
Of my slowly bleeding heart
Each night
Love poems are old-fashioned
A démodé expression of
Unpalatable love, an antiquated
Recollection of dreams of nights
Spent with you and outpour from
My heart a flood of desperate
Resurrections, twenty-five
Golgothas, forsaken of reflection
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight
A lisp, a lie, a flame, and I
Must forget until morning
Prude thoughts of writing letters
And sealing them with lavender
Flowers locked inside at post
Each afternoon
Love poems are velveteen
As tears chafing your pale
Cheeks as I move my hand o'er
Your godforsaken eyes, and for
The first time since grade-school
I see an unique amalgamated hue
That doesn't come in crayon boxes
And I cry oceanside tears for
All those times we sat side by
Side in my fondest dream-and-
Nightmare memories and I cry
Because daffodils are too large
To fit into énvelopes and mail
To firesides in my fantasies
Of childhood
Love poems are impersonal
Because I too often forget
How many of you there are
And too often I realise
Who I'm really speaking to
In the nightmares in my head
Leaking out through ramble-
Shamble rickety lines of
White picket framework for
Poems that have no end
In paradise
23.12.01
