i write this from beyond

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if my hands could
Touch
Your skin
Right now
And fly miles across
To you
It would
Drip
Down
like Honey
and Soft kisses
just to sweep
along
with
a sweet brush
From tips o’ fingers
And softly soothe unto you
A hush
a whisper
a song
Of sweet melody
And
We would fall in love
and into
One another
Beyond skin
Beyond bone
Our Beating hearts
Could only feel
we you and me
both
together again
to fall
To form
Onto
into and in between
the loveliness
of loving you
you love me
as we fly past
and cry past
And die
at last we are Together
as we melt
Sweet kisses
And soft skin
And begin
Again
Like lovers
Do
Like me and you
words and time
the scent And song could never touch
us Like we have touched
One another
and Each others heart
and soul
Like no one else
ever
Again

-kyoko cole 2013

 

i bruise me easily with grace

throw the next gesture
chant by night
for our new messy dream
brush above pencil figures
laugh at me and my monkey impression
pop!  goes my pop up ballet
an original masterpiece
of glorious flame
colored in wild blue
covered me in
mad
drips of color covered glow

you can light or shadow
blend or blur
take or make the fold
it’s all up to you
you chooooose
me
or
ooze me
all over city street
and concrete static
use me
with each passing face
jumping beds and bones
lose me
somewhere
without a trace
between the sheets
of strangers
i
bruise me
easily
…with grace
refrain
recall
it means everything to me
and nothing at all

recline to form
use me down to nothing
as i build- to pieces
not built -to last
i rewind  -in movement
double fast
you move right through me
with your mind
and print me out in copies
with your call

paint me open
and pour me in
nothing
shut out
nothing
but the absolute feel
made to steal
made for show
package me up
nice and pretty
finish me off
with a bow
i am flesh candy
frantic and absurd
almost never together
with you
fly me off to the next
dream
i go
amuse me less
but my monkey more

 

hydrogen carbon and rust

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soup hydrogen soup carbon
truths scratched from the dirt
rusting trucks
die with years
in dry grass below
and with vultures above
in waiting
hungry like the old
hungry like the forgotten
waiting in line
for the dead
to come
waiting
like we wait
to die
-kyoko cole 2013