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dont go to barsher hips twirling in the candlelight, barely contained beneath tentative layers of sequined silk twinkle star bright, and while she writhes,
the very meaning of motion,
the soundless berating of everything you have ever doubted of love
(for there is love there, spoken in the language of full-to-bursting flesh)
moves over you in the waves of sweat cresting your collarbones,
tidal-waves of wanting only the impulses of your body betray -
in your eyes, there is nothing but echoes of sweet smoke and the charred, timber-brown residue of poppy flowers swaying,
like the serpents of her hips
in gentle spring breezes.
the curses of her skin are writing prophesies over the scars of the sky,
tomes and heresies to the greatness of man
with the scent of her womanhood
sweet as perfume
clogging the darkness through the parting of your lips -
there is no breath left in you,
only the deep incense off her warflags,
waving you down
with bullet-blasts of red lips
swollen in their wanting of you
The Day I Met God.I met God one evening.
The funny thing is, i wasn't wanting to find him.
God was smoking.
"Why are you smoking?"
"I'm God Kalea, i'm stressed."
We sat atop a big balcony and watched his creations move.
"They're so beautiful", God was breathing hard.
But I know they aren't. they aren't. they aren't.
How do you tell God that?
"Why do people rape, and murder and steal?"
God's mouth is the shape of a sinking ship
his face carries the wrinkles of one thousand dying souls.
oh, i don't know.
a weird photoshop doodle.
all artwork in my gallery is © me, bailey elizabeth. do not use or modify my images or writing in any way without my written permission. don't steal my art. please.
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More