• anon
    Love

    A perfect lover

    An apple ripens, a flower blooms and withers, water freezes and melts, wind comes to a standstill, wine becomes wholesome, a song becomes a memory, a kiss becomes softer with age. I have loved ‘perfect’ women, and they changed. And I changed. We didn’t know what perfect was anymore. I gravitate towards disarming dents, scars of war, fierce rage and undying thirst for what lies ahead. It’s an eternal all-consuming fire, as a person molts, breaking through her own past self. Few things matter. And she is far from perfect, she is flawed, she screams, she cries, she is afraid, she doubts, she loves with abandon, loyal to a fault,…

  • Painting by Chris IG // @blablabla.art
    Love

    Peppermint

    “Pretend you are playing me, Chet.”She said, as the jazz genius made love. May I write you? It is a feast. I gather everything there is and everything there will be. Imagine entire worlds crashing down and trees shooting up from the ground and skies melting into gold and little sparkles of light exploding into stars around you. Imagine this. This is you, when I eat you. I hold you tight. I hold you right. Imagine blankets of mornings and smells of Sundays. With sincere vigour, my tongue and fingers, attempt to slowly but surely describe what this moment means to us. We communicate non verbally, and we pick out…

  • Love

    Like a Bird

    I hold us with an open hand.As she lays wet and heavy, poignant.Like an evening sky, twilight.But you can neither tell how black is the nightnor how light is the dawn. She promises sincere mischief,whatever that means.She clasps like a lover.She bites like a mistress.She promises she will kiss the old me.And asks whether I will kiss the old her. I hold her with an open hand.She eats me whole. — I have been looking at things wrong.Like a bird in the sky,as wide and as high I can,but only as wide and only as high I can. She flies elsewhere, rides the winds I do not follow.She jumps into…

  • Elvin Shalmiev
    Love

    Undoing the Frost

    The rush of thoughts are tempting to stir. Morbidly warm to soak into. Melancholy wafts over like a welcome blanket. I trip, and trip again. I grab my corner and a sinful brew. Staring out and delving within. Diving into the sticky mess. It licks my arms. Gushes between my legs. My mess is a rabid river. I bite it and it bites me back. My mess. I forget I make it. It continues to make me. — The ease and unease of undressing.Waiting, simply.Asking, despite a thumping heart.The ground shaking beauty of being so utterly naked because you love. — A taste never forgotten.Stubborn. Compulsive. Obsessive. At our weakest,…

  • art by agnes-cecile
    Love

    My clumsy poetry

    I waited for you, expecting you to provide sanity amid all the insanity around. But you had things to do. And I gave in to the madness. And before I stopped waiting for you, I knew I had stopped waiting for myself. — Look around. A pretty face. And one more. Many more. A new fancy everyday. Whom would you kiss? Whom would you nibble at? Whose skin would you bite away and lick every naked crevice you can find as they shiver and surrender before the beast that you are. Whose hand would you hold? Whose eyes would you get lost into? Whose hair would you run your fingers…

  • Courtesy: An Le
    Love,  People

    Fall is here. It fills me.

    She had just sung a song for me, a melody of her own making. She had sung it with all abandon. And now she was looking right at me. Waiting. I saw her smiling wide. Lush brown waves falling over her shoulders. Eyes moist, and bright as sunshine, so brown, a rich roast. I smiled back, lost for words. Wondering which words would aptly describe the earth shaking beneath my feet. What words to describe the smell of her spring in these cold autumn winds. That I lived every note she had written, tracing them through my mad stories. How do I say that her song had taken me on a…