I think the language of dating tends to be intentionally overeducated, because modern romance often requires forensic attention to fragments: eye movements, direct response or response delay and strategic silence.
The term ‘boyfriend’ is a deliberate allocation of trust.
Though we kiss for control with charming nonchalance,
it’s gritty and everyday, not decorative companionship.
He’s seen my worst screenshots
On another note..
I love staying up late at morning
I have vampire tendencies
that’s my frequency
Should I start to turn in earlier
or wait for school to begin
I’m that kind of worrier
that’s the way my world spins
.
.
A song for this:
Deny by La Sécurité
I’ve begun recycling emotions
so they’ll last longer
and we can save the rat-bag planet.
Sometimes I jump in elevators
I did it this morning
on the third floor
this guy looked at me, askance.
“Do you think you’re going to live forever?” I demanded.
Sometimes I look at Peter and think
that he’s the sexiest guy on earth
I want to ravish him - and we’re at breakfast.
Can a boyfriend be TOO perfect?
“I could do better,” I tell him, out of the blue
- because you’ve got to keep them on their toes.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said, looking up from his buttery-croissant, sympathetically.
“You’re doing your best,” he added.
“Wait,” I said, “what are we talking about?”
.
.
Songs for this:
What's going on by Paul Carrack
Peter in the summer morning sun
his cool smile shaded by shadows run
his voice as soothing as coffee’s scent
tell me he wasn’t heaven sent
Peter of Malibu moss and Spanish rose
his lips like light-coral, in kissable repose
his legs slouched akimbo, like a tiger’s limbs
how I long to re-entangle myself in them.
Peter’s quick caress, on windy Tropez beaches
aren’t men the most delightful, of nature's invasive species?
I miss the jeweler’s precision, of his warm and playful hands
and how the sun slowly gifted him, with a model’s golden tan.
Peter sipping coffee under a brittle, New Haven sun,
his rough laugh following something silly I’d done.
There’s no cryptic, localized pathology, happening at the beach,
when the two of us are together, our worlds just seem complete.
.
.
Songs for this:
What the World Needs Now by Tori Holub & James Wilkas
be mine by strongboi
Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?
I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty
Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—
Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.
Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas
Peter (my bf) flew away early this morning,
like Shakespear’s eagle, “leaving no tracks.”
Now I lay here, as a leftover or Millais’ drowned ‘Ophelia.’
That’s an image ripped from adolescent, female visual culture.
Time‘s adversarial magic drags us ever future-wise,
eroding sweet moments we would cling to.
Shall we poetize?
I want a quiet afternoon,
on the bright side of the moon.
It’s an actual-factual place,
convenient, in close outer space,
like mythical Elysium, Shangri-La or Valhalla
where I’d still be intertwined with my fella,
like characters from literature or legend.
A place where “I’ll get to it tomorrow,”
is, alas, an everlasting pass,
because on the dusty, unreeling moon,
tomorrow never arrives,
our lovers never have to go,
and we can relax, scantily clothed,
simply enjoying the everlasting earthrise.
.
.
Songs for this:
To The Moon by Meghan Trainor
Moon River by Frank Ocean
Just when I thought,
I could forget about,
the biggest “first”
in my life,
he came back,
Changed,
Flawless,
Beautiful,
Mine
When I do,
Think about him,
I don’t feel a twinge anymore,
Just ache,
At the familiar feeling again,
The feeling of seeing his face,
Just one more time,
What to conclude,
I wouldn’t know,
Even with all the wisdom,
In the universe
Three boyfriends have I, whom I could marry
Just hit '39' again, so I'd better not tarry
#1's hair is so long and so curly
I don't know anyone cuter
Sleeps all day, and mopes nights away
I call him 'My Active Brooder'
#2 seems polite, a man with some manners
but when he gets mad, ain't nobody ruder
He's into MK-47's, MAGA, the NRA
I call him 'My Active Shooter'
#3's vision's amazing, like Superman's
though frankly, there's nobody lewder
He stares at every skirt that comes his way
I call him 'My Active Denuder'
O, What should I do, I just can't decide
I've got to get married, before I die
Wait - My cat's my best friend, I'll marry him
I'll start a Go-Fund-Me, get 'Jaspar' neutered
I posted a New short story - "Flowers" - it was 483 characters to long for here.
It's under short stories it's called: "New Year's and strip clubs"
Here's a partial URL - you can't post a URL here (there are so many rules)
www.poetrysoup.com/short_stories/flowers_11899
My latest piece is 388 characters too long for the poetry section.
So, I posted it in "Short Stories" (Other sites don't have this limit)
Here's the link...
www.poetrysoup.com/short_stories/stupid_10822
If you bother, I hope you like it
I posted another short story (pieces in this poetry section have to be brief).
I'm just a wordie-birdie, I suppose *shrug*
It's called "Old designs." About a dinner kicking off the 2022-23 university year.
here's the URL:
https://www.poetrysoup.com/short_stories/old_designs_10681
They say they run in packs
with the mighty unicorn.
The stories bridge the boundary
between faith and Internet p0rn.
Oh, the elusive boyfriend.
I thought I’d hidden one in the closet,
but I rummaged top to bottom
then remembered - argh! -
I lost him last August!
*(a poem in Senryus)*
You don’t have to count,
when you lose a boyfriend, you
know. There was just one.
He was gone before
I knew it - he wasn’t, you know,
tied up or anything.
For a moment I
toy with saying, “Alexa, add
rope to my shopping list."
In High School boyfriends
come and go - it's like shopping
- where you return things.
Don't let anyone
with bad eyebrows give you life
advice - it ends badly.
I don't mind seeing my ex with
someone else - I usually donate
unused things to the less fortunate.
I wonder how many
calories I burn jumping
to wrong conclusions.
Mad kings are sly devils,
and like math homework,
they’re hard to get rid of.
Like ex-boyfriends they
waltz the line of patience
with dawdling acknowledgements
and sluggish departures.
You find yourself the airline
agent, “Sorry sir, your departure
is booked and ticket printed -
please proceed to the gate."
Your looks intrigue me
Your personality has drawn me in
I'm lost
Where are you
Where've you been?
I wonder along like lost at sea
Following a sirens song hoping it is ment to be
This feeling i have,
This care in my heart
Cant be dampened
But your silence is tearing me apart,
Is the sirens song a lover or a friend?
Will this song never end
What will I do when the melody ends,
Leaving me crashed on the rocks
Never to spend another minute, another hour,
Talking with you, Whatever will i do,
This silence on your end,rends my heart in two
Where are you
Where have you been
Im missing your sweet words,
Your gorgeous mood and your loving attitude,
Where are you my love, i hate this silence
It cuts through me like a knife
Please tell me if you know you won't be around
So i know your safe and sound,
This bothers me, whatever will I do,I hate this silence
Does it bother you too?
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