Poll: ???
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3 50%
2 33%
0 0%
2 33%
Voters: 6.
Multi-vote. Don't vote for yourself.


you are an eyelash
brushing soft against my cheek.
we are walking through the fall
taking in the sights and scents
(kitchen diesel, highway pumpernickel)
speaking perfumes and the lovely little lies
of actors in the auditorium.
we posit and pose, flushing our cheeks with color
to better fit the palette, to keep away the cold
and you speak of
the gerunds you love:
touching, kissing, dreaming,
sleeping, waking, aching
running, running, running.

and yet i do not fear the winter
salacious tongues unwet
and unwed,
do little,
do less.
i must protect my
freedom of speech
through magisterial sidling
away from what it means
to be weaker-than and weakening.

(forgive my diatribes,
slovenly speaking through
three pints of whiskey,
it's not the first or last
or left and leaving but
still, it's just-- )

you are an eyelash,
held you close, made a wish
watched as you were carried
far away from here
on the wind.


i'd swallowed my back teeth
because i couldn't keep them clean enough,
and slovenly coughed through a parade
because the diesel wasn't green enough.
i'd put on my iron lung
and waded around the deep
for as long as i could,
but retreated once i learned
what water does to pumpernickel.
i'd met a girl once before this
and we kept each other active
with kissing, talking, fighting, jogging,
there were never any gerunds in sight,
and we'd always end up back at hers
to mend her salacious appetite.
so i've scribbled and scrawled across her walls
covering them in diatribe,
but allowed her to regain magisterial poise
before i subtly sidled to her side.
(cue the lights)
that night brought me back to a better time
when her and i were settled beside,
like eggs in a carton
sitting in a packed auditorium.
she had reached over to brush an eyelash
from my cheek,
but instead stopped and pulled her hand back
leaving it intact.
i began to ask why
when one look changed my mind.
i started to realize that
she should be more than just a future story,
and one at a time
her and i
became little children again.

You start with a smile
a flutter of eyelash.
Promising the gourmet and the bohemian
But alas
Providing the slovenly
Stale, diesel soaked pumpernickel.

He sidles into your word of motion
Art; Excitement
From his shelter of academia
He solves equations
Identifies gerunds.
You drink
And stretch out his trust.

You end with diatribe
and exchange belongings in cardboard boxes.
You're salacious
and you know it drives him bloody mad.

i pump'er nickel like im on diesel
the way i feel is magisterial
some people say that i'm salacious but
i know my aura is ethereal -
yeah, i'll get her down in auditoriums
sidle up her pussy like she in a bliss emporium
i dont take that sloppy, nah my bitches aint slovenly
she be using gerunds like she always trynna call on me
licking sucking tittyfucking
spanking slapping bootyclapping
screaming up a diatribe like she dont know what even happen
even her eyelashes are shaking and ive got her fingers snappin
For some reason I just love Green.

Quote by Våd Hamster
Find a dice and assign a number to each girl. Throw the dice.

The number you hope for at the moment you throw the dice, is the one you'll want to keep.
yayyyy third place. man all of you came up with beautiful pieces
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist

e-married to
& alaskan_ninja