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-untitled-autumn is coming.
from my skin boat I watch you sleep;
you are my safe harbour.
your collarbone for my pillow
I want to write a thousand fictions:
the crook of your arm, your soft breaths as you dream.
night winds carrying wood fires, change,
a last cigarette smoked in silhouette.
a hundred thousand more days watching seasons flow,
moored in your arms
weathering every storm.
AugustSometimes I catch glimpses of ghosts in subway windows,
they are hungry to be held but I let them slip from my fingers into the dark.
This is the point where I can keep hold of nothing;
careless hands care not for who or what they hurt.
Summer sunshine scorches solitude into my skin, bringing to light the fault
lines of all my imperfections: black and white, red and yellow all over.
In those moments I gave you everything I could, but I could not give you my weaknesses.
When you wanted to be wise for all you could not let me in
like a marketplace beggar I bought your words; all consuming, all consumed,
starving and shivering for your scraps.
On the surface my topography shifted to mirror yours and we roamed
the geography of the absentee from end to end,
ceasing the search for our private Pangea when our microcosm split apart.
I ate and drank, and it was dust.
For all your trouble, with no evidence to the contrary you cannot prove my continued existence.
Like a photograph left forgotten
The Last Message...Or, The Last Message From The Woman You Once Loved
Inspired by The Cosmonaut's Last Message to the Woman He Once Loved in the Former Soviet Union
Your house is gone.
The perfect natural disaster ursurped your once-grand plans, and I saw it happen from far away.
The boxes you never unpacked now swim in rubble with all that was established -
the rooms painted perfectly so
your family herilooms and knicknacks shattered beyond repair, shaken from their shelves
your furniture, too large for the space, no longer laughs with stories of re-arrangements
even the empty spaces closed in on themselves until brick and mortar and wood were one, and yet none.
The flaw in your grand design.
We can never go back.
I used to count sunsets, looking up at the stars
supposing how long until you would make contact
but I have lost track; time wasted counts for nothing and yet somewhere out there I suppose you are building still
until your gas-giant heart caves in on itself.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More