Random Ramblings

[Isis]

This thread was basically made for the sake of my meager attempt at being poetic. While constructive criticism is very much encouraged, straight up douchebaggery will be hung, drawn, quartered, and burned. Thanks, prettythings.

So, first up, here's some prose. Ish. Type stuff.


The Arch

The arch of her neck is something like a daydream.
The incandescent glow of that pale skin, so much like a gaze-
So much like the glow of the Cheshire-cat moon,
shining silver and ready on the
sheets
of
my
bed.

The curve of her back is something like a mystery.
The delicate bend of her spine, so much like a smile-
So much like the rind of a watermelon,
dripping sweet and sticky
along
my
lips.

The perfect tone of her voice is something like a symphony.
The soft sound of that strange melody, so much like an ache-
So much like the finest tune ever drawn from the string of a violin,
Languidly flowing across my skin
and
pooling
between
my
thighs.

I am caught
In the arch, the curve, the tone
Of her,
And
I
Find
Love.

 

[Paradox]

Isis, I really like where you're going with this. I especially like the last four lines, it's a nice change of rhythm. Have you thought about swapping the first and second stanzas? Then, you'd move from an invitation to a touch to the body's reaction. Just a thought. x]

 

[Isis]

Isis, I really like where you're going with this. I especially like the last four lines, it's a nice change of rhythm. Have you thought about swapping the first and second stanzas? Then, you'd move from an invitation to a touch to the body's reaction. Just a thought. x]

Thank you so much. And yeah, that seems like an epic idea. I think I might just have to do that. Thank you bunches. x3

 

[Isis]

So, this one was made to juxtapose my first poem. Since we all know I go both ways (too romantic not to find the beauty in everyone), I thought I'd share a bit of man-love wit y'all. I think men are hardly given enough credit- in an artistic sense, I mean. They can be muses, too- their beauty's just . . . different. Well, here goes nothin'.

The Cut

The cut of his jaw is something like mahogany.
The rich curve and stubble like sandpaper and the smell of cedar lingering, so much like a wish-
So much like the warmth of the sun melting
glowing golden and ready on the
sheets
of
my
bed.

The sweet feel of his lips is something close to wanting.
The smile pulled lopsided and ready, so much like danger-
So much like the cracked and calloused palms with which he works,
brushing love and worship
along
my
lips.

The deep sound of his voice is something like a fire.
The the burning and crackling showing like flames, so much like an ache-
So much like the back roads and dark chocolate Mama always warned me about,
Roughly running along my neck
and
pooling
between
my
thighs.

I am caught
In the cut, the feel, the sound
Of him,
And
I
Find
Love.