quenjamin

What if Adam just plain lied     And  Eve        with apple juice           Running down her chin Just     let    it    slide Is the whole story  a hoax A different mother                    than Mary                        No father                           Son                             Holy Ghost Was Lilith really all that bad             She  just wanted to be free                  The desert is hard on Mustangs                              And her man was not handy Was Mary really a virgin          did Joseph just herd the sheep Did Mary feel passion         desire            her body eternally saved  

Long, long, ago, when wizards and dragons ate ice cream sundaes for breakfast, there was a little boy with freckles sprinkled across his nose like confetti. His eyes matched the colour of the sky on a sunny day and his hair blended in with stars at night. The little boy's name was Bravery because he had the most courage out of all the children in the world. His parents were very proud of him and told him that he would be able to get his own pet dragon very soon. Bravery was going to name it Mister Monster. One morning Bravery woke up and felt a little bit sick. His mom cooked him his favourite soup, Chocolate Fudge Noodle, but it didn't make

[What the stars tossed, salt-casual, onto the not-black of the not-night suggest could be love, but I can't read them.] This is not a love poem,                        not-love, a not-love poem. Falling waist deep into February             stomping the signatures of lost years             in footprints on the pristine present-             this, not-night has become electric             with memories smashing through             the thin ice of teenage alchemy,                    charged, with the possibility of                                  heartache,                                            frostbite,             or even    

Love isn't like the movies If it was you would've realised I was The One For you and we'd all be living Happily Ever After by now Love isn't like the movies If it was you would've noticed all My Smiles And have fallen secretly In Love With me too, but be Too Nervous To act on it Love isn't like the movies Not everyone has a Best Friend They can fall for And not everyone is secretly Beautiful But hidden under 'Ugly' Glasses, braces or clothes Love isn't like the movies Not everyones Lies and Deciet Can be so easily forgiven overnight Not all problems can be solved with an "I Love You" And sealed with a Promise and

I waited a half an hour to see if you'd get online and now that you are I'm waiting 5 minutes to greet you so I don't seem clingy or desperate. Then you ask about my day followed by a sideways smiley face colon: parenthesis) And I make up something about a 2 mile walk- when in reality all I did was watch back to back episodes of Star Trek: Deep Space 9. Then I sit back and wait because you seem to be typing an awful lot, but in 5 minutes when I receive the message it's just the letters "L O L" A secret code that means you have nothing interesting to say, and neither do I but comfortable silence doesn't exist on the Internet. So I

We loved like arson:                            After-sex after- glow floats around like smoke, and distorts us, restless, and tangles around the rafters, the room imbued: remnants of star-fuelled lust. We loved like fireworks, comets and fireflies. We traced paths through constellations for hours, across freckled skies, tasting the stars with every kiss. The night went on for miles. Now a cathartic still whispers, lingers as the room burns orange in the morning's luster. The carmine light bares a warning: To keep my distance, or I'd clash with hers. I leave her to draw the blinds, casting shad- ows like prison-cell bars across

She wanted to be worn. Worn down, lovingly, In the way that can only be Accomplished over eons of use, In the manner of his favourite blazer. Worn till the elbows are shiny. She didn't want to be worn out, But rather, worn over, Like a worrying stone kept In close reach, in the lefthand pocket Caressed when needed. And like the natural erosion - Stone smoothed by rushing river - She wanted him to be as constant: As unceasingly adoring and indifferent. She was vexed by her own mutability. Her kitelike flitting - Fearing she'd fly Before his hands and words Had fully bound her; Before he could discover her pockets And butto

I want to hear your spine Click-and-lock Into place next to mine As we're lying together on this bed, I want to hear you whisper my name And tell me that you cannot count my eyelashes Because you cannot think of enough reasons As to why you love me I like the fact this is bare It's honest and truthful Yet sordid and dirty Like us. We'll talk for hours about has-beens and will-do's And we'll hold hands against the skyline, as I have the urge to lick salt from your body to taste your tears that you never seem to cry. I like that you are simple. Yet it infuriates my deepest feelings There is little here but honesty and I'm begi