Davide Castel Davide Castel
Recommendations: 39

Reminds me of the dance section in 'West Side Story' when they only see each other in a crowded room.

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Shaunna Harper Shaunna Harper
Recommendations: 35

Wallflower


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soul mates

I part the crowds with one swift
blink of my eyes. Bodies morph,
shift like wind, one swarming mass of half-life.
Their existences mean nothing to me.
You, you appear
like someone else's nightmare,
a hollow apparition, unbelievable,
something too real to comprehend.


My heart forms mouths, words,
speaks to me faster, faster still,
quivers, bleeds, dares a leap
into my throat. I said something.
You did not hear it.


You make your way,
absent in mind,
through the severed threads
of passersby, larger than all other life,
more meaningful than the world's
whole history, and you step past me.


I want to smell you, touch you;
the sweetness of the sweat at the
nape of your neck, the soft mess
of your hair. I long to hear you,
see into you; the song that rings out in your laugh,
the things that make you strong as a man
but break like a woman.
I would die there, among the masses,
minute and desperate, just to taste you;
your warm kiss, your shy skin.


I brave a glance,
to find you staring straight through me,
eyes flooded with night,
and I unfold, exposed, before you.
I am in bloom, to simply stand inside
your private shell, privileged to sway to the flow
of your words, your voice.


Something in my bones feels raw.
Never have I wanted something more.
For now, the world is still;
slowed, calmed, under sedation.
There is nothing but you.
And though to the world you are but one,
to me, you are all. 1 comment


All of my thoughts, chiming in your voice,
thundering in your chest,
all of my carnal desires, all of my dreams,
the whispers, the shadows of lovers
that cling with nails to the walls
like stubborn shadows that refuse to see light.
You are all of my mornings, blue, melancholy,
all of my nights, when there is nothing, no one, but me.


You are the past, accentuated,
by the impending future, complicated.
There is something fated
in the way I believe in you,
something like a miracle in the way
you live and breathe inside of me,
and I in you,
trapped.


I watch you walk away,
utterly beautiful in your ignorance.
Your rejection of me, sublime,
one moment: ours, mine.
I tremble as you pass,
like slivers of flowers in an early
summer breeze, and you are gone.


I realise, with horror,
that I would have cut the life
from my lungs for an inch closer to you,
would have shredded my bones
like confetti for a little bit more of you.


The world is no longer turning
but expanding, bigger and bigger obstacles
falling like rocks between us, pushing us further apart,
repelling like magnets with identical ends.
These walls, and my life within them,
are my armour. And you can only ever break through
with my permission.
You barely exist; a reminiscent vision.


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