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The Quiet Thoughts of Butterfliesshe says "I'm worried if I breathe
too loud the silence will
I watch her hands press butterfly
wings between the pages.
does she know that
I'm the queen of silence?
my corpse lungs and
graveyard lips; a decomposing
tongue lurking behind white-washed
tombstones. paint me with sunbeams,
I'm still the same.
[death warmed over]
her tropic gaze rakes over
the bone-white snow. "I keep
swallowing the snow-flakes. they
remind me of frozen flowers.
their dead sweetn
Prays for Loveflowers bloom
over my knees, where they've been kneeling too long to
beg, where they think of joining the ocean's
rocky kneecaps and huddling on the shore,
waiting for me to flip them over and catch the crabs that
have been hiding there in peace
as the tide turns over. i ask them,
how do you find peace, is it under
all the rocks, is it in between
the spaces that only
waves know, or in the wrinkles
of barnacle shells or under the
clumps of seaweed,
because i need some.
they just wave their mouth parts sadly
and scuttle over my palm to hide again.
i try to follow, bruising elbows
and arms and legs trying to
scrabble under the beach to find some peace or some-
anything, really. hidden under
the muck and oceanbones i found
a dying asteroid and told it,
i'm looking for peace.
i've been searching and searching and-
searching under pebbles stones
boulders and comets, because i know
that under one such rock must be some sign
of peace. and have you seen it out there, has peace
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More