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:iconyour-methamphetamine: More from your-methamphetamine


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Submitted on
October 24, 2013
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I found one of your messages
But it wasn’t in a bottle.
A dove
Dyed love.
I’m staying up late to
Write this
About your big-city dreams
With brick-wall apartments
And after-shave collars,
Social constructs and pink salt.

I bought sunglasses tinted pink
For a point
So people don’t waste time
On people like me—
People with hope.

So why did you?

What’s the point of messenger pigeons
If they get here on time?
Wasn’t that supposed to explain why
We were found beneath the sea?

you were the only ache i had
when i wasn't aching
at all.
nothing pleases me more
than to know you found at least,
a bit of me somewhere
crusted in the oceans' sadnesses
but i am still just
one
of so many.

time spent away
is never time wasted.
our pink salts sweetened
when we fused our temperatures
and it was fiery until the
end.

i am lukewarm now;
the Atlantic disowned me.

i wrote letters in hopes
of finding you doing the same but not out of
spite,
no, my dear, never
out of spite.
we were found beneath the sea
because we never
belonged
anywhere else.

i am a siren detached
from the comforts of the seas
and you
are still
my only refuge.


So why, Love, do you write
In only un-caps-lock?
Reckless tyranny of the ocean
Is not warmer than the seas.
Stars do not shine
Nor planets dance
To give comfort
They fuck comets to warm up, themselves,
And all that we do,
We do to not go gentle into that goodnight.

The seashores, shells, and seahorses cry
To uncrust the un-caps-lock;
I collected the fragments of ocean trenches:
pink salt.
Pink
Sunglasses and sirens,
Spite and the contours of the nape
Of the white beaches of your neck

I must admit
And I’m ashamed to say,
But I was not found,
I was searching,
Scared to find and grasp, but you needed
The strength of a lonely
Himalayan climber
almost drowned in the ocean.

I am lukewarm now;
I fled from the snowy heavens.

It was the gentile blaze
Our hearts yearned for through
Warm bones and chilly muscles.
I am a cave cut
Into by the ocean
And you
Are still
My beloved refugee.


"They carried the sky. The whole atmosphere, they carried it, the humidity, the monsoons, . . . all of it, they carried gravity." ~ Tim O'Brien
a sequel collaboration with *Rainyhawaii on  We Were Found Beneath the Seai've been meaning to tell you
(i swear i have)
i'm hopelessly addicted to throwing
messages in bottles
and losing them
to
the milky way.
i had once thrown them across the mid-
-length of seas
but then you would
find them,
read them
and leave them,
much like the nights you found
rhythm in my
metronome sheets.

i found your messages
(i swear i have)
i'm tired of shooting seagulls
to protect
and watch them fly
to
the milky way.
i had once chased them shouting mid-
-length of the sea
but then you would
write a letter,
throw it to me,
and windowsill sit,
much like the night you found
poetry on my
scarred stomach.
and then i found verses
(i swear i didn't mean to)
tattooed below
my
floating ribs.
i thought you stopped
yelling metaphors to keep me
afloat these
water-galaxy-borne messages
in rundown
wine bottles.
i just thought you'd
stop painting your dreams
on my salty
skin.

i wrote fabricated honesty
(i swear i didn't mean to)
surfing below
your
floating ribs.
i wanted to whisp
  we were found beneath the seai've been meaning to tell you
(i swear i have)
i'm hopelessly addicted to throwing
messages in bottles
and losing them
to
the milky way.
i had once thrown them across the mid-
-length of seas
but then you would
find them,
read them
and leave them,
much like the nights you found
rhythm in my
metronome sheets.

i found your messages
(i swear i have)
i'm tired of shooting seagulls
to protect
and watch them fly
to
the milky way.
i had once chased them shouting mid-
-length of the sea
but then you would
write a letter,
throw it to me,
and windowsill sit,
much like the night you found
poetry on my
scarred stomach.
and then i found verses
(i swear i didn't mean to)
tattooed below
my
floating ribs.
i thought you stopped
yelling metaphors to keep me
afloat these
water-galaxy-borne messages
in rundown
wine bottles.
i just thought you'd
stop painting your dreams
on my salty
skin.

i wrote fabricated honesty
(i swear i didn't mean to)
surfing below
your
floating ribs.
i wanted to whisp

it's always a pleasure, thank you for doing this with me. :heart:
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:iconedibility:
edibility Dec 9, 2013  Hobbyist
you were the only ache i had
when i wasn't aching
at all.


That. Just...that. Yes.
Reply
:iconyour-methamphetamine:
:heart: thank you so much!
Reply
:iconshehrozeameen:
shehrozeameen Nov 13, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
We do to not go gentle into that goodnight.
(breath taken away) fucking love that reference... I absolutely love that reference...

And I love this poem... I absolutely love this poem... that interaction between the two is jaw-dropping brilliance... I'm in awe... Really...

Awesome job =your-methamphetamine and *Rainyhawaii - keep these works up! You two are awesome!
Reply
:iconrainyfirebreather:
Rainyfirebreather Nov 14, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much. But the thanks her goes to =your-methamphetamine. She is a great influence, I hope one day her poetry is as affluent as Yeats', Eliot's, Pound's, Thomas', or Cummings' is today. ;)
Reply
:iconyour-methamphetamine:
oh hush! :tighthug:
Reply
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