Layers of Longing —Shreya Sharma

My beating heart is a drum
a thunderous rhythm
reciting an epistle of my grief.
A concoction of
     togetherness & separation.

There are layers of longing;
   of being seen
   and seeing
   of a single touch
   and being touched
   of love
   and being loved.

I swallow nights in counting kisses-
and envelope the remnants,
sitting as wildflowers on my waist. 
A site to behold,
for million nights.
A star to make a wish for eternity,
A church to worship.

Shreya Sharma blog

Nest —Mike Ennenbach

today
as you sleep,
i stare
at the ceiling
pondering
the sea salt crystals
on your lovely hands
as they dig through
the crates
of my every
unspoken thought

the hard tangle
of roots
writhing
just under the flesh

the forks of lightning
dancing
within your eyes
as you seek
the hidden words
in every
earnest verse

scribbling in
invisible ink
the parchment saturated
with words
meant only for you
written in lemon and milk
unseen until
the half baked verse
is placed in
the inferno
resting
upon your tongue

this morning,
as you sleep
the quiet is
broken
by chattering birds
whistling the cadence
of my heartbeat
weaving the dull
inner throbbing
to exalt the sun
which pales in
the majesty of
your beauty
a diaphanous
cacophony of
unsundered pontifications
building into
a white noise generator

as my cracked
whispers
fade into nothing
as the ceiling
sinks
drawn to my
pulsating need
i seek to
unfetter the knot
in my own chest
where the birds
leave baubles
of bright beauty
for you
to build a nest

Mike Ennenbach blog

Clouds —Priyanshu Mehta

I look up above and wonder
If it’s a sad thing
To be clouds
To not be able to confide in
The Sun, the stars or in crowds
To keep changing colours
So they can keep celebrating the sky
To keep floating around
So little birds can fly and dive and enjoy
To drain yourself down 
For the rainbows that satisfy 
To keep moving along 
Until one day
You shrink and dissolve and die

I look up above and wonder. 
Maybe that’s what am I. 

Priyanshu Mehta’s blog

In Between —Danica Aquino

I want to fill the spaces in between,

Don’t think of me in the morning,
When the earth is kissed by the first ray of sunlight,
Don’t think of me when you’re stuck in traffic and you seem so angry waiting for the cup of coffee to kick in,
Don’t think of me when you saw a movie actress that reminded you of my dress on our first meet,
Or when you listen to my favorite music and vividly remember what my perfume smells like,
Or when you finally close your weary eyes to sleep at night;

Think of me
To fill the spaces in between,
The shallow, warm breaths you take that fog up the bus window,
A resounding melody that swiftly passes through your subconscious and back,
In that tiny space of air snuggled between our palms as we hold hands;

I want to fill those spaces in between,
An ephemeral being that faintly hangs above your shadow as you walk alone in a moonlit night.

The Left Handed Project blog

Desert Dancers —Scott Andrew Bailey

In a growing desert on flowing sands
Sinking down into dried oasis
A market thrives
Rich men and women trade
Food for souls
Hot air for agreement
And everyone dances
While the sands sink
Everyone laughs and sings

Scott Andrew Bailey blog

His poems are published in A Spring of Dreams (UK) and A Spring of Dreams (US).

The Itch —Roland

THE  ITCH

There’s a joy in scratching an itch
Which increases the more that I do it
The more that I try
I ask myself why
Can’t I give my whole future to it.

And when I eventually try
To give up the scratching, then why
Does this damned itch’s curse
Get so Intensely worse
That I must scratch it again or I’ll die?

Find more worthy reads @Roland’s Ragbag

My Wolf —Women Who Think Too Much

I have howled mournfully at the Wolf’s moon,

knee deep in the snow of a frozen winter’s night.

Grieving the loss of my lover, the fantasy

of he and I tangled in white, cotton sheets,

touching for the last time his rough face

happy, content, in love, just an illusion.

It’s complicated, he growled

as he changed into the Wolf and fled.

I have howled, screamed and cried

wept tears that froze on my cold cheeks.

I have walked across a barely, frozen lake

stood at the edge of a rocky cliff,

searching for my Wolf in the darkness.

Offering up the bloody remains

of my heart to tease his hunger.

Surely, he didn’t forget the taste

of me.

Inspired by The Wolf Moon By Charles Robert Lindholm, The Reluctant Poet
The Wolf Moon

Thank you for sharing your thoughts… womenwhothinktoomuch

Eyes What Do They Say —Kavya Gupta

I see, I watch, I look, I roll,

I give comfort ; to my soul,

I blink, I wink, 

I’m disappointed , I sink.

I may be shy , I may be expressive,

I may be anxious , I may be aggressive.

I cry and tear,

I water and wear,

I scream , I glare

To the world I stare

But nobody here; seems to care.

A twinkling me , gives a pleasant feel,

But look into me; are you real or reel?

——-

Introducing a new poet on WP Kavya Gupta

Don’t Tell Me This Story – Melody Chen (Heartbeatingwings)

unless it has a happy ending
i have heard how it goes
summer romances wilting under the heat
voice signals lost along the distance
a shiny new toy has-been discarded
there is no way to miss broken into whole
and i think you know this
it’s not hard to hear a heart that pedals your name
there is not enough time for us
even when it is all i have to give to you
here is where the time signature shifts
i lose count of the beats and fall out of step
outstretched fingers not enough to make contact
and i think you want space, i think you want space
i beg but you say it out loud anyway
and then it is real and i want to go back to sleep where
in dreams someone hands me a phone
and your voice is already waiting
in dreams someone hands me a sledgehammer
to break down the walls
and there is enough room for me to stay

online at: https://heartbeatingwings.wordpress.com/