That innocent giggle I've known all your life
washes away all the worry and frustration.
It leaves only the sunshine on your hair
and the twinkling smile in your eyes.
Tanka # 2affection transcendsTanka # 2 by blalock27
seraph or adversary.
a fallen angel
is preferable to none -
doubtless even devils love.
Definitioni. pret•tyDefinition by creataire
when i first met you,
you were cleaning out the fishbones with thin, blistered hands in your abuelo's shop
and i liked the shape of them; the cresent of flush on your knuckles
the curve of your jaw
like a favor that i forgot to ask for
until i needed it
your eyes burn empty like dying coals
;;the tired certainty of hard work for low wages
mostly i like the weaving of your fingers
through the expanse of the emptiness
and i fell in love
when you said your name you sounded unsure:
i liked it; crisp, unfamiliar syllable
to wrap my tongue around
so i studied it:
the curve of your lips
wondering how it might translate to the same curve of your spine
stretched across my bedspread
- and if you'd like the color of my sheets if i got you there.
instead i watched you stealing kisses from the boys und
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.The Coffee God by anapests-and-ink
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
seasonedshe has a wicked left hook.seasoned by amour-raven
with a loose fist, she swings -
room reeking of masculinity and fusty equipment.
fierce lights and a deafening crowd -
leather pummeled against flesh, striking the temple:
the skull gave way and her opponent, hollowed and limp,
collapsed to the canvas, staining the mat with sweat and blood;
she swings again, clenching a heavy fist on impact.
the bag buckles, harsh metal clanking.