Verses To Eat Popcorn To

Another one I have no idea where I found but have kept. Definitely not mine. I called to you in my sleep But you weren't there An empty space  Beside me I look for you When I dream But I never find you So you lay there imagining my hand on you my fingers digging into your flesh mingling our scents into one drawing you to me nearer and nearer As my lips trace a fiery trail down your neck I hope you understand  that my heart is in your hand I don't like where you're headed  Don't squeeze it just because you want your dress scarletted

I'm not sure where I found this at, or if someone I know wrote it. But it definitely is not mine. I simply found it beautiful and am sharing. Let me write on your back with my fingers on your skin  as you lie over me. Let me feel the warmth of  your breath and the softness  of your skin. Let me look in your eyes and know that you crave me  as much as I do. Let me understand that we will never let go of each other. Let me realize that you're  the very meaning of my life. Let me realize that my life from now on is not just an empty dream. Let me make you understand that you're the best thing that ever happens to me.

I'm not sure where I found this section of the Bhagavad Gita, but I found it beautiful. Never was there a time when I did not exist. Nor you, nor all these kings, nor in the future shall any of us cease to be.

I found bits of this poem in an Amitav Ghosh book - The Imam and the Indian. It was a tough book to read but the poetry really stuck with me. At a certain point I lost track of you.   They make a desolation and call it peace.   when you left even the stones were buried:   the defenceless would have no weapons.   When the ibex rubs itself against the rocks,   who collects its fallen fleece from the slopes?   O Weaver whose seams perfectly vanished,   who weighs the hairs on the jeweller's balance?   They make a desolation and call it peace.   Who is the guardian tonight of the Gates of Paradise?   My memory is again in the way of your history.   Army convoys all night like desert caravans:   In the smoking oil of dimmed headlights, time dissolved- all   winter- its crushed fennel.   We can't ask them: Are you done with the world?   In the lake the arms of temples and mo...

Mama never said to watch out for the boys with liquid, doe eyes. The ones with the slow, easy smiles. Completely comfortable in their own skin, standing without a care in the world. She never told me they'll steal your heart just to see what will happen.  That those soft looks don't necessarily mean they care. That those smiles often go out to everyone, when you want them only for yourself. She never told me that behind those eyes often lives the soul of a poet. Boys as soft and sensitive as you'll ever see. That behind that facade they're easy to love, but not easy to be with. She never told me that the quiet voice inside of them is confident. That stillness is often synonymous with strength. That autonomy may lead them to never need you. She never warned me about what happens when those boys leave. How nothing you can do will make them stay. That desperation to find someone else who will look at you the same way. Daddy had hard eyes, angry and wil...

Hi, I'm Becky. You've found another one of my blogs! I've been trying to read and understand more poetry as of late because I somehow think I should.  I haven't been having much luck, but I thought I'd write some down here and try to improve myself that way. I'll share things I like by other poets and authors as well.  I hope you enjoy. Becky