By David Hopson
We land in the aisles of British fiction
to soak in the air conditioning. Your fingers
play the spines…
to soak in the air conditioning. Your fingers
play the spines…
Explore Poems: Unrequited Love
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- By Mag GabbertThe effect—for those three hundred years, while the cupid remained hidden—was a kind of silence.
Like… - By SapphoDeathless Aphrodite of the spangled mind,
child of Zeus, who twists lures, I beg you
do not break with… - By UnknownLēodum is mīnum swylce him mon lāc gife;
willað hȳ hine āþecgan gif hē on þrēat cymeð.
Ungelīc is ū… - By Patricia Smith1. You crush me with your damning glimpses, Anna. You,so rancorous, so wounding, and so cruelly bred…
- By Chase Twichell“You can’t kiss a movie,” Jean-Luc Godard said, and this is mostly true, in that you cannot initiate…
- By John TickhillIn a sesone of somere þat souerayne ys of alle,
Þat was þe myry monþ of May May May is a “somere” month… - By John TickhillIn springtime, chief of all seasons,
in May when new joys rise and flourish,
the sun is lord and messenger… - By J. V. CunninghamThere is no stillness in this wood.
The quiet of this clearing
Is the denial of my hearing
The sounds… - By Justin Phillip ReedDoes a man with no intentions know he means
you only harm? If lodged in the scar were a pearl
of such… - By Hoa NguyenA student at the military school 1956
and a literary teacher at the nearby high school
fall in love … - By MirabaiO friends, I am mad
with love, and no one sees.
My mattress is a sword-point,
how can I sleep
when … - By Christopher MalecWe met at Burger King... so I thought I could have us my way
If I had known you were gonna drive … - By Noor NagaThere are people to live for and people to die for I comfort myself: there are people to sleep with …
- By Tommye Blountyou ask, because you have
everything and nothing
or no one, not even a man
like me, will destroy that… - By Mohja KahfYour heart is a wall on which I knocked
looking for a door, a latch
a windowsill, a flowerpot
Everything… - By Tianru WangHow convenient for Cui Hao
that the one who left was an immortal.
If only we could all have his good… - By Eduardo C. CorralHis beard: an avalanche of honey,
an avalanche
of thorns. In a bar too close to the Pacific,
he … - By Noah BaldinoOn the days we don’t talk, I watch the dog do foolish frantic loops alone around the park.
This morning… - By Rebecca Morgan FrankIn the next room, Peter’s gloved hands crack
cordoned-off spines: he has been granted
permission, his…