~sweet-sangria

only glass orgy

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About Me Member General Poet Andina LevaniFemale/Indonesia

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she is in history.Baron
"I will heal you," he said in a room of mirrors. She laughed at this, at his confidence and everything else which were full of shit. But she took his head closer to her neck anyway. After all, he was her favorite. Because of him she learned that promises were only to be made by gods. She learned about turning fetuses into blood, and that heart did not take form of any kind, that being sober invited omens and prone to bruise mortality, and how sex-smelled bed sheets owned some kind of temper. "For you, everything, ever she is in history.
by ~sweet-sangria

in a room with not walls(at long last) It had been three years since their last kiss, their first kiss, and now they had a bottle of cheap wine in front of them, seemed cheaper by drinking the dark red too-sweet with beer mugs that reminded her of pineapples. Neither of them minded though. Six years they waited for tonight. The awkward pairing of the drink and the glass would not make them desire each other any less. Or maybe she was the only one who yearned for him, romanticizing his finger strokes, the kneading of her flesh with lips and teeth, waves that pull knees apart. All was long overdue.
When she saw him in flesh she realized that his chi in a room with not walls
by ~sweet-sangria

from there to here.How do I get from there to here? My father. If it weren't for my father I would not sleep and wake up crying, impossible to breathe without dread, without drowning in imploding poems and anxious beds that damage the skin.

How do I get from there to here? My father. If it weren't for my father hate would not be the walls of my house, small and claustrophobic, leaking in storms, further holding my thoughts as neurotic flashes of bad polaroid. We would all have dinner and not cancer, with conversations that does not involve a broken car and not having enough of anything, and swallowing cold and little food w from there to here.
by ~sweet-sangria

an unsent letter on your bday.how are you it's been almost a week now and the crows hover low, feverish within the cage above my wasted revolver I am just like the weather howling above you in tempestuous charcoal wings flashing incandescent and jagged streaks that shook the glass, torn from the neck and heavy like a mournful child
there is no wet drizzles down my chin anymore but I still have that weary saturnine eyes and puckered temple as if there's still mist from where I'm standing when you see me you'd think I look older an air that matches my number what number is it it start an unsent letter on your bday.
by ~sweet-sangria

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in the room that ignores night

her dizzy scent hung
like a moonstruck
chandelier, diamond- shaped glass tears cry salt and pollen
onto your folded collar. on your palms is
a written history, pulsing
sentences catching
water drops, riveted, astounded
as she is everytime
you plant your bone
and seeds into
her, thighs pressed,
tightened.

the room by the cast stone balustrade smells like savoring vanilla and blushing petals.

what is the use
of night made out
of old lights, when
eyes only look at each
othe

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I swear sometimes everything drops
like empty semi-colons
tired from traveling, from flanking

full-blooded afterthoughts
as if there is a need to contain
what my mind tells you

in a separate space,
so does not to stain the rest
of the ground we stand on,
of ink and old skin.

other times all grows weary.

taking the trash out.

Wed Oct 28, 2009, 9:54 PM

Mood: I Have To Pee

I'm deleting (more than) a few poems from my gallery, mostly the old ones, cos they kinda get into my nerves. I will put them back up when I have revised them all, or else make new ones.

follow me on twitter
various stages of undressing
my facebook page

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Devious Info

Current Residence: Jakarta
Favourite band or musician: Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, Björk, Regina Spektor, Sarah Mclachlan, Damien Rice, Dido, Garbage, etc
Favourite poet or writer: Anais Nin, Neil Gaiman, Janet Fitch, Sylvia Plath, Haruki Murakami, Laksmi Pamuntjak, etc.

MSN: andina.levani@hotmail.com

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Comments

*Gothic-Enchantress Oct 30, 2009, 10:06:16 AM

Thank you very much for the watch

--
Did they never tell you one day you'll die?

~sweet-sangria Oct 31, 2009, 1:52:27 AM

love your jewelries!

--
various stages of undressing

~apsara609 Oct 29, 2009, 11:55:59 PM

thank you so much for the watch!

~sweet-sangria Oct 30, 2009, 12:39:45 AM

ditto

--
various stages of undressing

~twistofnelly Jun 17, 2008, 11:45:59 PM

and when the poet stops writing, the color would turn to black and white...

steps on asphalt would sound weak.

and the smell of perfume would be rotten.

------------

how u doing?

it's been a while

--
Tell me your greatest strength, so I know how best to undermine you
tell me your greatest fear, so I know what I must force you to face
tell me what you cherish most, so I know what to take from you
and tell me what you crave, so that I might deny you

~boykiller Jun 11, 2008, 7:59:36 AM

dear ginger,
i miss your wisdom.
especially those evoked by alcohol and the magician's magic leaves.

--
just in case they could be watching with their shiny satellites.