At the Rate we are Going

At the rate we are going 

Will we run out of phone numbers?

Will we run out of creative names for social media accounts? 

Will we run out of room for houses and furnishings? 

Think about how many dogs come calling to the name ‘Max’

Is any idea worth anything anymore? 

Is any thought even your own anymore?

At the rate we are going, creativity is dying. 

Epiphany

Expedition to the clouds 

Is a far more exciting-sounding adventure

Than seeing if Atlantis was a real 

Lost city 

Or if the Mayans really did just 

Vanish into thin air 

Like they never mattered. 

Almost like they never 

Even 

Existed 

Think of how many groups of people 

Who’s ideas, 

Names and faces 

Are forever forgotten 

Think of what happens to you when nobody 

Says your name ever 

Again

Stars

Your skin is like the paper 

That I take my pen to.

I like to play connect-the-dots

With your freckles and a sharpie 

Making constellations of stars 

And sometimes swastikas

I named this poem before I wrote it

Sip your beer, 

Tell me sweet, soft nothings in my ear 

My love, my prize 

Don’t leave me out to dry 

Take me inside

I don’t care whether or not we cried

What matters to me 

Is that you see

Maybe one day you can even have my heart 

It’d be one hell of a relationship to start 

To spark 

To go fall in love on the swing sets in the park

Push me down the slide 

Shoving our gentle feelings to the side 

ROMANCE IN THE NIGHTTIME

Sex is fun you see?

So I know it’s good for me.

Missionary, doggy and sixty nine

Got me feeling mighty fine

Sex is like a sandwich

You can put anything on that fluffy bread

So dont be a pillow bitch!

Before he leaves you, give better head!

My Seraph in Disguise

“My Seraph in Disguise”

Tyler R. Martin

A beauty thought reserved only for nature, 

Somehow now resides within your eyes,

How can such magic be earthly normal,

 Is it real, or just some clever guise?

I wonder, are you a true mortal woman 

Or a Seraph, an angel in disguise?

–Your hair of a goddess, with golden streaks

Falling gently on tan, smooth skin;

I envy it, caressing your neck,

Cascading down your back, touching your chin.

You’re speaking softly, with love in your eyes,

Giving me a glimpse of your gorgeous mind,

Such a serene, tantalizing feeling,

Something of heaven and earth combined.

And with a pitch like some divine instrument,

Yours: a voice that serenades so sweetly,

From a grin like a summer sunrise,

A few notes and I’m enthralled completely.

Because truly, I wouldn’t be surprised

Were you to admit to me tenderly:

You’re not just my love, my prize,

But my Seraph, my angel in plain disguise.

Cold Coffee

Cold coffee in the morning 

And warm milk at night

Kiss me on the cheek without warning

And hold me too tight. 

Too sweet you are, like a tray of fruit

Pineapples, peaches, and plums 

Feeling giddy when you call me cute

In our home’s backyard I’ll plant flowers and mums.