Friday, January 14, 2011

Friday Love Poems: Warren Longmire!

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You possess a spectrum of moans i've discovered, a flutter of wants in each forced twist of your forehead. What is your range, ms?

what memory in that cut of your breathe? The duck-like excursion of your face as it cranes toward my chest, was that a discovery? a nerve ending finding a new purpose?

we are stripped, bony and have i replaced a bad memory? A humiliation begins to dance like a dirty joke and you giggle like hyenas. so i can't even guess. but I do know you forgot to close the blinds last night. Didn't mind if the names echoed. left a winter coat scattered like an oil slick barely past the houses' entrance. we are newly nude and painful aware sinners sure, casual animal cloying cute a few fucks ago but look how we've grown. now i hear a chorus caught in half-mumbled curse words. you found sustenance in that dark semi-circle of mouth-marks on my neck and am only half-asking, what shade of flushed red throat is too much? i want to talk like having tea while skydiving but this does not seem like the time for questions of height. how was your day? you ask, as something dark is locked into place. a bead of sweat and a stained conversational ok, i don't mind, lets try it.

They live by the night

I once ate whole throatfuls of ice cream
and you are the closest I've come to a sunset since.

This is a cold place, sure sweetie and
countertops back when weren't always slate-covered but

This is some kismet kind of velvet sheet we are wrapped in here and I see red lights worth running every time you breathe yes.

There's a boutique of green in our pockets. No nightstick can stand to that slick little bop in your stride.

I still remember jumping into water like glass. Close your lids and I swear I fade night right along with you so yes baby.

Anything this dark must be chocolate.

Turn at the next right and tell me what key to lock into place.

There is no one living like this in the county. Let's point this story towards anything that makes you say I do.

Born and raised in North Philadelphia, Warren L. has been a consistent member of the Philadelphia Poetry scene for nearly a decade. As one of the founding members of University of Pennsylvania's Excelano Project, Warren has gone on to the final stage twice in the College Union Poetry Slam Invitational, and represented his home city once as part of the annual NPS. He has preformed theatrically in shows including The Dutchman, Trojan women, and Reunion. He has hosted several open mics and currently mcs for the Mosaic at the A-Space and the Storytellers' Reading series. He has been published in the Philadelphia Inquirer, Pax Americana, Mad Poets:San Francisco, The Fuze Anthology, the 16th and Mission review and his own chapbook "Ripped Winters." When not writing, which is far to often, he can be found building interactive dohickeys in flash for money and pleasure, reading short story anothogies, cooking and wandering the streets a bit dazed looking and somewhat lost. Rest assured Warren Longmire is within a 3 block radius of his destination if you find him on your own street corner in such a state. Warren Longmire is definitely not ignoring you and enjoys earl grey tea (hot!) and would very much like to share some with you if only you would snap him out of his fogginess and say "What's Up Stranger!." If only...

1 comment:

  1. I read "Descent" and thought: Oh my God! No he didn't! Yes, Yes, Yes!

    (Love your work, Warren)