Fantastic Feature Tuesday #28

This is a weekly feature of amazing literature that I come by during my
travels across deviantART. This is only a small sample of a vast amount
of wonderful pieces of literature written by absolutely fantastic
writers. Each deviation was carefully selected from a writer's gallery
based on structure, impact and word usage. I will never feature the
same person twice, so check out these wonderful writers now while you can!



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:thumb273373621: takingwild sea-scented boy,
when it's time to
use the razor
i will cry and i might
leave dark-moon bruises
on your biceps
but i won't
blame you,
i won't. instead,
i will remember
primitive indigo dawns
with naked lamplight
light on half your face,
fire in your eyes,  
me trapped between
your hands firm on the sides of my head,
i will remember cathartic silences,
your gaze leaking into my tear ducts,
my waist
my ribcage
my sadness  
that you taste away,
the pulse of your vitals
against mine, lips raw with
sincerity,
and i will remember  
our skins our touch
the energy flowing through
our foreheads,
your bicycle
your pen
your smell your smile
your hold your salt water
that i will take with me
forever.
boy born from ocean breeze
there is no other you
i still do not want this blade but
i do not blame you.
Jesus SmokesI've decided
that if Jesus came to Earth now,
he'd probably smoke cigarettes
and always fall in love
with the wrong person.
If we wake up at night
and can't get back to sleep,
I could teach him
how to un-love his neighbor
and he could tell me
what the salty water feels like
under his feet.
He might wear his hair in a ponytail
and his eyes would crinkle when he smiles,
and I would smile too,
then pause
and in a small voice ask him what hell was like,
and is there any way to get someone back
if they've already gone too far?
He would take a drag on his cigarette,
nod kindly at the two boys holding hands,
and say that hell is more a state of being
than an afterlife, and no amount of love
can rescue someone from their own mind.
I thought so, I would say, not mentioning
the nights I've cried myself to sleep
trying anyway. :thumb272503880: :thumb331233733:
:thumb333297091: :thumb182853326: thomaswe met in a basement. no, that's not quite right. you said we first met when i handed you a cup. the way i remember it, is you sat next to me on a couch and put your hand on my knee. that was upstairs, so okay we didn't meet in a basement, but we did talk in the basement after all of that and i showed you my botched tattoo and you liked it and got the reference. then i held your hand underneath a blanket because we were in the basement of my boyfriend's house.
but you came to my apartment a few days after anyway and we talked for a little bit and then you left and kissed me good
bye.
i got rid of the boyfriend because i liked you better.
for the longest time i thought you were gay, but you turned out to just be a virgin.
         "are you sure you're not gay? are you absolutely sure? i won't be mad. i will die inside a little, but i won't be mad!"
you loved me even though i kicked you in the face when i was having a bad trip.
you loved me ev
:thumb194349310: HistologyThe curvature of a thumbprint:
each line a fleck of space, time,
traversed like a galaxy, a sea
of scars. Home-grown: the touch
of it an opiate, silk as sedative
but        broken.      Imperfect,
like nail-marks, cut cursive
into floorboards, where I caught
light by its ankles and dragged it
back to black. Uprooted it to pitch
like the closing of a fist. herb-graceMama,
    you never taught me to grow marsh samphire in goldfish bowls
    nor told me why the good girls are always locked away from the dark,
               (but you should know I thought of you
               when the undertow claimed my wishbone fingers.)
                              —there's pansies, that's for thoughts
Father,
    maybe you were right to warn me about little darkling children
    with kingfisher eyes and lying lovers with cordite hearts,
               (but, daddy dear, you should have known that to bart




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