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Array ( [sid] => 81203 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Photographer [time] => 2005-01-24 00:14:02 [hometext] => A poem about cherishing a memory. [bodytext] => If I could, I’d eat your time.
I’d thrive in the nostalgic,
soap-salty taste of your pressed red hair,
the Thanksgiving aroma of having you around,
the vanilla sunsets that we shared,
the subtle texture of your lips, cheeks, breath.

If I could, I’d brave the wind,
the rain, the destroyer of gods,
and lay upon my pike
the body of Forever.

I’d build a fire,
at the risk of making Hell jealous,
lay my catch down to cook,
and I’d begin to eat Time.

I would gorge myself on the prehistoric,
drink dry the future you never live to see,
and gently pick away the universe,
dooming galaxies to digestion.

And, after a while, you’d be all that’s left,
the queen of existence,
around whom time itself would revolve,
and away from whom nothing else was.

And then, I’d eat your time.
I’d thrive on the soap-salty taste
of your pressed red hair,
the Thanksgiving aroma of having you around,
and the vanilla sunsets that we shared.

I would keep on eating until nothing else was,
and the only thing in all of history
was you and I, sharing that first, awkward kiss,
cheeks shy and red, breath warm, like home. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 146 [topic] => 21 [informant] => butterat_zool [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 7 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )

Photographer

Contributed by butterat_zool on Monday, 24th January 2005 @ 12:14:02 AM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems

If I could, I’d eat your time.
I’d thrive in the nostalgic,
soap-salty taste of your pressed red hair,
the Thanksgiving aroma of having you around,
the vanilla sunsets that we shared,
the subtle texture of your lips, cheeks, breath.

If I could, I’d brave the wind,
the rain, the destroyer of gods,
and lay upon my pike
the body of Forever.

I’d build a fire,
at the risk of making Hell jealous,
lay my catch down to cook,
and I’d begin to eat Time.

I would gorge myself on the prehistoric,
drink dry the future you never live to see,
and gently pick away the universe,
dooming galaxies to digestion.

And, after a while, you’d be all that’s left,
the queen of existence,
around whom time itself would revolve,
and away from whom nothing else was.

And then, I’d eat your time.
I’d thrive on the soap-salty taste
of your pressed red hair,
the Thanksgiving aroma of having you around,
and the vanilla sunsets that we shared.

I would keep on eating until nothing else was,
and the only thing in all of history
was you and I, sharing that first, awkward kiss,
cheeks shy and red, breath warm, like home.

Copyright Â© butterat_zool ... [ 2005-01-24 00:14:02]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Photographer (User Rating: 1 )
by ladyfawn on Monday, 28th April 2014 @ 09:50:59 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

this is just sooo beautifully written, excellent
images, and its so sweet, eating time for love,
clever:)

hugs n' love nessa

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