it was there... not I
trust nothing with someone and never...
leave...
i have yes what i begot
have out what you let in
yesterday wants its birth
it's orgin

is that pretentious enough to be a good poem?

I think it is...


Here's my try, I'm better at it if I write in spanish though.:


The morning is here, and your scent lingers still...
Though last night happened years ago, it still rings clear.
Like the laughter and the tears, like the sorrow and the bliss...
The hangover of desire, if I could once more... Caress your tits.

yes! pretentia

I still like mine a little better.

salamanders gleam on the outstretched
palm of the desert wind
like flour caught in a pearl hurricane
smoking on the billowing pillowcase of death
reaching out to the depths of the heavenly abyss
and when they ask why
the preacher shuts his eyes
vanishing into the blackness of the sun